Page 129 of The Rogue's Curse

His body went rigid, and he caught the threads in his mind, binding them each to the stones. It felt like pulling taut cables well past their breaking point, and the roaring in his head grew louder and louder as he pulled. Finally, he secured them, picturing heavy steel cables and latches in his mind. The connections were solid, each stone placed properly.

“It’s done,” he said quietly. His head ached from the effort, and he reluctantly backed away from the stone. The tension was gone, but the glowing red cords remained, forming a cage-like structure all around the building. It was holding.

Would he know when it was too late? When the last of his magic would explode and take him with it?

Feet landed on the roof, and he whirled on his heels to see Danielle approaching him. “Watch out,” he said, pointing to the opposite corner of the roof, where the shimmering thing was beginning to coalesce.

She offered him her hand, and he took it, slightly confused. With a smile, she jabbed a needle into his thigh and said, “I’m really sorry. Don’t be mad at me. Be mad at your boyfriend.”

A heavy sensation washed over him and filled his veins with concrete. “Danielle,” he slurred, staring down as she pulled back a blue plastic injector. There was no pain, just a pleasant cold and the feeling that gravity had started working overtime.

“He said he wasn’t letting you die out here,” she said. Then she cocked her head awkwardly and picked him up. “Oh wow, either you’re light or I’m super strong.”

The world was going dark, and he was only dimly aware of the sky as it closed in around him, plunging him into a lovely, deep sleep.

27

Centuries ago, Paris had given up on the notion of a loving, paternal god who had his best interest at heart. Given that his devout, quiet mother had died of the plague with her rosary in hand, it didn’t seem to be a good investment of his energy. Still, he found himself murmuring silent prayers and hoping that someone or something out there gave a damn about him and his family.

Keep Misha safe. Don’t let me lose him, please. Give us a chance, and I swear I’ll keep him safe.

With Misha out of sight, he felt adrift. They were soulmates, but would he know if something went horribly wrong? At the very least, he’d enlisted Danielle to enhance Misha’s odds of survival. If she wanted to be a part of the family, she was getting thrown into the deep end tonight.

While Nikko and Sasha discussed tactics, Paris sat quietly in the backseat, studying the grim images on his phone. Though his mad scientist of a soulmate hadn’t gotten his chance to experiment, his idea had stuck with Paris. During their final preparations, he’d researched frightening images of demons and beasts.

His logical mind said, This is so fucking stupid, but that could have described everything they were doing tonight. What was the harm in trying?

When they pulled up in front of the Constitution building, he tapped Nikko on the shoulder, said, “God speed,” and plunged the needle into his own thigh. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Two brawny dhampir guards were already drawing weapons as they stopped. “You pull any shit, and Mr. Shea gives the signal,” one of them said.

“We’re ready to meet him on his terms,” Nikko said.

Paris’slimbs were already going heavy as they walked through the sliding glass doors. He was vaguely aware of rough hands grabbing him. The sedative was a lovely touch, dulling the edges of his senses. An echoing voice asked, “The fuck is wrong with him?”

“He was too much of a coward to face you sober,” Nikko said cheerfully. He sounded a little too pleased with himself. There was a meaty impact as someone struck Nikko, and they both staggered.

A sharp pain stabbed through his foot, and Sasha hissed in his ear in Russian. “Stay awake until we see him,” he admonished. Rough hands grabbed Paris’s arms, and he bit back a yelp as someone secured wood-spiked manacles on his wrists. The spikes scraped against bone as a brawny woman in a suit yanked him and his brothers onto an elevator.

“How you doin’ tonight?” he said drunkenly.

She smiled, then punched him square in the nose. His head snapped back, and she yanked him forward again. “You killed several of my friends the last time you were here,” she said. “Mr. Shea has promised us all an opportunity to enjoy your death.”

“Sounds kind of communist if you ask me,” he said. “Means of production for the people, or something. This is America.”

“If I were you, I would be begging for mercy,” she said.

“Good thing you’re not me,” he said. “I mean it. My life is a mess.”

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head. There was a quiet ding, and he emerged to the sound of loud music. His head lolled as the sedative did its best to get its claws in him. Created by their old friend, Dr. Venegas, it was good stuff, or at least Rhys had promised as much. It had knocked Rachel out hard when she transitioned, and had done the same for Danielle.

The drugs were making it hard to focus, but he chanted in his head. Scary demons, dragons, gargoyles, oh my, he told himself, trying to hold those grotesque images.

In his blurry, discolored vision, he could make out a massive hall filled with tables and chairs. With dim red and gold lighting and dark lacquered wood, it was absolutely gorgeous. That fucker Shea had great taste. It made him homesick for Infinity, for the way things once were. There had to be a hundred vampires here, jeering and shouting as the three little pigs offered themselves up for slaughter.

And there at the head of the room was a raised platform, fit for a king, where Carrigan Shea sat on an actual throne, complete with dark purple cushions and a high back.

God, what an insufferable, egotistical prick.

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