Page 33 of The Rogue's Curse

Karina pointed to her laptop, and he read the number aloud.

“I hope you’ll let Mr. Shea know how much I appreciate what he’s doing. I look forward to hearin’ from you.”

“You do not sound Southern,” she commented.

“I didn’t ask for a critique,” he said, laying his phone on the table between them.

They both stared intently at it. Surely, it couldn’t be this easy.

Karina cleared her throat. “Sir, perhaps—”

The phone buzzed across the plastic table. They both yelped. He snatched it and found only a text message from Jonas Wynn, who had replied to confirm that he would check on Diana Goodwin the following day.

“Thanks, Karina,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said quietly.

He headed downstairs to his office, but barely made it out of the stairwell before Julian’s gruff voice called out, “Paris. In here.”

It had been centuries since he was a little boy being scolded by his father, but the pit of dread forming in his stomach felt the very same. He paused at the other man’s office and stuck his head in. “Yes?”

“Tell me you’re not planning to sacrifice yourself to Carrigan Shea,” he said.

“She was fast,” he complained. “And no, I’m not.”

Planning was a strong word. Perhaps considering was more appropriate.

Julian’s dark brows knitted together in a frown. “I’m serious. If there’s a valid tactical strategy, let’s discuss it. But don’t do this alone.”

“Contrary to what everyone around me seems to think, I don’t have a death wish. I quite like my head where it is,” Paris said.

Julian raised his eyebrows. “I’ve known you a long time.”

“And you know I’m not reckless,” he said.

“You once told me while bleeding out to deliver you to your employer’s doorstep so they’d know you were a man of your word,” he said.

“That wasn’t reckless. It was resourceful. It wasn’t as if being more careful was going to close my femoral artery,” Paris retorted.

“I know you, and we’ve never been this outmatched. You’re on edge and—”

“I’m on edge because we’re outmatched. One of my dearest friends is comatose with shards of wood in his brain, and we are on the brink of losing everything,” he snapped. “And at every turn, I am being coddled like a fucking child! As if I can’t comprehend my own choices.”

Julian’s green eyes darkened to rich wine-red as he rose. “I asked you to do this because I trust you to have your head on straight. I know you want a fight, and I know you want this to end, but you can disconnect enough to see the big picture.”

“Not anymore, I can’t. I can’t disconnect from a goddamn thing anymore,” he said, throat tightening around a lump of ice.

“Are you—”

His entire being was a raw nerve, and he didn’t trust himself not to pick a fight with Julian. “I promise I won’t do anything with this until we’ve discussed it,” he said, gesturing with the phone. “I need to get back to work. Is there anything else?”

Paris felt Julian’s simmering anger through their newly formed Covenant. Julian was not only his Elder but his Maker, and could exert his will through those powerful blood bonds. If he wanted to push it, he could have ordered Paris to kneel, to bite out a promise to behave himself.

But instead, his old friend just shook his head. “No. I just want you to be cautious. That’s all.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said sharply. He stormed out of Julian’s office and back to his own. With his head down, he caught the tantalizing scent of Misha Volkov a split second before he saw him sitting on the edge of the desk.

His first instinct was god, he’s beautiful, but his immediate follow-up was not now. Misha had the bottle of whiskey in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

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