Page 147 of The Rogue's Curse

A quick shower turned into a lovely, lingering detour beneath lukewarm water. He didn’t care that they were in a dingy, aged washroom with bland industrial soap. He savored the feeling of Paris’s skin beneath his fingers, exploring those old scars, tracing his fine musculature with a delicate touch. His body was still marked with the evidence of his brutal battle with Shea, and Misha took his time to kiss and caress every fading bruise.

When they returned to the bedroom, Paris snuggled into his side, letting him wrap his arms around him. Then he sat bolt upright. “My watch, I need—” He gaped at Misha. “I don’t need it anymore, do I?”

Misha smiled at him. “You can sleep.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, though he made no move to wipe them away. “Holy shit,” he murmured. Paris cupped his face, fingers tracing the planes of his cheeks. “And you’re real.”

“I’m real,” Misha said. “Did you see something while Shoshanna was breaking the curse?”

Paris’s expression crumbled. “Can I tell you about it later? I’ll tell you everything, but I have been looking forward to this for so long,” he said.

“Sleeping with me?”

“Fucking you, and then sleeping with you,” Paris said wryly.

He laughed and said, “Me too.” He rose and turned off the light, then nestled into bed with Paris, who flopped back and forth before lying flat on his back.

“Misha, this is going to sound so stupid, but I haven’t slept in a bed in nearly two hundred years,” he said.“It feels wrong.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Misha said, holding back his emotions as Paris slid closer, finally rolling onto his side to let Misha snuggle into him. When he slung his arm over Paris’s waist, the other man let out a happy sigh. “How’s that?”

“I like it,” he said.

“Me too,” he murmured. He kissed the back of Paris’s neck and said, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Paris echoed, craning his neck for a kiss. “If… Promise me that you’ll be there when I wake up?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Misha said gently.

For all his usual bluster, Paris was quiet, and Misha realized he was asleep mere seconds later. His energy shifted, and their bond stabilized, becoming more like a steady stream than a pulsing heartbeat. They were where they belonged.

Perhaps the trappings would improve—a proper bedroom with a mattress built for two tall men and some decent sheets. But he wanted to go to sleep with this man in his arms for the rest of his life. He only prayed that the Crown would show mercy.

* * *

He woke to pounding on the door, and he realized that his arm had gone numb from the sleeping man using it as a pillow.

“Misha!” a female voice called. “Paris?”

Paris grumbled and rolled over, scrubbing at his eyes. He slung his arm over his face to look at his watch, then groaned. “What time is it?”

Misha grabbed a handful of the sheet and headed to the door. When he yanked it open, Olivia Pierce was on the other side with an unexpected guest. Ophelia Klein stood with her, looking furious. “Mr. Volkov,” she said archly. Her nostrils flared, and she peered around him.

“Misha, I told her to wait while I got you, and—”

“And I told Miss Pierce that I do not answer to her,” Ophelia said sweetly, the threat clear when she turned to glare at Olivia. “You will pack your things and come with us now.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, and my magic is stable,” he protested. “We can meet here.”

Paris hurried to his side, prompting a little huff from Ophelia. “I called you. I pushed him to help us, but he’s fine now.”

“And are you a blood witch of the Court of Thanatos?” Ophelia said.

“No, but—”

“Then that’s not for you to decide, is it, Mr. Rossignol?” Ophelia said. Her eyes scraped over them. “I’ll be clear. You pack your things and come with us, or a strike team drags you out.”

“Over my—”

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