Page 73 of The Rogue's Curse

“Are you all right?”

And then, she did the unimaginable. She threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight his ribs ached. “I’m good now,” she said, laughing a little as she pulled back. “Go see him.”

In that quiet room, the air crackled with a dangerous, wild edge. His friend’s clean, pale skin was flushing all over, and his fingers twitched slightly. Dominic’s familiar scent was intensifying, as if his blood was heating and strengthening with each second.

Dominic’s eyes opened, and he turned to Paris. A weak smile curved his lips. “You look much better than the last time I saw you,” he said weakly. After weeks of silence, his voice was so quiet it was barely more than a whisper.

Each word threatened to yank Paris’s soul out through his throat, which was closing around a lump of emotion. He slowly approached and knelt at Dominic’s side. “Welcome back,” he said, his eyes stinging. “Thank God. I thought we lost you.”

“You’re not that lucky,” Dominic croaked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good now,” he managed.

“What about Shea?”

He laughed. “Not now. You need to let your lovely paramour dote on you, and I’ll fill you in later.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said.“You rest, and we’ll catch up over drinks tomorrow, all right? Trust me, there will be plenty of work for you to do. Enjoy the rest while you can.”

Dom wrinkled his nose ever so slightly, but he nodded. “Be careful.”

Paris pulled back, barely keeping his composure as he walked out. Rhys stood at the door, smiling brightly. He clapped Paris on the back and said, “Tell Mr. Volkov I said thanks. We really needed a win.”

“I’ll tell him,” Paris said. “How long do you think it’ll take for him to get back on his feet?”

“No telling. Knowing him, much sooner than I’d advise. But his body has been healed for a while; the problem was his brain. He might just need a day or two to loosen up after lying in bed so long,” Rhys said.

Paris nodded and excused himself, hurrying down the hall. As much as he wanted to fling himself at Dominic’s feet and beg his forgiveness, he couldn’t bear to be that close right now. The emotion of it all was too much. He was a raw nerve; something good was almost as disorienting as something catastrophic. It felt like a particularly cruel dream that would break apart at the seams any moment. He shoved his hand in his pocket, in search of that little notebook to bring him out of the nightmare. No age-rounded leather corners and frayed ribbon, only the smooth plastic case of his phone.

Not a dream.

He ran out of the building. Instinct took him toward Building Five, where Misha was working in his workshop. He could still detect the other man’s scent in the air, and it felt like a voice calling him home.

I want you to be happy. Maybe if he makes you happy, you could finally get some rest.

What if he could rest with Misha? What if there was finally an answer to the endless struggle? What if this was a sign that things were going to work out after all this time?

He burst through the door and found Misha in the open office, talking on the phone. Paris started to back away, but Misha shook his head, raised a finger, and said, “Rafi, I’ll call you later. Something important just came up. Yes. I promise I’m fine. Everything’s in control. Ciao.” When he set his phone aside, his eyes lit up and he asked, “Is he awake?”

“He’s awake, and he—” Words left him. All he could do was stare blankly at Misha. He was on the verge of falling apart.

Misha’s head cocked. “Are you all right? Be honest.”

“It’s just… I failed him, and—”

“Paris,” he said sternly. The other man clasped his cheeks gently and forced him to look in his eyes. “We discussed this. You didn’t fail him.”

“Thank you,” he choked out. “I can’t believe it worked.”

Before he could say anything else, Misha drew him in, wrapping him in an embrace that was so tight it was almost painful, but that feeling of being held was unimaginably comforting. “It’s all right,” Misha said quietly, his voice rumbling through Paris’s chest.

He let out a quiet cry as tears streamed from his eyes. His emotions were a mess; he was angry at himself, angry at Eduardo, angry at Shea; he was guilty and relieved and hopeful and regretful and so many other complicated things. He had no words that would make sense. It felt as if a dam had broken inside him, letting all this icy, poisonous mess finally flow free.He hadn’t allowed himself to do this in centuries.

Dominic was alive. He was still here.All was not yet lost.

Shame hit him as he realized the right hand of the court was currently weeping all over a Sanguine Crown investigator. He pulled back, but Misha caught his jaw before he could pull away entirely. “I’m sorry,” Paris said.

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