Page 154 of The Prince's Curse

His enchanted blade hung at his side, a quiet reminder of Misha’s support. Quickly, they slipped down the street and ducked behind an oversized pickup truck parked at a house a few lots down from Armina’s.

A quiet voice tickled at his senses, and he looked over to see Dominic’s lips moving, hands clasped together as if he was praying. His heart ached at the sight of it. A few moments later, Dom tucked a small silver medal back under his shirt, then fixed his intense gaze on the house down the street.

The last time they had gone into battle together, they were much younger, full of brash bravado with so little to lose. Back then, they hadn’t been afraid to die. They practically laughed in the face of death, daring it to take them.

Now, they had so much to lose. If they refused to fight, their loved ones were lost. If they rose to the occasion, they risked their heads.

And if he was to claim he was worthy of his mate, then there was no choice at all.

A firm hand gripped his forearm. Dom pointed with his other hand and said, “Look.”

Rising above the trees in the distance was a burst of white light, a little shimmering cloud of sunlight that faded as quickly as it had begun. And just barely audible, there were footsteps fluttering over dry ground.

“Let’s go,” Julian said.

Voices were already rising within the house as he and Dominic sprinted across the lawn. As they ran, fire raced along tight, curving paths in the grass. Like a fuse burning out quickly, the arcane marks were extinguished.

Burning red light swirled across the front of the luxurious house, leaving scorch marks in strange patterns. Inside, someone shouted, “Intruders!” The word had barely fallen back into silence when glass shattered at the back of the house.

Julian drew his blade and nicked his palm. Blood trickled along the blade and ignited the runes dancing along it. Dominic charged ahead of him and kicked down the front door in a satisfying crunch of splintering wood.

The house was much as it had been the last time they were here, with its ornate furniture and tidy space. But the air reeked of blood and magic. The hairs on his neck stood on end, almost dancing with the crackling of power in the area.

He smelled Armina Voss, that heavy perfume tangled with the death-and-decay odor of her power. Following the scent, he ran for the spacious white kitchen.

A heavyset female vampire with long black hair lunged out of a nearby doorway and reached for him. Her hand had barely swiped across his face when he sliced right up her belly with his blade. Glowing red-hot, the blade cut through her like a heated knife through butter.

With a wordless scream, the woman staggered back but recovered quickly. When she lunged again, he caught her long braid, slammed her face into the wall in a spray of blood, then twisted her head around backwards in a chorus of snapping bone. He left her groaning and pressed on.

As he rounded a corner, a fist cracked against his face. Lightning struck inside his skull, and he staggered back. His watering eyes wouldn’t let him see, but he smelled Sasha. “Stand down, or I’ll put you down,” Julian bit out.

Sasha chuckled, but Julian spun him around and watched as Dominic rushed him from behind. His blue eyes went wide as Dom got a hold of him, arms flailing wildly. He spun to throw a vicious kick at Dominic, but as soon as he did, Julian slammed his fist into Sasha’s spine.

The other man gasped, legs buckling, and Dominic said, “I’ve got him.”

Julian pressed on, following that scent down the hall. Mixed with her scent now was Paris Rossignol, his brother, his friend, his Vessel.

He heard the creak of the floor and ducked just as Paris swung at him. A wickedly sharp blade passed through the air overhead. Julian kicked at Paris’s thigh, but the other man was fast. Almost too fast.

They fought in a vicious flurry, blades clanging and sparks flying. When Paris’s blade found purchase and scraped his ribs, Julian staggered. Biting cold radiated from the wound, and his left leg began to go numb.

“Paris, stop this,” Julian said sharply.

Bloody marks were carved around his throat like a collar, with more over the backs of his hands. And those icy blue eyes were a distant memory, replaced by black voids peering back at him. Was he lost for good?

The other man kicked him in the chest, sending him flying backward through the doorway and into a huge parlor. The dark smell of Night Weaver magic was overpowering here. As Julian clambered to his feet, he whipped his head around to see Lux and Armina in the far corner of the room.

The blonde witch was leaning heavily on a stool, eyes closed as her hands worked through the air. Bandages covered her left shoulder, and her right hand seemed to do most of the work of casting.

Paris grabbed Julian by the throat, lifted him easily, and slammed him down into the tile floor. His head cracked against the floor, and stars ignited in his vision. Paris’s blade drove down and into his thigh, and Julian bellowed as the pain overwhelmed him.

“Leave him alive,” Armina called.

The blade tore free, and Paris hauled him up. Julian slammed the hilt of his blade into Paris’s temple, sending him staggering.

“Let him go,” Lux said, her voice echoing.

At that, Paris shoved him aside. There was a sound of cracking tile, and the now-familiar shadow tendrils ripped through the floor and around Julian. As they entangled him, he looked back to see Dominic running through the door. A jagged vine of black pierced his chest, then yanked him to the floor in a spray of blood.

---