Page 65 of The Rogue's Curse

“I noticed,” Paris said, his head swimming. “It depends on the dream. I can lucid dream to an extent, but I’m not great at it. Given the risks, practicing doesn’t seem wise. Usually I can wake myself up if I realize I’m dreaming.”

“Lucid dreaming…that’s interesting. Can you choose what creatures appear?”

“No, of course not,” Paris said. Then he cocked his head and pondered the question. “Well…I don’t know. In the past, if I’ve been troubled by something, it appeared in my dreams. But I’ve never tried to do it.”

“We should experiment. I could watch you and make sure nothing gets out of hand,” Misha said eagerly.

“No experiments. I like my face where it is, rather than peeled off and lying on the floor,” Paris said. Misha looked so disappointed, he actually felt guilty. “Maybe after all this is dealt with.”

Misha perked up. “It might even help me figure out how the curse works,” he said.

As if she’d sensed someone encroaching on her curse-breaking territory, his favorite human witch arrived to be his nursemaid. Wafting through the door ahead of her, Shoshanna’s scent was entwined with the scent of fresh coffee. With Misha’s potion rampaging through his veins, the aroma was utterly intoxicating.

Shoshanna walked in with an overflowing tote bag over her arm. Her warm gaze softened as she inspected him.

“You got roped into babysitting?” Paris teased.

“I had ulterior motives,” Shoshanna said, pulling out an aged leather journal. “I have a stack of old grimoires in French, and you’re going to help me translate.”

“Lucky me,” Paris muttered.

Misha smiled, then glanced at Shoshanna, looking almost shy. His tongue flicked at his lip, but he didn’t come in for a kiss. Instead, he nodded to Paris and said, “Get as much rest as you can. I’ll check on you before I sleep.”

14

After two days of working round the clock and sleeping in his dubiously sun-proofed workshop, Misha Volkov lifted a walnut-sized bloodstone from a metal rack in the center of a complex magical array. It thrummed to the touch, and merely brushing it with his mind brought Lilah Whitlock and that shock of blonde hair to his mind. Though the stone itself had no smell, her scent wafted in the air, her presence tugging at him.

Produced with meticulous measurement and endless patience, the bloodstone was an elegant piece of magic, an anchor he could use again and again unless a particularly powerful spell consumed it. Like a lens, the stone would let him focus on Lilah and anyone connected to her by blood.

After consulting his tablet, he put the finishing touches on a spell he dubbed the ‘looking glass.’ He’d already done most of the work while waiting for Lilah’s bloodstone to be complete, so it took only a few minutes longer. After tying threads of his own power to the mineral-infused bath, he held the bloodstone over the water. Tendrils of faint reddish light emitted from the perimeter of the water and suspendedthe stone over the smooth surface.

As he stared into the water, it began to glow with a red-tinged image. Staring intently, he focused his will on Lilah, directing his power through the stone like light through a prism. When his power felt settled, he closed his eyes. Something pulled him forward, and he was suddenly disconnected from his body. He felt like a bird on a string, yanked across the city in a dizzying rush.

His vision was muted gray, accented with brilliant pops of color, little bursts of magic here and there. The thread yanked him back and forth, growing brighter red as it pulled him along. Lilah’s scent became overwhelming, and he could practically taste her blood on his tongue.

Swirling dark clouds gathered on the horizon. From above, he could see a faintly glowing sign that read CNN and a muted blue wall nearby. His vision went dark, as if he’d run squarely into a void. Startled, he released his focus on Lilah and backed away. Eldritch green lightning crackled in the darkness, and he felt something pushing back at him. A foreign presence unfurled within that shadowy wall. Terror slithered through him.

He knew without a doubt that he didn’t want to see what was behind the wall. Or perhaps, more accurately, he didn’t want it to see him. Lilah’s thread pulled him toward the wall, her scent stronger than ever. She was there, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep going.

With fear distorting his vision, he released the thread suddenly. Heat washed over him as power snapped back at him, the backlash of carelessly handled power. When he dared to open his eyes, there was still lightning arcing across the still surface of the bowl. It slowly faded, but in his mind, he could see that ink-black void. The bloodstone plopped into the water, and the image disappeared in the ripples.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured. What if Shea had gotten his claws into a blood witch? It was one thing to deal with a strong vampire, but another entirely to deal with someone who had powers like his. Surely no one from the coven would deal with Carrigan Shea. His mouth went dry at the thought of someone like Frasier teaming up with Shea.

The thick smell of decay buffeted him, and he spun to see a shadow slithering along the floor. Voices whispered in his head, and he shrank back.There was nothing moving in the room, nothing that should have cast such a strange shadow.

What the hell?

He lurched to his feet and lunged at the shadow, but it dissipated before he reached it. The strangewhispers lingered for a few moments longer before fading into ominous silence.

Misha scrubbed at his eyes roughly. Using his senses to detect magic sometimes played with his mind. It was surely just a lingering manifestation of magic. As Rafi had taught him, he sat on the floor to tame the chaotic sensation of his magic, shaping it into the calming patterns until he felt stable. Once he was calm, he neutralized the spell, dumped out the bowl, and wrapped the bloodstone for safekeeping. After a quick visit to a restroom to wash his face and tame his messy hair, he hurried to the main building to find Julian Alcott.

Misha was no liar, not even to himself. He was far more eager to see Paris than Julian, and he took an unnecessarily long route through the building to pass the other man’s office. Paris’s scent was rich and warm, much stronger and healthier than it had been. With it came that distinct scent of curse magic, also stronger with more fuel to drive it. He peeked into the office, but Paris was gone. The sheer force of his disappointment startled him.

Instead, he headed on to find Julian, who was standing in the conference room with Olivia, listening thoughtfully to her explanation of some financial trails. Both stopped when he entered. Julian’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you have something?”

“I’ve got something,” Misha said. “Where’s Paris? I assume he’ll be in charge of any operations.”

Julian nodded. “He’s in the gym with Sasha. Rhys gave him the all-clear, and he’s eager to get himself broken again.”

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