Page 30 of The Prince's Curse

He barked a laugh. “I ruled Atlanta.”

“Past tense. How’d that work out for you?” she asked. “I heard you got a building dropped on your face.”

His smile evaporated, leaving a cold, hungry expression. She was suddenly very glad for the bars between them. “Give me the blood. I’ll tell you exactly where to find him.”

It was tempting. But she knew without a doubt he’d rip her throat out at the first opportunity.

She took out her phone and searched Underground Atlanta. The first result, and dozens after it, described a now-defunct tourist attraction of shops and restaurants downtown. She put away her phone and stuck up her middle finger. “You can rot in that cell for all I care,” she said.

But he just grinned. “I think I’ll still be standing long after you’re gone, little girl.”

She held the blood bag close to the bars. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t make a move for it. Holding his gaze, she backed away, then offered the bag through the bars to Kova. He grabbed it as Shea shouted.

“You bitch,” he swore, slamming his fist against the bars.The smell of his vampiric blood was powerful, sending a chill shuddering down her spine.

“Quiet,” she snapped at him.

Kova let out a long sigh of relief as he dropped the empty bag. His eyes were haunted as he met her gaze again.

“Can you come with me?” she asked.

“Armina’s the only one who can open the cell,” he said mournfully.

“Should I go anyway?”

He nodded. “I’ll be okay here. Take my wallet and keys if you need them.”

She nodded eagerly and said, “I’ll be back.”

“Little Red Riding Hood, off to fight the wolf,” Shea called in a singsong voice.

She ignored his call, then briefly contemplated fetching one of her guns to fill his ugly skull full of wooden shrapnel. That would shut him up. But the gunshots would wake Mina and the others and?—

Was she really doing this? Was she going to take off on her own?

As she froze in the hall upstairs, she heard Julian’s voice, warm and inviting:

Come home to me. Come find me.

She crept through the house, found Kova’s keys with his discarded jacket in his room, and bolted out into the night.

Chapter 7

Two nights had passed since they sent Kova back to his mistress, but there was no sign of his cursed soulmate. No red hair in the night, no familiar scent. Still, Julian was preparing to spend his second night keeping watch, like a forlorn lover watching in a lighthouse.

He wrestled between hope and despair. Everything was different, but was it enough to matter? Could they really change the course of fate?

Hehad spent the last thirty-six hours hunkered in the rundown site of Underground Atlanta, which had been owned by Shea’s court. The smell of Untethered vampires and human blood still hung in the air, mixed with the must and mildew of aged buildings.

Paris had insisted on keeping watch, which meant that Misha Volkov was along for the ride. On short notice, he’d put up some simple magic wards, while lamenting that Shoshanna was much better at this. The human witch was still resting and watching over Alistair as he healed from Kova’s attack.

More of the Nightwatch—his brothers and sisters who had served under his leadership of the Shroud for years—had wanted to come, but he’d given stern orders to keep patrolling the night. The wave of disappearances caused by Shea’s outlaw court had ebbed, but stragglers still remained in the city.

Just last night, Safira and Nikko had found a vampire couple fancying themselves the new contenders for the rulers of Atlanta. The would-be social climbers were now so much ash in the Goodwin and Sons crematorium, loaned to them by a grateful Kayla Goodwin in appreciation for saving her and her children from Carrigan Shea’s grasp.

Until Julian had seen months, if not years of peace, he would not tolerate Untethered vampires on his territory. While he had supported his Elder back then, he’d always thought Eduardo was making a serious mistake when he allowed the Morettis to operate in Atlanta for so long before taking decisive action.

He did not intend to make the same mistake. Atlanta belonged to the Durendal court, which was not so cursed and pitiful as it had been a month ago.

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