Page 136 of The Rogue's Curse

In a split second of clarity, he realized Paris was holding him, trying to soothe him, but that sensation of their bond was maddening. He lurched away, toppling the mug of blood onto the floor. The smell of it startled him from his nightmarish haze, and his vision resolved again. Paris stood at the foot of the bed, bright blue eyes wide with concern. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

“No,” Misha said. “It’s just… It feels like being close to you makes it worse.”

The other man reeled, as if he’d been punched in the gut. Then a tight smile crossed his face. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” he said. “Maybe we just keep some distance until the curse is broken.”

Paris nodded slowly. He pointed to the bed, then left the room. When he returned, he had a stack of towels to clean up the spilled puddle of blood on the floor. “Are you still hungry?”

Misha shook his head. “I’m fine for now,” he said. He gestured to the nightstand. “Have you heard from the Crown?”

“I…um…” He stared down at the crumpled, bloody cloths. “Please don’t be angry.”

“What did you do?”

There was no playful look, no gleeful admission that he had texted Ophelia Klein a picture of his bare ass. “Before the raid, I called them and told them you needed help,” he said.

“You what?” he spluttered.

“You heard me,” Paris said. “And I’m sorry to betray your trust, but I was scared for you. I told them you weren’t answering their calls because you were sedated. They’re on their way.”

“Fuck,” Misha swore. Anguish tore at him. “Paris, they’re going to take me away. They’re going to think I’ve gone rogue.”

Paris shook his head. “I’ll tell them the truth. This looks better than you dodging their calls.”

“You don’t know the first thing about it,” Misha protested, cheeks burning hot. If being drugged didn’t confirm it, now it was painfully clear that Paris thought he was weak and foolish.

“Are they really going to punish you for doing exactly what they sent you to do?”

“This is going to prove to them that my magic is unstable, and that they can’t trust me to be on my own anymore,” Misha said.

The other man’s brow furrowed. “You told me your condition could kill you. What the hell would you have me do? Watch you explode your own brain and then shrug my shoulders like it doesn’t fucking matter?”

“No, but you didn’t have to sell me out,” Misha said.

“You already told your mentor what was going on!” Paris protested, launching to his feet to pace in tight circles.

“I didn’t tell her how bad it was.” Misha grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stared at that incriminating Missed Call (12), debating if he could salvage the situation.

Paris grabbed the phone from him and said, “That was your mistake. I called for help because I care about you. If you haven’t already, you are going to quickly learn that I am capable of difficult things. I can handle your anger. What I can’t handle is watching you kill yourself and know that I could have intervened.”

It was hard to maintain an intimidating glare at Paris when Misha could see shadow oozing across the walls like choking vines. He closed his eyes and said, “I suppose it’s done, isn’t it?”

“It’s done,” Paris said.

“Then I’ll deal with the mess when it arrives. At the moment, the walls are coming to life, so I need something stronger than what you gave me. Can you help me in my lab?”

“Anything you need,” Paris said.

Anything.

There were people in this world who offered loyalty and support, and perhaps meant it so long as it caused them no real hardship or inconvenience. Paris Rossignol meant it. If Misha had told him he needed for Paris to flay the skin from his own back and walk over hot coals, there was no doubt in his mind that Paris would do it.

Even so, part of him wanted to tell Paris to go fuck himself. His intentions may have been good, but he had just ruined Misha’s future. Their future.

And still, the thought of sending him away broke Misha’s heart. All he wanted was to be close. Everything was better when Paris was near.

After a brief detour to the bathroom for a shower, during which Paris remained regrettably far away, they headed to Misha’s workshop. Paris surveyed the space nervously, then glanced back. “You trust me in here?”

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