Page 122 of The Rogue's Curse

“You got it,” Safira said, dragging Erik behind her.

When they were alone, Nikko took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

Dani shook her head. “Well,” she said, turning to peer at the back of her leg. “I think I got shot. The adrenaline was so intense, I kind of forgot.”

He laughed. “That can happen. We’ll have Rhys look at you when we get back. But I’m proud of you.”

Her throat tightened. “You are?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect, but you were a hell of a backup,” he said.

“Partner?” she teased.

“Sidekick, maybe,” he replied wryly. “Let’s get you home so Olivia can yell at both of us.”

25

As Paris expected, Lilah and Kieran were tight-lipped about Shea’s plans, other than to gleefully tell him and Julian to go fuck themselves in increasingly colorful ways. Julian wanted Misha to use his power to make them tell the truth, but Paris put his foot down. As much as he would have enjoyed seeing the sociopathic power couple squirm and suffer, he feared any further use of magic would send Misha over the edge.

Instead, they drugged the pair heavily with wood poison and left them in the care of Jonas Wynn, who had a growing stable of prisoners to monitor. Paris drew a large flask of blood from both Lilah and Kieran for Misha’s benefit before they left. As soon as the blood witch confirmed that he had what he needed to finish his spell, Paris was going to turn Nikko loose to kill them both with as much messy glee as possible.

When he reached the compound, he headed straight for Building Five to deliver the flasks of blood, still warm against the smooth glass. He found Misha in his lab, looking paler than usual.

“Thanks,” Misha muttered. His hands trembled as he put down the flasks, and he winced, turning away quickly from Paris. “I have something for you.”

He watched Misha carefully. “You’re not doing well.”

Misha forced a smile, but it was a rictus of madness that set Paris back on his heels. “You noticed,” he said with a laugh. “It’s almost over.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I can handle myself,” Misha said hotly. He shook his head. “I don’t mean to snap. Do you want to see what I have for you?”

The first gift was a carved wooden stake. Polished to a shine and engraved with hundreds of tiny arcane symbols, this tool would break Carrigan Shea’s Covenant. The smell of the wood was enough to make Paris feel ill, and he could only imagine how that magic-imbued stake was going to feel buried in Shea’s spine.

The second was a case filled with small glass vials the size of his thumb. Each contained a dark liquid the color of dried blood. Though they were sealed, he still caught the faintest hint of Shea’s blood, mixed with something dark in the concoction. This poison would debilitate anyone sharing a blood connection to Shea.

Finally, Misha asked, “Do you want to see your blade?”

Paris raised his eyebrows and nodded. He was more concerned with his mate than a lovely sharp object, but he held out his hands as Misha presented him with a fabric-wrapped bundle. Slowly, he unwrapped the dark fabric to see a once-familiar blade, brought to new life. Intricate engravings marked the blade, which was sharpened to perfection. A deep red stone was inlaid into the hilt. Running a finger over it ignited the stone, as if a spark of light ignited inside.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Misha gently took his wrist, then guided his finger to the point. “A few drops of blood will activate its power,” he said.

“Can I?”

“Go ahead.”

When he nicked his finger, the fine runes on the blade illuminated with fiery red light. Crackling heat billowed through him, and he staggered. “Wow,” he said, admiring the glowing blade. His body felt lighter and more nimble, and his sight was so detailed it was disorienting. “I feel sharper.”

“You are. I made it for you,” he said. “This blade was sharpened for your hand to kill a dragon, of sorts.”

The thought of plunging this right into Carrigan Shea’s heart was a lovely one. To let him feel the burst of power, his sheer fury at all the wreckage Shea had left…it was nearly as pleasant as being with Misha.

“Thank you,” he said, leaning forward to brush a kiss on Misha’s lips. “It’s incredible.” He turned it over to read the words etched on the blade. His chest tightened as he read the phrase, written in flawless French: to the beautiful and bitter end.

Misha’s eyes met his. “This blade can hurt you if you use it for too long,” he said. “I’m begging you to be careful. But I know you’ll fight to the end, whatever that means. And I’m telling you to bring this back and tell me how it worked.”

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