Page 81 of The Rogue's Curse

Checking his watch, he found that he’d woken four hours early. The sun still burned bright outside, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Had Shea’s witch tracked them somehow? Or was this Frasier’s influence, raging out of control after all this time?

Panic swept over him as he paced around the lab, staring at that incriminating ring. If the coven thought he was out of control, it would be catastrophic. They would take him away, and if they let him live, they’d have him locked up to ‘recuperate’ for years.

No more Paris.

They can fucking try, he thought. The harsh impact slammed into him, and he looked over his shoulder to ensure someone wasn’t there to hear his thoughts.

He immediately grabbed his phone, then ran through the building and into the blistering, blinding glare of the sun. Baring his teeth, he sprinted across the central yard and into the administrative building, straight to Paris’s office.

Empty.

He took a moment, gripping the doorframe. Calm down. You came here to get a handle on things, he reminded himself. He stepped into Olivia’s office, and her head snapped up with a look of surprise. “Uh, Misha? Why are you awake? And where is your shirt?”

He looked down, and thanked what few guardian angels dared to follow him that he’d put on pants before running out of the room. His chest was flushed angry red from the sun. “I need Shoshanna York to check the security here. And I need to speak to Paris,” he said.

Olivia nodded, her expression suddenly one of concern. “Is something wrong? Do I need to wake everyone and have them evacuate?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It may be nothing. Is Shoshanna here?”

“She’s out mapping that barrier like you asked, and Paris is with her,” Olivia said. “I can call her back here if it’s important. Should be about thirty minutes.”

“Do it,” he said. “Please.”

He retreated to his office and checked his messages. Ophelia had texted him an extensive update on the Crown’s investigation of the Mausoleum. Several of the escapees had been apprehended at the Amsterdam airport, and several more at LAX. Two had been apprehended and killed in Stamford after attacking a college student. They had apparently been rendered reckless by hunger, or perhaps by the same foolishness that had landed them in the Mausoleum in the first place.

There were dossiers on each of the remaining escapees. Another Crown investigator, Leah Grimaldi, had written up notes, speculating potential destinations for several of the vampires while noting that several others had been imprisoned so long that they might not be able to go far due to a lack of understanding modern transportation.

After skimming the dossiers, he tried to focus on his notes on the barrier. He could easily build bloodstones to absorb the energy if Shoshanna could untangle the spell. They would be much less tedious than Lilah’s, since their intention wasn’t so focused.

Something’s wrong with you, a calm voice whispered in the back of his mind.

No matter how much he forced himself to stare at the arcane symbols, writing neat bullet points and sketching shapes in the air, he couldn’t stop hearing that whispering snarl. Every few seconds, he found himself looking over his shoulder for another shadowy creature.

A quiet knock on the door startled him so badly he nearly screamed. “It’s just us,” Paris said.

The sound of his voice reassured Misha, but he was still on edge as he hurried to unlock the workroom. Shoshanna hurried in and gave his lab a sweeping stare. He didn’t bother to cover his tablet, just beckoned for them to come in.

“Something attacked me in my sleep,” Misha said, showing them the deep slash on his arm.

“Are you all right?” Paris asked. He took Misha’s hand and examined the wound closely.

“I’m fine, and I killed it, but I need Shoshanna to check her barrier. Possibly me, as well. I’m concerned that something marked me somehow when we passed Shea’s protective barrier,” Misha said.

Shoshanna nodded and said, “Let me have your hand.”

“Wait—” Paris blurted.

When Shoshanna took his hand, it felt as if she’d yanked barb wire through Misha’s chest. The voices rose to a discordant shout. Heat slithered through him with an unpleasant sensation like a snake writhing around his organs.

Paris’s voice broke through. “Shoshanna, please—” Then he let out a hitching gasp, and Misha squinted through his blurry vision to see Shoshanna holding Paris’s hand too.

Suddenly he was slammed back into reality, and he had to grip the edge of his workbench to stay on his feet. Her eyes were gleaming silver, her power thrumming in the air. She looked at Misha, to Paris, then back to Misha. “Paris, you two are—”

“Shoshanna!” Paris snapped.

“What is it?” Misha asked. “Why are you acting so strange?”

Her eyes went wide, but before she could speak, Paris put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re connected. I was going to tell you, and I was afraid.”

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