Page 128 of The Prince's Curse

Stella let out a sharp cough, gasping for air. Misha yanked Kova’s hand away from her face and lifted her carefully. The young woman cried out.

“What are you—” Misha began.

Stella’s voice was thin and wet, but her eyes locked onto the blood witch. “Get out. Coming here. Sho—” She broke into a wet, violent cough. Blood stained her teeth, pouring over her lips.

“Who’s coming here?” Kova asked. “Armina? Lux?”

Her eyes fluttered, and she gave what could have been a nod or a convulsion.

“They’re coming to kill Shoshanna?” Misha asked.

That definitely earned a nod. Stella’s eyes closed, and her head lolled.

“Where are they? How far? Shit!” Misha said, shaking the woman roughly. But she had gone limp, her heart barely beating. His eyes cut to Kova.

Kova put up his hands in protest. “Giving her more blood isn’t going to help when her lungs are crushed.”

“We need to get her to the compound. Rachel can stabilize her,” Misha said. He snapped his fingers and drew himself up tall, unfazed by the blood staining his clothes. “Scarlett, get Shoshanna. Tell her to find the cat and whatever she needs to deal with you. I’ve got my workshop fully stocked. We leave in five minutes, and we’re not coming back.” He pointed to Kova. “Get the witch in the car. Give her another hit of your blood in a few minutes.”

“I’m not?—”

“I will not ask you again,” Misha said. “If I have to, I will snap your neck and pour you out like a bottle of wine. I’m giving you the choice out of respect, which is rapidly eroding along with my patience.” Then his eyes snapped to Scarlett, the impact of his gaze like a punch to the gut. “Go. Get. Shoshanna.”

Twenty minutes later, they were split between two cars. Much to Kova’s dismay, he’d been sent ahead with Shoshanna, who would deliver him and the half-dead Stella to an unknown location where some of the Nightwatch would be waiting to intercept them.

Shoshanna had been furious about leaving her house—again, as she loudly reminded the vampires—and had barely been silenced when Misha brusquely told her to get her shit together and go.

And Kova was beyond angry that he’d been bound by blood to Stella, becoming her Maker quite against his will. She would have been surprised if the witch survived past whatever interrogation Misha had in mind, but it didn’t change the sense of violation Kova clearly felt.

This is all because of me, Scarlett thought, for the thousandth time that night. She had brought this chaos onto them, or rather she had brought it with her when they willingly tried to help her. No good deed went unpunished, it seemed.

How would she repay them for this? Could she ever make up for all that she had cost them?

She rode in the passenger seat as Misha Volkov drove, pushing the speed limit even by Atlanta standards. He’d spent the first few minutes of the drive checking in with Paris, giving him a quick, no-nonsense briefing on what had happened at the house. Then, with the faintest smile, he quickly blurted, “I love you,” and hung up the phone.

After a perfunctory, “Are you okay?” he hadn’t spoken to her for the rest of the drive. What was there to say?

What a fucking shitshow.

Yep.

Suburbs gave way to the sprawl of the city, with its massive interstate that wound through the city like a concrete river. Despite the hour, dozens of cars zipped around them in a blur of red and white light.

“What the—” Misha muttered. He stomped the brakes and swerved. Ahead of them was a double-decker trailer loaded with new cars, and she watched in dumbstruck horror as a shiny red sedan rolled off the back and onto the asphalt in front of them.

Instinctively, she covered her face. Misha’s arm slammed out in front of her as the car spun, pinning her to the seat. Gravity let go as their car clipped another fallen car, and then a sickening crunch came as someone slammed into them from behind. Her head was swimming as the car launched into the air.

Round and round, her vision blurring, the world went mad. Broken glass. Shearing metal. Pure chaos.

A tooth-rattling impact brought them to a halt, and she realized dimly that she was upside down with her heart pounding in her ears.

“Poshli,” Misha groaned. A cool hand grasped her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. I just need a second,” Scarlett breathed.

After reaching back for his bag, Misha shook his head, then said, “We need to move. This is about you.”

“What?” Scarlett protested, but the vampire was already squeezing through the shattered windshield, releasing a rain of shattered glass. She could only see his legs, then held back her shout of surprise when he lifted the front of the car, then flipped it over. Without missing a beat, Misha ripped the passenger door off and helped her out. “What do you mean this is about me?”

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