Page 151 of The Rogue's Curse

“All right. I’m sorry I’m in trouble,” he admitted.

She cracked a faint smile, which surprised him. “I think you are young and idealistic, and you have a great many hard lessons left to learn. But I respect your integrity. I also think that if you ever bore responsibility for the bloody crimes that brought you to our attention, your debt is paid,” she said. He didn’t dare speak, for fear she might change her mind. “However, ancient rules govern the blood witches. You must either be under their purview or mine. There is no third option.”

“I understand,” he said.

“As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, you followed orders admirably in dealing with the situation in Atlanta,” she continued, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“I will allow you to move your center of operations to Atlanta, with the understanding that your primary loyalty is to the Sanguine Crown over the Durendal court. Acceptable?”

“Yes,” Misha said. “But if you ask me to act against Paris, I will not.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Provided that he doesn’t act against me—”

“I have no intentions of doing so,” Paris interrupted.

“I see no reason you cannot make this move,” Lady Demirci continued. Before he could launch off his seat to dance with excitement, she held up a hand. “We will revisit this issue if this proves problematic. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I understand. Thank you very much.”

Paris stared at Misha, then back at Lady Demirci. “To be clear, you’re not going to have me killed?”

“Dear man, if I wanted you dead, I’d do it with my bare hands,” she said primly. Without breaking that blistering gaze, Lady Demirci tilted her head. “Ophelia, I’ll take that drink now.”

The door swung open, and Ophelia crept in with three glasses and a bottle of Scotch. The ancient vampire gestured broadly to Misha and Paris, waiting for her assistant to pour them each a glass before she continued.

Her lips curved ever so slightly as she raised her glass. “Our lives are long. Too long to spend in solitude. Congratulations on your connection.” She sipped her drink, then said, “I spoke to some of my family about this Shea fellow.” Her family was the oldest court in the world; the first of the vampire courts, created by a powerful blood bond before even the first Covenants. “One of our little sisters recognized his face. Have you heard of the Vespillo court?”

Paris shook his head.

She tsked, then gestured with the glass. “An old court in Italy. A clan of fools and barbarians who could not accept that a quiet life was a long life,” she said, shaking her head. “They were wiped out while living in Rome in the sixteenth century, well before either of you were born. Mr. Shea was part of the court then.”

“So he was very old,” Paris said. “I’m still not sure…” His voice trailed off, his face going pale as Demirci leaned forward.

“Let me finish. Do you know who wiped out the Vespillo?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “A young group of upstarts looking to curry favor with the Mazhar. I believe they ultimately settled on the name Auberon. Oh yes, the Blade of Auberon. And as I hear it, their young Scythe, Eduardo Alazan, was quite the capable warrior, removing heads left and right. Our little sister, Gabriela, fled the bloodbath in search of a court that would offer safety, begging forgiveness for the wrongs of her clan. She said that Shea was one of the warriors serving their fallen king and theorized that he must have survived.”

“And that’s why he wanted Eduardo so badly,” Paris murmured.

“His name was Carmine then. As far as Gabriela remembered, he was a quiet man of no real importance in the court,” Demirci said. “And with no records from such a bygone era, no one made a connection until I was speaking with my court.”

Paris nodded and said, “Thank you for filling in the gaps.”

Her brows arched. “In the future, I would suggest ensuring that you leave no survivors. Dead men don’t seek revenge.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Paris said, still holding her gaze. With that, she leaned over to offer a toast. After clinking her glass against his, he backed away. “Lady Demirci, could I ask you an impertinent question?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Did you really fly all this way to scold us?”

Her smile broadened. “Before you called my office, I had already planned a trip to meet the Vasilievs to discuss the future of the Mausoleum. I wished to visit some old friends here in Chicago before traveling home,” she said. “This was convenient.”

“Might I ask about the Mausoleum?” he asked.

“My recommendation is to take no prisoners,” she said calmly. “Or keep them in-house. The Crown will no longer support long-term imprisonment, as it presents an unnecessary liability. We will continue to assist in tracking the other escaped prisoners, but they will be executed on sight.”

“Understood,” he said.

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