Page 148 of The Rogue's Curse

Misha put up his hand to stop Paris from getting himself killed. “Can we have time to pack?”

“We?”

How easily it had slipped out. Before he could correct himself, Paris said, “That’s right. If you’re going to interrogate him, then I want to be there. I pushed him to use his power, so I bear responsibility, too.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. You have one hour to pack. Lady Demirci’s plane is waiting.”

* * *

Two hours later, they were taking off from a private runway on one of the Crown’s private planes. The fact that they had sent a plane to fit their own schedule said that Misha Volkov might be in serious trouble. Paris, in a remarkable show of restraint, had kept his mouth shut. In all the turmoil of the last week, Misha had been deprived of the opportunity to appreciate his lover’s raw sex appeal. Now, instead of dark tactical gear, his soulmate wore a tailored suit with a charcoal gray shirt unbuttoned at his throat. Clean shaven, hair neatly styled, he was one of the most beautiful creatures Misha Volkov had ever laid eyes on.

He was also unarmed and clearly spoiling for a fight on Misha’s behalf. Misha appreciated it, but he feared what the Crown might do to him. Eradicating the Durendal vampires had always been on the table, and the Crown’s upper echelon would think nothing of eliminating both Misha and Paris to tie off loose ends. It would take one stray comment for Paris to fall on the wrong side of Lady Demirci.

In true Ophelia fashion, she spent the trip working. During the initial ascent, she huffed about Misha being out of communication, but eventually was appeased when Paris offered to give her thorough details about their operation and all they’d managed to put together about Carrigan Shea. He was patient, ignoring her pointed barbs that seemed designed to anger him.

Meanwhile, Misha focused inward. His vigorous romp with Paris had reawakened the spark of his magic. It was no longer unsteady as it had been days ago, threatening to flare out of control. It felt solid and strong, like it had been anchored to Paris.

If he had to defend them with his magic, he could do it. Never mind that Lady Demirci would be surrounded by a dozen bodyguards who could snap him in half for glancing askance at her. If they laid a finger on Paris, he would make them regret it.

They landed in Chicago, where a car waited to drive them into the city. Settling into the backseat, Misha leaned over and said, “Are you okay?”

Paris smiled and said in Russian, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

From the front, Ophelia piped up in moderately acceptable Russian, “I speak Russian. Just speak in English.”

A thirty-minute ride brought them to a downtown hotel, where two dhampir guards waited at the curb. They closed in on either side of Misha and Paris, escorting them into the luxurious hotel. Once inside, Ophelia glanced at her watch and said, “Travis and Luke will escort you upstairs, where you will wait to be seen.”

Misha bristled, but Paris just nodded, following along amiably. Seeing him so calm and agreeable unsettled Misha. He had seen what could hide behind the stone wall of Paris’s bland expression, and there was an equal chance that he was going to toss both dhampir down an elevator shaft as there was that he would behave himself.

They rode up the elevator to a large suite. After stepping inside, one of the dhampir drew a gun and leveled it. “Hands up,” he said.

Paris glanced at Misha, fire glinting in his eyes. “Why?” he asked mildly.

“Weapons check,” the man said, his speech heavily accented. Paris slowly put up his hands, remaining still while the other dhampir patted him down in a manner that verged on indecent. He calmly adjusted his coat while Misha was patted down, though he watched the bodyguards closely the entire time.

“They’re clean,” the man said.

One of the dhampir stayed inside, while the other stood guard outside the door.

He and Paris sat on the large couch in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Paris spoke. “What are we dealing with here? I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

“I really don’t know. If it comes to it, I’ll go with them. Maybe they’ll make me do probation or something,” Misha said weakly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do,” Paris said. “You were in danger.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I had a long time to think about it while you were recovering. Just keep your cool, and we’ll see what happens.”

The door swung open again, and Misha smelled her before he saw her. Even Paris’s head snapped up as the scent of an ancient, powerful vampire filled the room. Misha surged to his feet instinctively, bowing his head as Lady Zehra Demirci, head of the Sanguine Crown, one of the oldest vampires in the world, and leader of the first vampire court, strolled into the room. Her petite frame and youthful expression didn’t match her age, which gave her a presence that billowed through the room like smoke.

“Lady Demirci,” Misha said politely, bowing at the waist. He glanced over and saw that Paris had followed suit.

“Have a seat,” she said sharply. Her clothing was casual, but he would never make the mistake of thinking that she was a casual woman.Three bodyguards fanned out behind her, staring intently at Misha and Paris.

At the center of the triad he saw a familiar face: Rafaela Amato, the woman who had been his mentor in those volatile early days. She was probably more familiar with Misha’s power than he was, and she was more than capable of overpowering him. Her kohl-lined eyes swept over him, and her mouth tugged into the ghost of a frown before she went serious again.

He cleared his throat and said, “Ma’am, I—”

Lady Demirci’s eyes snapped to him, and he felt the impact like a punch. “I did not ask for you to speak,” she said. Her eyes slid to Paris. “Do you know who I am?”

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