Page 123 of The Rogue's Curse

Paris set the blade down and threw his arms around Misha. “I will. I’ll take him down, and then we can figure out what it means to be us,” he said. Misha’s arms encircled him, holding him so tight his ribs creaked. There was a roiling, unsettled energy coursing through Misha that he didn’t like.

I’ve got you, he thought.Soon this would be over.

As if fate was punishing him for daring to imagine a better time, his chest ached as Misha squeezed him tight enough to crack a rib. Then the witch shoved him away and growled, “Paris, get back.”

It was frightening to see the change happen so quickly. One moment, Misha’s eyes shone their lovely warm amber, and the next, they grew black as an oil slick. Heat billowed from him, and he frantically backed away from Paris. His head whipped around, and he ducked. His forearm seemed to slice itself open, and then a bird-like shadow ripped into reality.

Paris shoved Misha’s shoulder and forced him down where he would be safe. Snatching up the knife, Paris slashed at the beast and severed its head in one easy swoop. The power of the blade set his nerves alight.

He knelt in front of Misha and took his hand, but the other man yanked out of his grip. “Get away!” he bellowed.

Sheer madness glinted in his dark eyes. Paris froze, thrown back to that terrible moment when he’d tried to convince Alistair to stay. Back then, the sting of rejection and a bruised ego sent him packing instead of fighting for their love.

Not this time.

He fell to his knees and grabbed Misha, holding him tightly to his chest even as the other man fought. Stroking his hair, he said, “It’s okay. I don’t know what it is, but you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going away.”

Instead of the warm familiarity that came with sex, the soulmate bond was aching and painful, like something slithering through raw flesh. And if he felt only that, he couldn’t bear to think of how much more Misha suffered. Misha tried again to get away, but Paris held him so tight his arms trembled with the effort.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said gently. “You don’t fight alone. Never again.”

Finally, the other man’s struggles ceased, though he was still so tense his whole body vibrated with the strain. Then came the gentle weight of Misha’s head on his shoulder, and the subtle lean, as if he trusted Paris to hold him up. His heart warmed, and he stroked Misha’s back gently, wishing he could strip away whatever hurt him.

Eventually, he dared to release Misha, tilting up his chin to see him looking exhausted.

“I’m fine now,” Misha said.

“You’re not fine. I can feel it,” Paris said. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Misha’s eyes drifted to him, and he swallowed hard. “The curse has made my magic unstable.”

“We knew that,” he said carefully.

“I talked to my mentor, and she told me thatmy magic could burn itself out and leave me without magic,” Misha said. “If it goes wild while I’m doing a spell, it could kill me.”

Horror dawned on him. “And you made me this blade and did all this anyway?”

“To the bitter end,” Misha said, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

He threw up his hands and said, “Not for you! You can’t do this!”

“I’m sorry. I felt like I had to, because of you,” he said, plunging those words into his heart like a dagger.

“You felt like you had to risk killing yourself for me?” he spluttered. “What in the hell makes you think I would want that?”

Misha shook his head. “I just couldn’t face myself if I gave up the fight. You wouldn’t do that just because it was dangerous. How could you love a coward?”

“A coward? Misha, after all of your lecturing about me working wounded, and you’ve been hiding this?”

To his surprise, Misha let out a laugh. “I almost told you yesterday, but I saw you with Danielle and didn’t want to interrupt. She obviously needed you.”

“You needed me, too,” Paris protested. “And I need you!” His eyes stung with tears, but he didn’t wipe them away. Instead, he took Misha’s ink-streaked hands, so strong and graceful. Skin on skin, he could sense that lively electric sensation of their bond, but it felt unsettled, a current that threatened to dash them against sharp rocks rather than carry them along. “Don’t you trust me to be there for you? To protect you?” he asked.

“I came here and told you how I would solve your court’s problems. I couldn’t bring myself to say that I was cracking,” Misha said. “You thought I was young and brash, and that would only prove you right.”

Paris threw his arm out in a broad gesture. “Look at all you’ve done. You think you’ve let me down? Any of us?” He shook his head. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t sacrifice yourself for this, Misha. Brash would be ignoring the warnings; wisdom is to know what you can handle, and before you say it, yes, I know how absurd it is for me to say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Misha said.

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