Page 20 of The Rogue's Curse

But the rest of them had a sanctuary. Time’s never-ending march gave them an escape. When the sun rose, they went to sleep and left it all behind for a few hours of oblivion. They woke refreshed, carrying less than they had taken to bed.

Not Paris. He had been constantly awake and aware for most of the last century and a half, doing everything in his power not to fall asleep. He had no respite, no chance for his mind to simply stop whirling, not one damned second to metaphorically breathe and fall into unawareness. The rare time that he dozed off was accidental, like today.

The last thing he remembered was the words on the page swimming as he wondered what kind of whiskey he might buy for Misha Volkov, and some idiot switch in his brain had told him close your eyes and imagine it.

And he had; he’d imagined himself charming the pants right off the Russian vampire, who would be adorably flustered and trip over his words, and Paris Rossignol would have yet another confirmation that he was a charming bastard who could figure anyone out. Then fatigue fucked him over, and a lovely fantasy slipped into a dangerous dream.

He shouldn’t have taken the risk. Years ago, before he’d given up entirely on sleep, he’d realized he could take some control in his dreams. This time, he could have woken himself up before he got hurt, but that scent, that call… He had to know.

A warm ache pulsed in his groin as he remembered the way Misha’s hand had curled into his hair as he swallowed him down, then simply stroked his cheek. That lovely quiet, that true rest, was indescribable.

The kiss may have been a dream, but it hadn’t been a dream when Misha noticed his curse. At first, Paris had been furious at the invasive comment; Shoshanna was the only other person who’d seen it, rather than heard of it. It felt like he’d seen Paris naked and sick.

But his anger didn’t last long; he nearly fell on his ass when Misha offered to help, because his foolish, idiot, infatuated mind had thought, I know how you can help.

Surely, that was where the dream had come from. He’d been thinking about Volkov for hours, which had naturally pulled him right into the dream. It was stupid, wishful thinking that would get him nowhere. There was no way in hell fate had just thrown him a bone in the form of a stupidly hot Russian vampire.

You cannot hit on the goddamned Sanguine Crown blood witch, he scolded himself. There was a good chance Misha Volkov would ultimately decide that it would be better for the world at large to kill all of them and clean up the mess entirely. And even if Misha decided that he was fully on Team Durendal, Paris needed to focus. He could not afford to slip up again with Carrigan Shea doing his best to overrun the city with vampires.

He rose and began his Sisyphean routine of patrolling the halls, pausing at each door and noting the scents of his loved ones. After checking on the inner circle, he took an umbrella and hurried across the campus to Building Three to check their younger vampires. One by one, he went to each occupied room, then verified on Olivia’s daily-updated roster that everyone was accounted for. Everyone from Julian to their newest vampire got his attention.

Satisfied that all his little fanged ducklings were where they belonged, he headed to his office and paced. That damned dream was still in his head, and he finally let out a growl of frustration and texted Dani Pierce with a shopping list. She was always happy to run errands for the court, especially with a generous tip and permission to buy herself something with Paris’s credit card. She promised to deliver before four o’clock.

Checking his email yielded only frustration. He’d been pressuring Jonas Wynn to find Armina Voss, but he’d had no luck. The hunter’s previous communications with the witch had been arranged through the Shieldsmen. And after siding with his vampire daughter and aiding the remains of Eduardo Alazan’s court, Jonas Wynn had forsaken any claim he once had to be in the inner circle of the Shieldsmen. Kristina had shared her access to all the Shieldsmen databases as well as her personal files, but Armina’s information wasn’t in them. Furthermore, what little access they’d had had been cut off a week after Jack Eslinger found out Kristina had been turned.

All their lives were a ticking time bomb. The second hand of the doomsday clock pointed directly at Carrigan Shea, but they had other troubles. Having a few former Shieldsmen as allies didn’t change the fact that vampire hunters knew where they were and wanted their heads. And it was only a matter of time before Julian’s cursed bride found him again. He shuddered to think what would happen when she came for him this time.

But he could not solve all the world’s problems at once. That would send him into a state of paralysis, and no one would be better for it.

Their number one problem was Carrigan Shea. There had always been vampires who hated rules, but the courts had historically been smart enough to keep them on a tight leash or kill them off to preserve the community. Hell, Eduardo had killed off a few of their own when Paris was a younger vampire.

Instead of admonishing the criminals, Shea had emboldened them and gathered enough of them that they were a genuine threat. And because he gave them exactly what they wanted, they would continue to follow him.It was one thing to demand that your followers show restraint; Shea emboldened them to engage in their worst instincts.

Furthermore, Shea was winning. Even though Sasha and Kristina had escaped, Shea’s court had seen Kristina Arensberg broken and turned into a vampire against her will, a decisive blow to the Shieldsmen. Then Eduardo Alazan had abandoned his castle and fled the city. Destroying the last of the Auberon strongholds had effectively given Shea dominion over Atlanta.

There was only one advantage Paris could see his people having. To the best of their knowledge, the court was a cult of personality centered around Carrigan Shea, rather than a close-knit family like theirs. If Shea fell, the others would likely scatter. And if his Covenant was broken by his death, his followers would be badly distressed and weakened, long enough to begin to pick them off.

But first they had to get to Shea. The Constitution Building was back under construction, but Shea wasn’t there.Wherever he’d gone, they had to assume that Shea would double his security and take every precaution to ensure he wasn’t caught with his pants down again.

Misha seemed utterly confident that he could solve their problem, and Paris prayed he could. It grated his ego to have a newcomer sweep in and declare his ability to solve such a huge, thorny problem, but if it meant protecting his people, then so be it. He’d once told Shoshanna York there was no way she’d break Lucia’s curse, and here they were, eating crow every damn day.

He headed into Olivia’s office and found her poring over one of her monitors with a faint blue glow reflected on her face. Her eyes cut to him, and her instinctive smile quickly fell into a frown. “What happened to your face?”

“Bad dream,” he said.

“Your curse?” she asked.

He nodded. She drew a sharp breath, as if she was going to tell him his business. Then her brow furrowed, and she simply said, “I could clean it up for you if you want.”

“I can handle it,” he said gently. It was a nice gesture, but he didn’t need her to see his weakness so closely. “Did you get in touch with the administrators at the Mausoleum?”

Her expression faltered. “Yes. They didn’t want to talk to me, but I contacted Ophelia Klein and she made a call. She’s the scariest nice person I’ve ever talked to,” she said appreciatively. “When I called back, they were much more agreeable. They said they’ll allow two visitors, so I told them you’d be there the night after tomorrow. I didn’t want you to have to fly during the day to make it by tomorrow night. Does that work?”

“We’ll make it work. I’ll let Misha know,” he said.

“Do you really think he can find Shea?” she asked.

“If he can’t, we’re fucked,” Paris said. “So we’re going to be hopeful.”

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