Page 24 of The Rogue's Curse

He cleared his throat. “Where are we going?”

“A few blocks that way,”Paris said, pointing off to his right. “We’ll enter from underground. Olivia’s intel showed movement on the external security cameras on the ground-level doors, as well as movement within the club.”

“How long has it been since you vacated the place?” he asked.

Paris glanced at him. “Two months, give or take a few days.”

“You just gave it up?”

“Much of the value of Infinity was its secrecy,” Paris said. “It’s hard to enjoy an evening of debauchery when you’re in the open for a bastard king who wants your head for his trophy wall. Keeping our people safe is more important than any building.” He let out a soft sigh. “No matter how familiar and cozy.”

Beyond the handsome face and chiseled shoulders, Misha was beginning to sense the shape of Paris’s morals and nobility, and he quite liked what he saw. Many vampires would have refused to leave their strongholds. They would have let their subordinates die for their pride, so they could cling to their territory with bloody hands. Perhaps some would see it as weak, but he liked that Paris and his colleagues—his family—valued each other over a building.

They walked in silence for a while, and he was startled when Paris broke the silence with quiet words in Russian. “In case they’re listening. My apologies for my shitty grammar in your lovely language,” he said. He nudged Misha’s side, then pointed ahead to a gleaming glass building nestled amidst several similar buildings. The architecture was elegant, but nothing extraordinary. “That’s it. We’ll make a pass in front, then go through the underground parking garage.”

Misha nodded. The thick stink of dark magic still emanated from him, but he smelled entirely human now. Though it was certainly a tactical advantage, Misha lamented the loss of that pleasant scent.

They strolled past casually, and he stole a quick glance, trying to memorize the details of the building without obviously casing it. A gate enclosed a courtyard just in front of the tinted glass edifice, but there were no people outside. At this distance, it was too hard to pick through the noise of the city to hear conversation inside. However, he smelled the distinct scent of vampires, as well as fresh human blood.

Following Paris closely, they walked around a few blocks and into a sloping ramp down into a parking garage. They crept past an empty security booth and climbed over the striped, black-and-yellow bar blocking the road. Thrumming fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over three cars inside. The smell of human blood was much stronger here, and beneath it he caught the distinct, wild scent of Untethered vampires.

Paris held up his hand in a stop motion. He took out his phone, swiped through photos, then showed him a picture of a woman’s neck with a distinct Covenant marking.

“This is Shea’s mark?” Misha asked quietly, noting the distinctive triangular pattern. Paris nodded, then put away his phone.

Together, they crept into the dimly lit building. The smell of unwashed bodies and human blood was stronger inside. A heavy security door was propped open, allowing them entrance into a concrete stairwell. Paris’s head swept around as he led Misha up the stairs.

Quiet voices were muffled through the walls; it sounded as if they were on the same level, but at least two rooms away. Misha held up one hand to stop Paris in his tracks, then cupped his ear. Low voices argued about going out to hunt for another human, since the scrawny one wasn’t looking too good. A woman complained that she didn’t want to get picked off like Louis, who must have been one of the Durendal’s recent kills.

Paris drew his gun and gestured to Misha. With his knife in one hand, Misha channeled a tiny pocket of magical energy into his other hand.

They emerged from the stairwell into a narrow hallway covered with dark plush carpet. The acrid scent of fear bit at his nose. Beneath the voices he heard a soft, quick heartbeat. He nudged Paris, then tapped his chest quickly.

Paris nodded. They stood on either side of a doorway into a large open room. The voices were clear here, still arguing about going out to hunt. Paris pointed down the hall, then to the left, then gave him an emphatic look. When Misha started to move down the hall, Paris nodded.

At the other end of the hall was another door into the same room. He watched as Paris quietly took a single bullet from his extra magazine, then tossed it through the first doorway. In a blur, he sprinted toward Misha.

Inside, the conversation stopped abruptly. The voices receded from Misha, going to investigate the source of the sound. Misha and Paris ran through their door, and he quickly surveyed the space.

Three vampires converged at the far end of the room. Gunfire rang out, and two of the vampires fell in twitching heaps.Several more leapt up from tables, while a muffled voice whimpered. A human male lay over the polished wooden bar, his pale arms marked with open bite wounds.

The room reeked of magic, though it was long faded. More gunshots rang out, nearly deafening Misha, but the other vampires dodged. Bullets slammed into wood furniture and concrete floor, kicking up shards of shattered concrete.

“I have a message for Carrigan Shea,” Paris bellowed, leaping onto a raised platform and then to a dusty grand piano. One of the vampires barreled for him, then fell back with a bullet exploding from the back of his head. Sweeping his gun in a broad arc, Paris asked, “Were any of you bastards turned by Shea?”

“Fuck you, Auberon,” a woman screeched. She flew at him, but Misha darted into her path and headed her off. Several brutal blows slammed into his ribs. She smelled wild and feral—Untethered—and she had the uncanny strength to back it up.

Misha swiped at her with his athame and released a burst of power into her. She shrieked and staggered back. Veins bulged on her forehead as she blurted, “What the…”

He slammed his elbow into the back of her neck, producing a satisfying crack as she fell on her face. Suddenly, a hand shoved at his collar, pushing him down on his knees. Panic swept over him, and he batted at the arm even as another gunshot rang out. Paris loomed over him, glaring down the barrel of a gun at a fallen vampire just feet away. “One ran for the lobby,” he said. “I’ll get the human.”

Misha followed Paris’s gesture, darting toward a set of heavy double doors that stood ajar. A male was running for the exit, leaping over the fallen bodies of his brethren. Magic still clung to the stone here, laid deep in the foundations, and for a split second, his control slipped. The power called to him, raging in his mind and bypassing his reason. He wanted to drink it up, to draw all that power into himself and wield it against his prey.

He lunged and caught the runner by the collar. The man shrieked, and they stumbled with the momentum. Misha’s vision went blurry, and the world around him faded into a tapestry of magic. His target pulsed with the crimson red of vampires, with brighter red threads forming a knot around his throat and radiating through his body.He was blood-bonded into a Covenant.

The man swung around on him, eyes wild and red. Misha took the hit to the chest and grabbed the man’s arm, then slammed him down onto the floor. Before the man could rise, Misha stomped on his back. The man let out one pitiful cry and flattened. Misha growled and examined the back of his neck.

The mark wasn’t Carrigan Shea’s.

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