Page 100 of The Rogue's Curse

A shrill cry pierced the quiet, and the dream shattered. He fell through the floor and jolted into awareness with a sickening lurch.

His eyes flew open. Shoshanna was hunched over the glowing lines of her spell, her skin glowing with radiant energy. But she shook her head. “Something’s wrong,” she cried out.

Shadows danced along the walls. As he watched, one shadow peeled itself away from the wall, expanding and distorting as it passed from that flat surface into the open air. Like smoke filling a jar, it coalesced into a towering figure with four legs and pointed ears. A tendril of glowing light burst from Shoshanna’s spell and struck it in the heart, but instead of killing it, it seemed to empower the beast.The foul smell of decay spiked in the air, and the cat-like creature let out a roar.

Paris looked around in vain for a weapon and found nothing. He stared at the creature and said, “I’m not afraid of you!”

Misha was on his hands and knees, body violently shaking. Red tendrils of magic covered his skin, binding him into the circle like tangling vines.

Was this the test? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Another creature peeled away from the wall, a long, slithering serpent of a creature. While he was still watching it form, the shadow-cat sprang at him and bit into his arm. Pain arced through him, and he growled, trying to fling it away.

It was a vision. A dream. He imagined drawing a blade, forging it from his inner strength or some esoteric bullshit.

His hand was still empty. Blood trickled from the bites and down his fingers. The creature was just this side of wrong, but its fangs could rip and tear all the same.

He flung the shadow creature away, watching the shadowy essence become more solid, taking on dimension as it fed on his blood.When he checked his pockets, he found no book, just his phone.

Misha cried out, and he looked back to see a huge, coiled serpent strike at him, fangs buried in his back.He writhed, but the red tendrils held him fast.

“Shoshanna!” Paris called. “Help us!”

“We’re awake!” she cried out. “I can’t break away. It’s his—” She gasped, throwing her head back. Her eyes were pure white, veins bulging across her pretty face. Her breathing was ragged, and he could see the glowing yellow of her magic tangling with Misha’s.

Paris fended off another pouncing bite from the cat, then lifted it and snapped its spine over his knee. It squalled, and he tossed it aside. He dove for Misha and grabbed the serpent’s tail. The slithering black creature turned to him, baring terrible fangs. As its mouth gaped open, he heard a thousand voices from its throat, hissing madness.

It lunged at him and buried its fangs in his shoulder. As he stumbled back, its cold clammy body wrapped around his chest and squeezed painfully tight. He backed up into the nearest wall, slamming back as hard as he could. Plaster rained down on him. The snake snarled. Digging his fingers deep beneath its scales and into a squirming, wet body, he broke the snake’s grip, then tossed it into the hall.

“Shoshanna! Do something!” he shouted.

She was half-sobbing, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t— I can’t— I’m trying!” she wept.

Misha’s hands slammed into the ground one at a time, and the floor seemed to split, a shadowy rift forming around his fingers.

“Misha!” he called. The other man’s head snapped up, and Paris recoiled. His eyes were nearly black, with red pinpoints instead of pupils. It was such a mockery of his beauty that Paris nearly wept at the sight of it.

The cracks beneath his hands split, and a swarm of bat-like shadows erupted from each one. One of them dove at Shoshanna, and she shrieked in terror.

Setting his jaw, Paris looked around her workshop and found a knife. His eyes stung, but he knelt next to Misha and shook him. “Misha. Misha!”

No response. The magic had taken him entirely.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, driving the blade directly into the base of Misha’s skull. He went flat, and the glowing red tendrils were extinguished. All at once, the swarm of bats evaporated into ash, leaving the single fluttering creature that had gotten a bite of Shoshanna.

He ignored it and knelt in front of her, clasping her cheeks. Her eyes still burned incandescent white. “Shoshanna. Snap out of it,” he said. “Break off the connection, whatever you have to do.”

The light in her eyes flickered, and finally the glowing inscription went dark. As soon as she began to slump, Paris swept her into his arms and ran out of the room with her. Alistair was waiting in the lobby. At the sound of his approach, Allie looked up with a smile that froze on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Before Paris could answer, Alistair was next to him, fighting to get her into his arms. “Shoshanna,” he murmured. “Look at me, my love.” Through choked sobs, she was fighting for composure. Vein-like burns extended up her arms. “What happened?” Alistair demanded.

Paris shook his head. “Something went wrong. Get her to see Rhys. I’ve got to check on him. I’m sorry.”

Alistair frowned at him, but nodded, bolting out the door with his mate in his arms as he assured her that everything would be all right.

His stomach twisted in knots as he raced back upstairs to find Misha still lying prone. Paris yanked the blade out, then gently turned Misha over. He pulled him into his lap, eyes welling over as he stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.”

This was supposed to be the fairytale ending, wasn’t it? What had he done wrong?

---