Page 135 of The Rogue's Curse

“What the hell?”

“It was enough of a risk already to let you set off the cage spell, and—”

“To let me?” Misha spluttered. “You don’t let me do anything, Paris.”

Paris smirked. “Looks like I let you sleep.”

“If I wasn’t so fucking relieved, I would punch you in your smug face,” Misha said.

“I get that reaction quite often,” Paris said. He leaned closer. “Do you want to punch me anyway?”

“No,” Misha muttered. “Did the spell work, at least?”

“It was bloody brilliant,” Paris said. “They couldn’t get out, and once we got the stake into Shea, it affected the entire court, just as you said it would.”

“Given all the bandages, I’m guessing it still wasn’t an easy fight,” he said.

“It was brutal,” Paris admitted.

“Too bad you didn’t have a blood witch to make things easier,” Misha said.

“Everything you did helped. It turned the tide,” he said. “Along with unleashing my curse at full force.”

Misha spluttered, “You did what?”

As it turned out, his soulmate was certifiably insane. It was probably for the best that they drugged him, because if he had known what Paris was actually planning, he might have chained the idiot to his desk instead.

“It was absolutely horrible,” Paris said gleefully. “Complete havoc.”

“You’re unhinged,” he said.

“Thank you,” Paris said.

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“Are you sure?” Paris teased. “It worked. I knew it would.”

“You did not,” he said.

Paris shrugged. “The only thing we didn’t anticipate was how strong his witch was. She brought the whole bloody building down.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No, but we killed Shea,” Paris said, a glint of pride in his eyes.

“And the blade?”

“It was perfect,” he said. He frowned. “Unfortunately, I left it buried in Carrigan Shea, who was buried under a fuck ton of concrete before exploding. I went back during daylight to look for it in the rubble, but everything was destroyed.”

“You went to look for your sword…or for Shea’s head?” he asked.

Paris laughed and said, “Both. I’m efficient.”

Misha laughed. “I’ll make you another blade.” A shadow flitted across his vision, and he whipped his head around. Hissing whispers stabbed through his mind, and Paris’s face distorted. Suddenly, scaled arms enclosed him, crushing him into a reeking, monstrous body. “Stop!” he bellowed, shoving back against it.

Misha.

Misha.

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