Page 142 of The Prince's Curse

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “But I will.”

A woman’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Find the witch.”

In his moment of distraction, Kristina fired, a single wooden bullet ripping through his hip. He bellowed in pain as he fell, his joints on fire. Another shot followed, slamming into his chest.

Kristina yanked Paris up. “Where is she?” Her voice was cold and flat.

Desperation clawed at him. They had to end this somehow. It was one thing to lose a comrade, and another entirely to have to kill someone he loved. He struggled to get up, keenly aware of all the wood poison coursing through his veins.

“Paris!” he croaked, pulling at that bond. There was the tiniest flicker of recognition.

Paris’s face was bloody, his eyes searching Julian. His head shook violently as if he was protesting no! but he let out one, heaving syllable. “Three.”

With a triumphant grin, Kristina grabbed his arm and dragged him out through the main doors.

A terrible sound broke through the din. “Olivia!” Nikko’s voice ripped through him.It came from upstairs in the administrative offices. The wrong way.

And Julian hated himself, but he had to keep going. This was about Shoshanna, and Paris knew exactly where she was. With horror gripping him tight, he murmured a quick but futile keep her safe on Olivia’s behalf, then pushed himself to catch Kristina. The former hunter ran like a gazelle over the sidewalks, spurring the others on.

He caught a fistful of her jacket and flung her violently around. As she turned on him, she let out a fierce shout. In the moonlight, her eyes were deep, oily black. Then she grinned, baring those gleaming white fangs as she lunged at him.

Her fist slammed into his ribs, followed by a stinging blow to his ear. She was quick and deft, but he was four hundred years old. With a roar, he grabbed her by the ponytail and swung, then yanked her back to him. As she wriggled against him, he whipped her head around so quickly her spine snapped in a chorus of breaking bone.

Though his instincts screamed kill her for what she did, he let her fall to the grass and continued the chase. She’d survive.

Perhaps.

Whether he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that his lover had fallen, Sasha was still running for Building Three with Paris and several unfamiliar vampires on his heels. Julian leaped, trying to get ahead of them, but he saw Sasha’s head whip around. A heavy body collided with him mid-air, slamming Julian to the ground.

Sasha’s head cocked, and he grinned, his teeth bloody. “No,” he said.

Ahead of him, the building shuddered as the vampires yanked the doors from their hinges. Then there was a furious shout, and he recognized Alistair’s voice roaring in fury. There was a crunch of bone, and the smell of fresh blood.

Sasha raised his fist, but Julian threw him off and scrambled to his feet to run for the building. The doors were breached, but he could hear Alistair still inside.

In the chaos, one of the unfamiliar vampires drew a glass globe from her pocket and dropped it. The smoke bursting from it was thick and black, stinking of Night Weaver magic. Sigils and runes ignited in the air, followed by a terrible scream from inside.

The stairs to the second floor were a bottleneck, and Julian planted himself in the hall. A stocky male vampire with a military buzzcut rushed at him, throwing wild blows. With the man’s massive stature, he was likely used to winning fights, but he was sloppy.

Julian let the man’s weight carry him past, then followed with a sharp blow to the spine. Bones cracked under his fist, and the man crumpled. He slammed the man’s face into the cinderblock wall, then broke his neck and tossed him away. Without knowing the man’s story—whether he had chosen to serve Lux or had been enslaved—he was willing to spare him.

“Bring her out,” a cold voice taunted. Through the shattered glass doors to the lobby, he saw the glint of blonde hair—it was Armina’s apprentice, Lux.

Behind her, Paris was standing, eyes dark and fixed on the distance.

“Paris,” Julian said, tugging on the thread that bound them. It was still there, though pain throbbed in his head, like it was infected and raw. Paris still looked up at the sound of his name. “Misha’s in here. You don’t want to hurt him.”

At that, Paris’s head cocked, and he suddenly frowned at Lux. He lunged at her, grabbing her short blonde hair and twisting her head back. Light flashed around him as he let out a terrible sound of pain, but he didn’t let go.

“Sasha!” Lux bit out. She staggered free as Sasha grabbed Paris and flung him away, then ran to follow. Then she fixed her gaze on Julian. “Just give me the witch. I’ll let you have your time with Red before the end.”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Fine,” she said, raising a hand. “Let him live, but make it hurt. Bring me the witch.”

There was a blur, and he barely had time to react as half a dozen vampires charged him. He fought, realizing he was the last defense before they got upstairs to Alistair, and then to Scarlett and Shoshanna.

He sent Sasha flying with a smashed jaw, and left a slender male vampire he didn’t recognize missing his head. Blows landed, and he crashed through a wall hard enough to leave him dazed. Blood poured down his throat, and he realized dimly, I’m going to lose. Elder or not, he couldn’t fight off a whole squad of vampires trying to beat him to death.

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