Page 45 of The Rogue's Curse

“Twenty-three,” Misha said.

“So that means you were probably turned in…the forties or fifties sometime?”

“That’s right,” Misha said.”1948.”

“Willingly?”

“Yes,” Misha said after a long pause. There were volumes in what he didn’t say, but Paris waited for the man to show himself. “Well, sort of. It’s a long story. I was born with some power but didn’t understand what it was. A few years after I was turned, I was apprehended by the Sanguine Crown. When they smelled the magic on me, they gave me into the care of Thanatos instead. They didn’t want me, but the magic gave them no choice.”

Paris frowned at him. “There’s a lot you’re not saying.”

Misha sighed. “That makes two of us.”

“Give me something,” Paris said. “You’ve seen my curse.”

For the first time, Misha looked unsure of himself. His flushed lips parted as if he was afraid to speak. In that moment, the brawny Russian vampire looked young and vulnerable.

Before he could speak, Paris held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me. You don’t owe me just because we got naked together.”

At that, Misha let out a weak laugh. “Thank you. I was turned by a vampire who ran afoul of the law. We were Untethered. And my tainted bloodline is not worthy of the unbroken lines of Thanatos.” His nose wrinkled in disdain.

“Snotty pricks,” Paris said.

Misha just chuckled. “They are who they are. And I don’t blame them.”

“I do. They’re fucking stupid if they didn’t want you,” Paris said. Misha’s eyes caught his. “I mean it. You are defined by your actions, not the person who made you.”

“Easy for you to say with a bloodline like yours,” Misha said. “Julian made you, yes?”

“Yes,” Paris said.

“And Eduardo made him, and Ariadne before that… You could trace your line back to the Mazhar,” Misha said.

“Technically, so could all of us,” Paris said. The Mazhar were the first court established, commonly held to be the first true vampires.“Someone had to make your Maker, after all.”

Misha laughed bitterly and said, “That’s not how they see it.”

“It’s not my place to tell everyone’s business, but at least three of the vampires in our court were turned under absolutely shit circumstances. You’ve met several of them,” Paris said. “No one in our court gives a damn or would ever judge them for it.”

“It’s not that big a deal, really. Once they confirmed I wasn’t going to go rogue, the blood witches of Thanatos trained me. Others can turn up their noses, but I have the power to back up my position,” Misha said.

Misha wasn’t the only one who saw straight through bullshit. His confident air didn’t hide the faint creases of tension around his amber eyes.

Paris nudged him. “And there’s no handsome vampire waiting for you to come home to London?”

“Not for a while,” Misha said. “I had a dhampir partner for four years when I lived in Oslo. He hated that I was gone so often, but we made it work as long as we could. He was just living a normal life, not affiliated with a court beyond occasionally visiting his mother with Prosdicimi. We’d never managed a proper trip together, and I finally managed enough time off for us to travel Europe for a month. A couple weeks into the trip, I made the mistake of visiting Saint Petersburg. I thought a day or two would be safe enough, especially with my magic to cover our scents. But apparently it didn’t work well enough, because a Rodzina hunter stumbled on us, attacked us, and I decided that was enough. I broke things off.”

“Bastards,” Paris grumbled. “Did he…did he survive?”

“He did,” Misha said slowly. “I check on him every once in a while. He’s married and seems to be much happier now.”

His words were carefully chosen, placed like glass trinkets on a shelf. A pang of sorrow gripped Paris, even as he thought, Good. I’ve got a chance.

“How are you not tied down?” Misha asked.

“Are you offering to tie me down?” Paris teased. “I’ve got two ties in my bag and an endless well of creativity.”

The other man laughed. “We’ll talk after you heal. Be serious.”

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