Page 64 of The Rogue's Curse

“Thank you, Edward,” Paris said warmly, gently squeezing the man’s shoulder. Under other circumstances, he might have slid his hand lower, providing a far more satisfying source of pleasure than a mere touch to the shoulder. But Misha had changed things. He wanted to touch no one else.

After flicking his tongue against Edward’s neck to find the lovely jugular vein beneath the skin, he sank his teeth in. The taste of his blood, infused with Misha’s magic, made Paris jolt in surprise and let out a muffled curse against the man’s bloody neck. The taste of it was unlike anything he’d ever had; if normal blood was a mild red wine, this was a rich, full-bodied bourbon.

Paris drank deep, and he realized that beneath that tantalizing taste of blood was Misha’s essence, a strange, warm sensation that had to come from his magic. He could feel it, as if Misha himself was touching his skin, filling his veins, running through him from head to toe. He bit deeper, feeling the tiny whimper of pain and ignoring it.

His mind swirled with flashes. He saw Misha on his knees, and then the hulking shadow that threatened to take him away. He protested, and then there was only pure red light, as if the whole world lay hidden beneath a filmy veil.

Something thumped his back, and he opened his eyes abruptly. Edward was limp in his arms, and he recoiled in disgust. “I didn’t mean—”

“He’s fine,” Misha said, pressing his fingers to the man’s neck. Paris mimicked the gesture, finding the human’s heart quick but steady. “Rhys is already waiting to take care of him.”

Guilt still clung to him, in equal parts due to leaving Edward in a stupor and for enjoying it so much he wanted to take another big drink. “How long will it take?” he asked.

Misha gave him a sidelong glance, then looked at his watch. “I’d say you have about ninety seconds to get in bed.” He gently laid Edward flat, then grabbed Paris’s arm. “Come on.”

“What the hell is going to happen?” he protested, letting Misha lead him without thinking. Before he realized it, they were standing outside Paris’s room on the first floor. When he shoved the door open, Misha froze.

“No bed?”

“I don’t sleep,” he reminded Misha.

He frowned and pointed to the cozy chair in the corner. “Then sit. You don’t need to be on your feet.”

“I’ll be f—” His vision spun violently as a swell of vertigo struck him. “Shit.” Holding Misha’s arm firmly, he planted his ass in the plush chair and closed his eyes. “Misha, if you knocked me out, you just fucked us both and not in the fun way.”

“I asked Shoshanna to come and stay with you during the day,” Misha replied. He knelt in front of Paris and snapped his fingers. “Look at me.”

He blinked rapidly and stared down at Misha’s warm eyes. Suddenly, there were six of those amber eyes staring up at him. “I don’t like this.”

“Color me surprised that you don’t like feeling out of control,” Misha said drily. “It’ll help. It’s probably going to make you feel like shit for a few hours while you heal. And when you’re healed…” He smiled.

“Remind me,” Paris said.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and Misha took both his hands, pressing them between his. “What was it? We’d take a walk together?”

“I think you suggested a rousing round of golf,” Paris said through gritted teeth.

“If by golf you mean fucking you speechless, then yes, that’s exactly it,” Misha said.

“That will be an impressive feat. I haven’t been speechless in two hundred years,” Paris said.

Misha brought Paris’s hand to his lips and said, “Have I failed to make good on any of my promises yet?”

“You haven’t tried to do anything that difficult yet,” Paris said.

Misha chuckled. “Watch me.” Perching on the edge of Paris’s desk chair, he cocked his head quizzically. “Tell me about how your curse manifests. Just in case.”

“Don’t worry about it. If I fall asleep, just slap me,” Paris said.

He laughed. “As tempting as that is, I’d like to know.”

Paris held his gaze. “My nightmares come to life. They attack me first. I’m told that you can see it happening, but not what’s doing it,” he said. Early on, he’d fallen asleep with Dominic watching over him. Dominic had gone sheet pale as he told Paris how he’d watched four neat slashes open his chest, as if some invisible beast was mauling him. “If it draws blood, it’ll manifest faster, or if I stay asleep too long, the same.”

“What should I do?”

“As I said, wake me up,” Paris said. “And if that doesn’t work, cut its head off once it’s solid.”

“What does it look like?” Misha chuckled. “I’m sorry. Magic is what I do, so I’m very curious.”

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