Page 7 of The Rogue's Curse

Her chipper, no-doubts-allowed voice never broke. “This is a huge job, and you have been specifically requested by Lady Demirci. There is a messy situation in Atlanta that needs to be cleaned up. Not only is it suited to your skill set, but it is well within the expectations of your position.”

He went quiet.“Understood.”

* * *

Two hours later, Misha buckled into a comfortable seat in business class, politely declining the offer of a snack and a nightcap. He suspected Lufthansa didn’t carry his preferred drink. A pretty flight attendant with a subtle Dutch accent said, “Mr. Ford, please call if you change your mind.”

“I will,” he said, forcing a smile.

At least Ophelia had bought him a decent ticket with some leg room. After takeoff, the other business-class passengers settled in with their sleep masks and shades drawn, which he greatly appreciated. In the quiet darkness, he set out his laptop and got to work parsing through the files Ophelia had sent ahead.

In her usual terse tone, her assignment explained that his objective was to assist in the eradication of a vampire named Carrigan Shea and his court, as they had been flaunting vampire law in Atlanta. The American city had long been the territory of Eduardo Alazan and his court, the Blade of Auberon. However, in an unusual move that had apparently been the topic of gossip while he was working in Germany, the Blade of Auberon had splintered. Alazan had left Atlanta, relinquishing his territory, while a fragment of his court remained to reclaim the city from Shea.

Vampire politics were not of interest to Misha Volkov. If vampires minded the law, he couldn’t care less about alliances and rivalries. With his tainted bloodline, no one wanted to lay claim to him, and thus he felt no loyalty to any court. Given his uncontrolled magic, he had been trained by the blood witches of Thanatos, but never welcomed by the court. After a few years of training, he was conscripted by the Sanguine Crown.

Still, this was intriguing. Eduardo Alazan and his court were one of the so-called Jewels of the Crown, one of the five powerful courts that comprised the ruling council. Alazan had been highly respected, with a reputation for discretion and integrity that Lady Demirci had openly praised. What had gone wrong?

Reading through the dense file, it seemed quite a lot had gone wrong. From illicit blood farming operations to the involvement of the Shieldsmen, the vampires of Atlanta had wreaked havoc on their city. In addition to her notes, several screenshots of news articles were attached, including several missing persons reports and a grim scene of a burning building.

Ever one for precision, Ophelia noted where she was speculating, though she conspicuously mentioned that her opinion was shared by Lady Demirci. She suggested a philosophical rift had occurred in Alazan’s court, and that the vampires remaining in Atlanta had refused to leave humans to suffer at the hands of Carrigan Shea.

In this regard, our goals align. Shea’s court has become sloppy, and that makes it our jurisdiction. -J.A.

And there it was. Perhaps it was more complicated than Valther and Marguerite, but this was a kill mission all the same. If Shea was making noise that drew attention, then he was violating vampire law. If Misha was being sent, then Lady Demirci had no intention of asking him nicely or offering a second chance.

According to Ophelia’s report, the fractured court had attempted to kill Shea several weeks ago. The Crown had sent them ammunition, as well as connected them with several blood banks to make up for the loss of their human donors.

While they had done significant damage to Shea’s property and killed some of his followers, they had ultimately failed to kill him. News stories reported a gas leak and subsequent fire, but even this was noisy enough to earn the Crown’s attention.

With a soft sigh, he began writing a list in his journal, noting the questions and ideas that sprang into his head. Perhaps he could squeeze in a day of rest before launching in to attack Shea and his court. And when this was done, he could finally go home and work on research that he’d neglected for months.

His watch buzzed with an alert. An unknown number had texted him.

Hello, Mr. Volkov. My name is Olivia Pierce, and Ms. Klein gave me your number. I wanted to let you know that we’ll have a car to pick you up at the airport. Please let me know if I can have anything specific ready for you when you arrive. Thank you!

He smiled, clearing the message. Dealing with a new court was always an interesting experience. Most vampires felt uneasy, at best, with an agent of the Crown in their midst. His arrival was a clear sign that something had gone wrong, which left him to navigate uncomfortable situations and endless subtext.

But that was the job, and until Lady Demirci decided that his penance was complete, that was what he had to look forward to. With a little chuckle, he swiped through the file to find out exactly who he would be dealing with when he landed in Atlanta.

3

The alarm on his watch rang out, as it did every seventeen minutes to ensure that he did not sleep. Much to his dismay, Paris did not wake from a nightmare to find that Carrigan Shea was merely a figment of an overactive subconscious, or perhaps the product of a bad mix of liquor and blood from a psychedelic-loving veravin.

This shitshow was painfully real. Reality was lined in dingy cinderblock illuminated by harsh fluorescent light, which reminded him of how far they had fallen.

Two months ago, he had lived in a luxuriously decorated condominium overlooking the glittering sprawl of Midtown Atlanta. He had a respectable wine collection, a closet full of tailored suits, and shelves full of neatly handwritten journals that included his observations about life, the occasional poem, and yes, some of his particularly memorable sexual exploits. His bed was fitted with lovely soft sheets and absurdly expensive pillows, even if they never had the privilege of cradling his body for more than half an hour.

Now it was all so much ash, an interesting story on the evening news about the luxury high-rise in Midtown that had burned down due to supposed bad wiring.

Bad wiring had a name: Carrigan Shea. The bastard had taken everything from him. He had colluded with the Shieldsmen and ravaged Infinity, their home away from home. Several trusted allies had betrayed them and attacked a gathering of the court, leaving Hugo la Cour dead and Jean-Michel Allaire a shade of himself. As a final fuck you, Shea’s people had burned 21 East to the ground, leaving half of the court homeless.

And their strike on Shea’s stronghold had failed. Sure, they’d breached the building cleanly, taken down dozens of his followers, and freed three human prisoners, but Shea himself had escaped. And Dominic was…

He was going to make it. That was what Paris had to believe so he didn’t fall to pieces and fail his court even further.

But he was rapidly losing what little hope he could scrape together each day. Reconstruction had already begun on the old Constitution Building, with only a smattering of news stories about a mysterious gas leak and fire at the recently restored building. Where Carrigan Shea and his court were holed up now was anyone’s guess.

As for the ragtag Durendal court, this merry band of fools that should have cut their losses and followed Eduardo to safety instead of signing up for a protracted slow-motion suicide, they had taken up residence in a compound that was once a group home for unfortunate children. Dingy cinderblock and ancient mildew made a sharp contrast to the rich luxury of Infinity and 21 East, but it was the best they could do on short notice.

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