Page 130 of The Rogue's Curse

Horns. Scales. Wings. Big fucking pointy teeth.

Someone leaned over to whisper in Shea’s ear, and he rose with a wicked grin on his face. “I prepared something just for you,” he said.

Someone shoved Paris up to the platform, hooking a chain to his wrists. “I hope it’s a double Scotch—”

A foot snapped across his jaw, and the lights went out.

Finally, a nap.

Darkness burst into roiling thunderclouds, lightning arcing across the sky. He rose, finding himself barefoot on parched ground. His pale skin was threaded with thin red lines, as if porcelain had cracked to reveal glowing fire within. Blood stained his left hand, but it seemed to pool around his little finger, dripping off into nothingness.

Voices howled from within the clouds, which coalesced into screaming faces and glowing red eyes.

Coward.

Failure.

Unworthy.

Fear plagued him as he backed away, but there was no end to the sea of clouds, filled with a shouting chorus of angry voices.

He whirled, running across the jagged ground. He ran until his feet bled, and still, there was no end, only desolation as far as the eye could see.

“Please!” he screamed. “Misha!”

Lightning struck the ground before him, brilliant red. Sparks showered from it, and he stared in wonder. His vision sheared, and for one beautiful moment, he saw Misha. Then he was gone, a mere flicker, but Paris knew he was dreaming.

He shoved his hand into his pocket and found that small leather book, fingered the soft worn edge, and grinned. “Come on out,” he called.

The ground trembled before him, but instead of his beautiful Russian mate, a slithering black limb broke through the ground. Long, bony claws protruded from the limb, scraping across the dirt. A second followed, and then a massive, scaled body drew itself up from the yawning crack.

A creature easily twice his height loomed over him, curling bone horns glinting in the eerie reddish light. “Come and play, mon chou,” it said, mocking Misha’s voice.

Perhaps he had reached beyond his station. Still holding the book, he backed away slowly. The creature was asymmetrical, with one glowering eye much larger than the other. Jagged bone spikes protruded at odd angles from its scaly body. It was disgusting and utterly perfect.

“I thought I could do better,” Paris taunted. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought, Give me all the fiends of hell!

Fire surged from the cracked ground. Half a dozen winged creatures exploded from it like a geyser. They shrieked in dissonant tones, swirling around him before diving in to attack.

He huddled on the ground to cover his head, biting his tongue as they snapped at him and caught mouthfuls of his flesh. “Not me!” he protested. “Out there!”

He reached for the book, but it was stuck in his pocket. Another demon-bat snapped at him, and blood splattered the dry ground. The stone turned into a familiar face that made him more confused than afraid.

Sasha’s face appeared in the flat rock. A crack formed, allowing it to speak. “Paris, that’s enough, I’m bringing you up,” he said.“Stop doing whatever you’re doing!”

A brilliant flash of lightning sparked across the sky, and something plunged a hand into his chest and flung him through the air. He flew and flew, bursting through the clouds, through the firmament and into—

His eyes flew open to sheer madness. It took him several seconds of staring to realize he was awake, no longer dreaming. Nikko was slumped on the floor, blonde hair stained with blood, but he was fumbling with chains behind his back, while Sasha was doing his best to pry open one of the manacles on Paris’s wrist. They were on a dais, as if they’d been presented on stage to a waiting audience. Shea’s throne was overturned, its purple cushions shredded by claws.

While Paris slept, his nightmares had thoroughly crashed the party. A looming, demonic shadow-creature rampaged across the open hall, smashing through tables and chairs. Several vampires lay dead, heads ripped off and nowhere to be seen. Several of the screeching, bat-like creatures swooped across the room.

“Oh fuck me, it worked,” he blurted, a wave of nausea rolling over him. His jaw felt unhinged, and his mouth was full of blood, but he was awake. He was alive, at least for a few more minutes.

“Kristina’s on the way up,” Sasha said. “Shea went upstairs.” He finally snapped the cuff and sat back. Sasha’s left hand was a bloody mess, and Paris realized with grim horror that he’d forced it through the spiked cuff, stripping it nearly to the bone.

“What happened?” Paris slurred.

“Not important,” Sasha said. He grabbed Nikko and shook him. His handsome face was badly wounded, one side black and blue, his jaw misshapen. “Shea let Kieran and Lilah mess with him.”

---