Page 91 of The Rogue's Curse

She stared at him with a cold emptiness in her eyes and didn’t speak.

He reached into his pocket, took out a needle, and held it in front of her face. The sickly scent of powerful wood poison filled the air. “You being a stubborn asshole isn’t going to help,” he said. “I’m going to test this if you don’t give me a yes or no. Can you talk?”

She flinched slightly, but still didn’t speak. Paris glanced back and said, “Sorry you have to see this,” then stabbed the needle into her neck. The woman gasped, then writhed against the bindings.

“Stop!” she bit out.

“Ah, she can talk,” he said.

With her eyes squeezed shut, she squirmed again and screamed, “Carrigan!”

Anyone else might have missed it, but Misha could smell the shift in the air. Her blood resonated, like someone had plucked a harp string. The smell of her blood bonds, of Shea’s blood, was so powerful it nearly bowled him over. Could she call him here somehow?

“Misha,” Paris said sharply.

The woman’s head snapped up, and she let out a manic laugh. “He’s going to kill all of you,” she said.

“Tell him to come find me,” Paris snarled. “I’ve got something for him.”

Misha drew his blade, then grimly grabbed the woman’s hair and forced her head down. Several quick strokes produced the aletheia sigil, which he ignited with a spark of his power. Georgina shrieked, but Misha drove the blade into the back of her neck.

His power clashed with her will in a fiery reaction. She was far stronger than poor Untethered David had been. Her resistance felt like hot lashes against his mind. Flickers of shadow flashed across his vision, but when he opened his eyes, there was nothing but the dingy library full of vampires.

“Where exactly is Carrigan Shea right now?” Misha asked.

Georgina bit her lip, but a low rumble echoed in her chest.

Misha sighed. “I’m going to be clear. This doesn’t have to be as unpleasant as you’re trying to make it,” he said. He released a spark of energy through the connection, and she let out a pitiful moan. “I’m going to get it from you, and I don’t particularly enjoy causing pain.”

Well, for Shea, he might make an exception. In addition to killing countless innocents in Atlanta, he’d indirectly done his best to have Misha and Paris killed in the Mausoleum.Causing that bastard pain would be justifiable, if not an act of righteousness.

Misha’s head swam with the effort of compelling Georgina, but he pulled hard on the ethereal thread until she cried out and said, “Right now, Underground Atlanta. We’re rebuilding the Constitution Building as fast as we can.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. “Tell me about the spell surrounding the area. Do you have a witch working for you?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking. She shook her head violently, but Misha held the blade firmly even as it scraped against bone. “I’m sorry,” she wept. “Please help me.”

“Shea’s not going to help you,” Paris said. “He let two of his most loyal followers rot in prison for months.”

Georgina spared him a strange smile. “Did he? Or did he bide his time and break them out when it would be most advantageous?”

“Tell me about the witch,” Misha said. “Is she a vampire or human?”

Georgina shook her head. “Dhampir. She’s a N-N-Night Weaver.”

“Is it Armina Voss?” Paris asked, launching off the library table.

Georgina glared at him. “Fuck you.”

Misha yanked hard enough on the magical thread to send a spark up his spine. Georgina shrieked and tried to get away, but there was no escaping. “Watch your mouth,” he said. “Who’s the Night Weaver?”

“Her name is Lux,” Georgina said. “She said we have a common enemy.”

“The Auberon, I assume,” Paris said.

“That’s right. She built the spell. I don’t know exactly how it works,” Georgina said. Before Misha could pull the thread again, her head whipped around. “I swear I don’t know.”

“And what happens when someone crosses it?” he asked.

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