Page 53 of The Rogue's Curse

You were supposed to protect him. All he could see was Rachel’s sad eyes and Dom’s serene face as he slept hour after hour, day after day.

He shook his head. “Keep your shit together, Phillippe,” he muttered. He couldn’t stop now, couldn’t do anything for Misha until they got somewhere safe. He gripped the steering wheel tight as they zipped down the narrow highway, carefully taking out his phone and saying, “Call Julian Alcott.”

“Calling Julian,” his phone chirped.

Two rings later, Julian answered. “How’s it—”

“We are absolutely fucked,” Paris said. “Put me on speaker and record everything.”

Julian was all business. “Thirty seconds so I can get someone else here.” There was a whooshing sound as wind whipped around the other man’s phone. “I’m here with Danielle.”

Of all people…

“Sorry, Dani, but you’re not going to want to hear this,” Paris said.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Lilah Whitlock and Kieran O’Brien escaped the Mausoleum,” Paris said.

“What the—” Dani said. There was a harsh shushing sound.

“I’m guessing Shea got to the staff. We met with one of the administrators, Allegra Roman. We think she drugged us, just enough to slow us down. When we went to interview Kieran, she locked us in with Niall Ross and Joanna Barragan. Someone released other prisoners, who seemed to be freshly fed. Lilah gave them orders to bring me and Misha to them alive, with a promise of joining Shea’s court,” he said.

“Jesus,” Julian said. “Are you two all right?”

“I’m on my feet. Misha’s head is still attached, but that’s all I can confirm,” Paris said, hoping his sheer terror didn’t leak into his words. “Assume Piotr and Natasha are in on it until you hear otherwise. Contact the Crown, and order the court to bunker down. I’m sure they’re headed back to Atlanta.”

“Do you know how many got out?”

“No idea,” Paris said. “We killed some, left a lot more incapacitated. Lilah is hurt, but Kieran ran out with her before I could finish her off. I’m sorry. If we were armed and prepared, it still would have been too much, but we were unarmed and—”

“It’s fine,” Julian interrupted. “Get somewhere safe. Assume everything is compromised and don’t go back to the same hotel. We’ll start making calls. Keep me updated.” He paused for a long while. “Are you going to be able to stay awake?”

“I’ve managed it for a hundred and ninety years, Julian. I think I can manage now,” he said irritably. Well, Kristina Arensberg might take issue with that claim, but Julian was discreet enough to let it go.

“Good,” Julian said. “Update me when you’re in a safe place.”

He gripped the steering wheel so hard it let out an ominous crack and dented under his fist. This was supposed to be an easy, brainless mission. Question Kieran, get the blood sample, and get the fuck out of there. Then he was supposed to go right back to that lovely hotel room and do his best to get Misha Volkov naked while they had a free night to enjoy themselves before flying back to Atlanta.

Instead, he had a blood-soaked blood witch in the backseat, no idea who they could trust, and a car that he suspected was riding on at least two flat tires. As he drove, he swore quietly under his breath, doing his best not to take out his rage by driving the car off the road.

He could have killed Lilah. He could have chased them down and ripped both their heads off. Misha probably would have been fine without him.

And what if he wasn’t? What if he’d left him behind and come back to find him dead? What if he’d lost someone else like he’d lost Dominic?

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk it. And now, whatever Lilah and Kieran did, he would have to deal with the knowledge that he could have stopped them.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Paris limped into a cheap motel room with Misha over his shoulder. He deposited him atop the rough floral comforter, then examined the witch.

Misha’s cheek was bruised, a split in his brow, but he didn’t look like he’d been too badly injured. But his arms were sliced open like he’d been crawling through razor wire. Both hands were gloved in red, his fingertips singed.His scent was entirely different than it had been, a smoky aroma that set Paris on edge.

Staring down at Misha, he was overcome with the urge to kiss his brow. Instead, he gently shook him. Misha’s eyes fluttered, and he looked up at Paris, then immediately tried to sit up. “Where— Are we—”

Thank God. He ignored the lump in his throat and pushed Misha back gently. “We’re safe. I just had to be sure you were alive.”

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