Page 18 of The Rogue's Curse

“Nicolas!” he said. “Where is he? I can’t find him.” When his old friend didn’t answer, he repeated himself in French, but received no response.

Nikko looked down at Olivia, then shook his head. Wrapping his arm around her protectively, he lowered the torch, and she blew it out to plunge them all into darkness. The growling grew louder, and Paris bolted past a pair of skulls with blue and brown eyes.

At the next angular intersection of bone-lined tunnels, he ran into Sasha, who shook his head and shouted, “Nyet!” He turned away and ran toward the golden-haired woman down the tunnel. Just like Olivia and Nikko, they were swallowed by the shadows.

Why would they not help him? Why did they turn away? Would no one help him?

Desperation tore through him. He would die alone down here, forgotten and unseen. If not for the creature on his heels, he would have given up and waited until his skull joined the silent choir beneath the earth.

And then, by some miracle, he found hope.

There in the dark, in the musty dank catacombs, he caught the scent of something pure and warm, the scent of skin kissed by the sun, of sea air and new green growth. That was life, as vibrant as it had ever been, something so strange and new he barely recognized it.

It’s him!

Paris didn’t know who he was, but he was desperate to find the source of that scent. Round and round he went, through winding tunnels and circling back from dead ends. He crawled on his belly over rough stone, with jagged outcroppings ripping into his clothes.

When he emerged from a narrow passage, the ground rumbled beneath him. Bone fragments clattered to the floor, and he froze. The faintest whisper tickled at his ears, and he realized with a jolt of panic that he was dreaming.

“No, no. This is my dream,” he blurted, instinctively reaching for his pocket. “And I have to—”

Wake up, he should have said. But that incredible scent still called him, demanded that he answer.

He still had time. The nightmare would hurt him, but he could bear the pain to find out what was calling him. There was time before he got someone else hurt.

With that distant thunder growing louder, he pressed onward.

Bone-walled catacombs descended deeper and deeper into the earth until they became smooth-walled tunnels. A sloping stone passageway opened onto a dank room filled with narrow, tall cages. All were empty but the one in the center of the room, the source of that alluring scent. A faceless man was emptying blood from an old-fashioned syringe into a flask.

And there he was.

Inside the cage was a man with handsome dark hair matted against his skull, arms pulled painfully overhead by rough ropes. His bare chest was scarred and bloody, his skin corpse-pale. All at once, Paris was overwhelmed by fury and triumph that boiled into a dangerously explosive mix.

He is mine.

Paris lunged at the strange man and snapped his neck with one smooth motion. The blurry face resolved into Carrigan Shea’s face, dead-eyed and slack-jawed. He tossed the limp body aside and grabbed the rusted metal bars. Behind the cell door, an angel was trapped beneath the earth. Dirt and dried blood could not cover the luminous glow, nor dim the fire in his amber eyes. Misha stared at him, eyes wide with confusion.

“I found you,” Paris said.

“I know you,” Misha replied. “Paris.”

The entire world brightened when Misha said his name. It was thunder rolling across the sky and lightning illuminating the night.

“I found you,” he said again, afraid he would weep, afraid he would cry out, I thought I would die without you.

When he grabbed the cage door, the lock melted away. They hurt him. Who did this? he thought angrily as he reached up to unfasten the bloodied ropes that held the angel’s arms aloft. The rope disintegrated at his touch, and Misha stared down at him with wonder in his eyes.

“I’ve been looking for you for an eternity,” he said, taking Misha’s trembling hands. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s all right,” Misha said. “I was—”

He could not bear it any longer. He demanded a kiss, a proper payment for a princely rescue. That terrible, growling thing on his heels went silent, and the world folded around him, leaving nothing in the universe but Misha’s lips. Teeth scraped against his mouth. The sweetness of vampire venom washed over him in a euphoric rush. Thunder rolled. Scraping whispers rose into hungry growls.

Not yet. I can’t wake up yet, he thought desperately. He broke away and said, “This is no place for this. Come with me.”

The world swirled around him in a blur, the noise nearly unbearable. Then, perfect silence. When he opened his eyes, they sat in a lush rose garden, with a clear sky blanketed in stars. No shadows crept over the horizon.

They were safe for a while longer.

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