Page 131 of The Rogue's Curse

“M’okay,” Nikko slurred.

“No, you look like shit,” Sasha said amiably. “But you have to fight anyway.”

The hulking demon whirled, and Paris felt a firm tug, the sense of losing blood as the nightmare drew energy from him. He swooned, but stayed on his hands and knees. “Go find Shea,” he bellowed.

Its head tilted, and then it let out a raucous laugh, the sound of sheer madness. It spread its arms wide, and razor-sharp spikes burst from each arm.

“Oh, good,” Paris said.

“Make it go away,” Sasha said mildly. How did he always remain so damned calm? Whatever Sasha was smoking, Paris could have used some.

“I can’t,” Paris said. “If I could command the thing, it would be a gift, not a goddamn curse. Where’s your girlfriend?”

The demon dove at them. Sasha grabbed Nikko and hauled him behind a nearby couch. Paris rolled out of the way, then yanked the chain from its hook on the dais. The horned beast swiped at him, and he swung the chain at it, cracking the creature across its knuckles.

It roared in pain, and he swung the chain again, trying to catch its horns. Suddenly, the demon morphed into an enormous facsimile of Misha. Its voice sounded eerily precise as it said, “You failed me. I’m lost now, Paris. I’m lost, and—”

A screeching beast landed on Paris’s back and bit a chunk out of him. The smell was atrocious, and he flailed wildly to get it off. With a furious curse in Russian, Sasha yanked it off and tore its wings off like they were made of paper.

“Get it together!” Sasha bellowed at him. “I am not dying in here, and neither are you.”

He growled at Sasha, then leaped off the stage to find a toppled table. Stomping on it, he grabbed two metal legs and turned to face the horned beast. Its face distorted and rippled, switching from Misha’s to Julian’s to Alistair’s to Shoshanna’s to his own, again and again.

It roared at him, and he pounced, driving one of the table legs up into its gut. Using its strangely pliable arm to haul himself up, he clambered onto its back and drove the other leg into the back of its neck. Given that the beast didn’t entirely follow logic, it remained upright, though it was staggering and trying madly to shake him free. He grabbed its horns, twisting its head wildly.

What he wouldn’t give for a fucking sunrise.

Instead, he yanked one of the broken table legs free, swung over the creature’s face, and stabbed it through the eye. It batted at him, sending him flying across the room as it tumbled back.

“Kristina!” Sasha called.

He looked up, and God, he had never been so happy to see Kristina Arensberg. With young Avery in tow, she sprinted across the room and slung two big duffel bags toward them. Then she planted her feet, drew her gun, and shot three times at the shadow thing. It whirled and stomped toward her.

“That won’t kill it!” he called.

“I know, asshole! I’m buying you time!” she retorted.

Paris scrambled to Sasha, who was already pawing through the bags. Sasha handed him the leather sheath, and he could feel the familiar vibration of Misha’s connection already. Touching the blade sent a surge of warmth through his body. With a wicked grin, he drew the carved blade, nicked his finger, and ran at the demon as it closed in on Kristina.

As she darted between its legs, he jumped on her shoulders, launching himself up on its back and up to its head. With a primal shout, he thrust the glowing blade down into its skull. An impact rocked him, as if something had exploded inside its skull. The shockwave blew back furniture all around, shattering it to shards of metal, and the creature disintegrated beneath him. He tumbled to the ground and stared at the fiery blade.

Kristina pointed at the weapon and said, “Tell your boyfriend I’m next on the list.”

He just laughed. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said, offering him a hand up. She looked at her watch and said, “Get on the move. Time’s ticking.”

He knelt by Nikko, who was spitting out blood and what looked like at least two and a half teeth. They’d grow back, at least if they survived. He gently tucked the man’s hair back, holding up his face. One eye was filled with blood. “Can you fight or not?” he asked.

Nikko nodded, though the pain was obvious on his poor, mangled face. “I want to kill Lilah,” he slurred, or at least that was Paris’s best guess.

He was struck with the memory of hundreds of terrible nights, holding Nikko as his curse tried to tear him apart. After all that, his instinct was to wash his friend’s poor face, tell him to sleep and let them handle the rest. But this was the fight of their lives, and if Nikko wanted a fight, then he was going to get one.

He helped Nikko to his feet, and the four of them quickly dumped the duffel bags to find the weapons they’d packed. Four magazines of wooden bullets, marked with a streak of gold paint, tumbled out. Each bullet inside was soaked with the poison Misha had concocted for Shea, designed to pack a punch for him and his court. “These are for Shea’s hide,” he said. “Don’t waste them.”

Each of them grabbed a clip, and he stared at them evenly. “I don’t care who gets the kill, but that man dies tonight even if it takes all four of us.”

Avery cleared his throat. “All five,” he said.

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