Page 138 of The Rogue's Curse

“Thank you,” he said.“And I’m sorry that I shouted at you.”

“It’s all right. If we’re supposed to be soulmates forever, you’re going to find plenty of opportunities to shout at me. I’m prone to misbehaving,” he said. Then he bent to kiss Misha’s cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

* * *

When a firm hand shook him, his eyes snapped open, and he muttered, “Just dozed off.” Then he sat up, nearly fell back from a wave of dizziness, and met Paris’s eyes. “Did I sleep?”

“For two hours,” Paris said. “Shoshanna’s home.”

Nervous energy swept over him as he got up, still holding Paris’s shoulder for balance. He’d probably made the pagos too strong, and if he were human, he might have been concerned about long-term damage. His vision was still blurry and discolored, but his magic was dull, barely a prick of heat in his chest. Holding Paris’s hand awakened it, and by the time they reached Shoshanna’s room in Building Four, the pulsing had grown into a painful throbbing.

The room they had used before had been cleaned, with the spell freshly drawn. It seemed that Paris had let him rest until Shoshanna was ready.While nothing could truly dampen her loveliness, poor Shoshanna looked haggard as she trudged into the workshop, dark circlesringing her warm eyes. The smell of coffee billowed through the room as she set down a large white cup. Her eyes scraped over Paris. “You look rough.”

“I look handsome as always,” he said.

She just rolled her eyes, but he took her hand gently and said, “Are you all right? How’s your brother?”

“I’m okay,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Elijah is stable. Allie’s blood turned it around, and we’re hoping there wasn’t any lasting damage to his organs. My mother wouldn’t come out and say it, but she thinks it’s my fault that he got attacked. And I’m not sure she’s wrong.”

“She’s wrong,” Paris said hotly. “You didn’t hurt him.”

“But someone probably hurt him to get to me,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Alistair stayed there to protect them just in case. I just wish they hadn’t brought my family into this.” When she tried to speak again, her breath hitched, and she scrubbed furiously at her eyes. “God, I can’t stop.”

“Just take a moment,” Paris said warmly, opening his arms. She stared up at him, then let him embrace her. He spoke quietly in French, and something seemed to move her as she let out a soft cry into his chest.

It warmed Misha’s heart to see the way his mate opened up; the thick stone walls were still there, but he was learning that certain people had the keys, or perhaps secret passages to find their way closer. And for the hundredth time since he had walked into this most unexpected place, he wanted to be a part of the Durendal family. It was no longer a vague yearning to be a part of something like this; he wanted to be here, in this place, with these particular people. Flawed, messy, imperfect and all.

And the memory of what Paris had done struck him just as hard, leaving him reeling. There was a good chance that the Crown would take him away forever. He had gotten a glimpse of what it was to be truly loved, and he might lose it all.

Paris gently tucked a curl behind the woman’s ear, kissed her forehead, and said, “Are you ready to uncurse us?”

With a little laugh, she swiped at her teary eyes and said, “Yes. I’m ready.” But her brow furrowed as she turned to Misha. “I’ve been thinking through this nonstop since we tried it the first time, and I think I’ve got a handle on protecting myself from your power.”

“That’s good,” he said cautiously.

“But your power is entwined with you…with your aura, or however you look at it,” she said. “And the curse is tangled into that. There’s a chance that when I break the curse, I break your magic, too. All the work you did over the last few days has got it so tangled together…” Her eyes met his. “I’m sorry. I’m going to do my best, but you may come out of this with no magic left.”

“You’ll be able to do it,” Paris said. “You’re very clever.”

She frowned at him. “I am very clever, but that doesn’t mean I’m perfect. This is different than the others thus far. No one else had power like this.”

A chill ran down his spine. His magic was the only thing that had ever made him special. It had brought him trouble, as surely Beckett Frasier would have never crossed his path if not for that, but it had also brought him power and prestige. The Crown would have never spared him a second glance if not for his power.

Then again, his power was the source of so many of his troubles. Would it be so bad to lose the storm cloud that hung over his future?

Paris stared at him intently, as if waiting to see how he would respond. Paris, who would walk through fire and tear the stars from the sky to light his way.

“I don’t care about the magic,” Misha said. “Break the curse. Make sure he’s safe.”

29

Paris still bore the wounds of fighting Carrigan Shea to the death for the second time, but he was far more frightened now, watching Shoshanna bind his hand to Misha’s with a red cord that smelled of sage and smoke. He didn’t care about the magic, but he wanted Misha to be himself after this was done. To think that his curse could steal something from Misha that he treasured… It wasn’t fair.

He met Shoshanna’s eyes. “You get him out no matter what,” he said in French.

Her eyes narrowed, and she responded in English, “Stop with the self-sacrificing bullshit. You two are cut from the same macho cloth.”

Misha had already drunk another dose of the odd-smelling pagos, and he leaned heavily on Paris. Safira and Dominic stood in the corners of the room to watch. Apparently, Alistair had been beside himself about not being near his mate and had called them to keep watch over her. He couldn’t judge his old friend; he understood the madness of love now, perhaps far better than ever before. It was one thing to care for someone; he cared for Dominic and Alistair and Shoshanna, and would have walked through molten lava for any one of them.

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