Page 98 of The Rogue's Curse

Rhys frowned at him. “He has an advanced form of lymphoma. Extremely aggressive, and it’s spread all over,” he said. “I haven’t called him, but Dr. Lee said she’d be surprised if he lives out the year.” His warm eyes were filled with concern. “I think we should turn him. The poor lad’s traumatized to hell, and now I’ve got to tell him he’s going to die. Bloody healthcare system won’t take care of him, that’s for sure.”

“We can’t just turn everyone,” he said.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Our kind hurt him.”

“We saved him,” Paris said sharply.

Rhys put up his hands in self-defense. “He already knows about vampires. And if his choices are dying young or becoming one of us…at the very least I think you should give him the option.”

Paris sighed. “Bring him in, and we’ll talk to him,” he said. They could just turn everyone into a vampire. That would solve all their problems, at least until they all starved to death.

He left Rhys, trudging to Dominic’s room. He was surprised to find Dom on his hands and knees on the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling at his side.

Dom’s head snapped up, and he smiled. “After three weeks on my back, I am feeling every single second of my three hundred years.” He rose, and to Paris’s surprise, came in for a hug. His arms were as strong as ever as they closed Paris in. It was so different; when he’d carried Dom out of Shea’s stronghold, his friend had been so much dead weight, his blood soaking into Paris’s clothes, filling his entire being with the accusatory scent of death. And now, here he stood, alive as ever. No longer reeking of blood, but the fresh, assuring scent of the man he’d known for centuries.

His brother was still here, thank the gods.

When he pulled away, he gave Dominic a questioning look. “Is everything all right?”

“You tell me,” he said mildly. “When I woke up, you ran out of here like your ass was on fire. I would have expected some snarky remarks about my hair or lack of style while bedridden. I asked Rachel, and she told me things had been tense between you two.”

“Well, she was under a lot of stress,” Paris said carefully.

“She told me she blamed you. She shouldn’t have, but she wasn’t thinking straight,” he said, shaking his head.“I’m sorry if that made things more difficult for you.”

“Well, I blamed myself,” Paris said. “You got hurt protecting me.”

Dominic frowned at him. “Of course I did. That’s what family does for one another.” He shook his head and said, “Were you blaming yourself all this time?”

“Of course I was, you prick,” Paris said. “You nearly got your pretty head blown off, and I had to tell your terrifying mate what happened. It should have been me instead of you.”

Dom scoffed and crossed his arms. “Under other circumstances, I would slap sense into you. Why didn’t you just leave me there with Shea?”

“Because that’s not what family does,” Paris said.

Dominic put up his hands as if to say, There you go. “I’m not angry,” he said.

“Even though the mission was a failure?”

“I’m not sure it was,” Dominic said. “Things go south. You know that. Please don’t hold it against Rachel, though. I know she’s one of us now, but she doesn’t understand our world entirely.”

“I won’t. She doesn’t have to apologize,” he said. “You’re back, and that’s what matters to me.”

Then Dom shook his head and said, “Tell me about this witch from the Crown. Rachel says he was the one who woke me up.”

“Well, they sent him to help kill Shea,” Paris said. “But it’s been a bit of a whirlwind. You have a few minutes?”

“Until Rhys Collins tells me I can go, I have nothing but time,” Dominic said.“I tried to sneak out and he caught me.”

Paris chuckled and perched on the edge of the bed, watching as Dominic slowly stretched his long, lithe limbs. He told him the story of Misha’s arrival, their visit to Infinity, and their disastrous trip to New York. He left out the portions of the story that involved cocks and tongues, but the coy smile on Dominic’s face told him that he was picking up on more than Paris was saying.

“Are you fucking him?” Dominic asked.

He spluttered. “What? Why do you ask?”

“Because you started smiling like an idiot the minute you mentioned going to New York,” Dominic said. The bastard had always been perceptive. Even in those long years of cold detachment, Dom was always watching, always noticing.

“Yes, I am,” he said defiantly. “And he’s…” He looked around, leaned in, and held Dominic’s gaze. The words froze on his tongue. “He’s mine.”

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