Page 128 of The Rogue's Curse

“I was born a fool. I can no more refuse to be a fool than refuse to have blue eyes,” Paris sniped.

There was no soft, indulgent smile, no begrudging I still love you. He knew that Paris was angry because he cared, but it left him uneasy all the same. He debated with himself; grab him, give him a kiss, tell him that it would be all right.

But by then Paris had turned his back, and he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was frozen by fear as he watched his lover—his soulmate—walk away.

* * *

Twenty-three minutes later, he stood on a cracked sidewalk at the edge of Shea’s magically guarded territory. The dense wall of shadow towered over them. With his arcane sight sharper than ever, he could see the thousands of gray silken threads woven and knotted together to form the wall. He could swear that he saw faces within the shadow, screaming for help, threatening, crying out. The air stank like dead roses and rot.

He prayed that Georgina hadn’t lied to them about her medallion. They had three of the small silver pendants, each thrumming with the same energy that buzzed along the wall. He handed one to Dominic, one to Danielle, and put the last around his neck.

Danielle put her hand on his arm and said, “Should we hold it?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Misha said. He clasped the small silver medallion, closed his eyes, and pushed through the barrier. The energy felt like slithering worms across his skin, but it didn’t seem to catch him. Behind him, he heard Danielle whimper softly. He reached back, found her wrist, and pulled her through. Seconds later, Dominic emerged.

Danielle shuddered and said, “God, that felt disgusting.” She looked back at the barrier, which would have seemed like nothing more than empty space to someone without his arcane senses.

Closing his eyes, he activated his arcane vision. Slithering across the landscape were those shimmering shapes that warned of an incoming attack, but they were still distant. Dark gray tendrils wove together into an undulating dome, forming the intricate pattern of the spell that warded Shea’s territory. He felt a deep sense of unease, but the magic didn’t appear to react to his presence. Furthermore, he saw no stain on his companions’ auras, no indication that the wall’s enchantment had affected them. Hopefully that meant the medallions had worked.

“Hurry,” Misha said. Following the gray tendrils, they hurried down a block and around a corner to a closed coffeeshop. Four thick strands of magic converged on the sidewalk just beneath a wrought iron table. Though it was invisible to the naked eye, he could see the lines of magic painted onto the ground.

He took a large piece of chalk from his bag, then marked several X’s on the ground. Looking back at Danielle and Dominic, he said, “Give those a crack if you would.”

Dani grinned, then lifted her foot and stomped down hard. With a triumphant cry, she stomped again and shattered the concrete. Dominic followed her lead and broke the next. The tendrils of power broke and hung loose like snapped cables. Misha immediately took out a conical bloodstone and placed it into one of the cracks. This was the ‘chisel’ Rafaela had recommended.

Biting at his thumb, he dripped his blood onto the stone and let it ignite. Cold rolled through him, and he heard the screeching of a dozen voices in the distance.

Red light bloomed through the dangling strands and rapidly surged across the dome. Brilliant, glorious red shot across the sky like fireworks, and the tendrils began to snap one at a time, until there came a deafening sound of breaking glass and the smell of smoke.

He reeled, and Dani caught his arm. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he said, grabbing the stone. It was still strong enough to use once more, and he prayed that would be enough. “Double check that the barrier is down. I’m about to verify his location.”

Still standing on the corner, he took out the stone he’d created from Lilah’s blood and peered through it. The effort made his body ache, but he needed only a vague direction. “This way.”

He bounded down the block with Dominic and Danielle in tow. Shea’s thread clearly pulled toward the Constitution building. He murmured to Dominic, “Confirm he’s in the Constitution building.”

Dominic immediately took out his phone, running after him. “Paris and the others are on the move,” he said.

A high-rise office building loomed over the Constitution building, just across the street. They scaled the building easily, although Danielle swore quietly the entire way up. Dominic perched on the corner of the roof, staring intently at his watch. Slowly, he ticked his fingers up one at a time, confirming that the stones were being placed.

On the street below them, a black SUV pulled up to the front of the Constitution building. His heart ached when he saw Paris emerge. His shoulders were slumped, but Nikko held him up. That was odd. Behind them, two women followed, moving slowly. The final guest was Kieran O’Brien, who was leaning heavily on Sasha thanks to the crater in his skull.

It took a considerable amount of willpower not to leap down and drag Paris away. Could he trust that Paris knew what he was doing, that he could handle himself?

“Come in,” a gruff male voice said. “The king is ready to see you.”

Dom looked back at Misha and nodded. Silently, he made a circle with his hands, then flashed a thumbs-up. Misha pointed to himself and raised his eyebrows. Dom nodded.The perimeter had been completed.

Misha carefully strapped his bag tight to his back, then approached the roof’s edge. Don’t look down, he thought. They were so close to dealing with this. He took a few steps back, then took off in a dead sprint. He sprang across the chasm, tuning out the dissonant whispers and accusing voices.

His foot missed the edge of the building, but he caught the concrete ledge with one hand. His fingers scraped concrete, and he swore as he hauled himself up awkwardly.

Just as they’d suspected, the penthouse was still being rebuilt. A single guard patrolled up top. Misha barreled for him, slamming him to the ground and smashing his face with his fist in a single vicious blow. Before the man could scream, Misha drew his blade and stabbed him in the throat, then opened the cut to sever his head. Blood sprayed in his face, and he backed away quickly, fishing the large stone from his bag.

At the corner of the roof, he saw a spidery limb slipping upward, followed by a second. The strange whispers grew louder, and he thought, No, no, no.

Quickly, he unwrapped the final stone and placed it at the center of the roof, in the growing pool of the guard’s blood. He placed the bloodstone chisel in the neat indentation at the stone’s center, then ignited it. Power surged through the stone, and then sparked across the roof like fireworks. Cords of power erupted from it, seeking the other anchors.

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