Page 32 of The Prince's Curse

Paris grabbed at his hand, but then another shot followed. A wooden bullet exploded into splinters against the brick. The other man pointed back down the stairs. “Get down,” he growled. His eyes were fully red, with no white left; blood burst from the vessels in the whites, making him look terrifying.

“You two get back. I’ll find her,” Julian insisted. Barbed wire coiled around his heart, yanking him up the stairs, out toward his mate. He felt her out there, calling to him, drawing him closer.

He started for the stairs, but Paris grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. “Stop. I don’t trust this magic as much as you do. And I am not letting you walk out there to get a bullet to the face.”

“I am your Elder and your Maker,” Julian said, already tugging at the thrumming blood bond between them. Except those early days when his young Vessel couldn’t manage his hunger, Julian never violated his will, never forced him into a decision. And now, he began to tug ever so slightly. “Let me go.”

Hurt flickered in Paris’s eyes, but he gritted his teeth and gripped Julian’s arm tight enough to bruise. “And I am sworn to protect you. From yourself if necessary,” Paris said.

Anger bloomed hot in Julian’s chest. Who was he to stand in his way? Paris, who had been as cynical as anyone until a month ago when fate saw fit to bring him a mate? Now he was a ray of fucking sunshine and optimism, and Julian had taken quite enough.

“Let go,” he said, unleashing his anger through the bond.

Paris reeled, his knees buckling as if he was going to drop to the floor. “You fucker,” he swore, his fingers going stiff as he released Julian.

Well, the Elder role didn’t necessarily demand respectful language. Julian started to move past him, but something clattered to his feet. He had a split second to make out the shape—round and metallic, the size of his fist—before it exploded with a whoomph.

Shielding his face, he fell back with flames licking across him.The acrid bite of wood smoke hit him a split second later. A second flash followed, and the other vampires groaned in pain. Another whoomph followed and blinding light exploded across the space, disorienting him.

And then, amidst the smoke and searing light, he smelled her. Sweet and complex, like spiced apples drenched in rum. His body thrilled with it, and his conscious thought was obliterated.

It’s her! It’s her, by God it’s her!

Then an ear-splitting horn knocked the pleasant thoughts out of his head, and he heard pained groans rising from it. Two quick muzzle flashes in the smoke, which parted around the tall, slender woman stalking toward them. In her left hand was an airhorn, which she squeezed again to let out a deafening noise.

Julian reeled as the sound flooded his senses. In front of him, Misha Volkov rose, eyes gleaming fiery red as he extended his bloody hands. Shimmering light erupted, like a tangling net, and for a split second, it landed on her, licking at her skin. Then he let out a choked sound, and his eyes went black. He fell back, and Julian could swear he saw a shadow slithering up Scarlett’s fingers before absorbing into her skin.

Was she a witch now, too?

“Stop,” he roared. “It’s me you want.”

Her brilliant green eyes found him through the smoke, and she sprang at him. Gods, she was fast, and he was so entranced by the smell of her that he missed the blade in her right hand until it swiped across his cheek. Blood dripped over his lip, and he caught the next blow before she could slice into his throat. Twisting her wrist, he forced her to drop the blade, then tossed it far across the floor. Glowing bluish runes faded and went dark as it fell.

For one moment, fear sparked in her eyes like lightning. He shoved her in the chest, sending her reeling.“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

Her lip curled. “I know that’s not true.” Quick as a snake, she raised her gun and fired, the smell of burnt wood exploding through the air. He dodged, then took a shot to the thigh that made his leg buckle. She was on him again, and he staggered back, tumbling back into what had once been a candy store. Old wooden barrels tumbled as they fought through the empty storefront.

It’s really her. She’s here.

Another bone-cracking blow to his face felt like it took off his jaw, and he dodged the next, grabbing her arm, twisting it around to slam her against the nearest wall.It took all his willpower to wrestle down his survival instincts, the ones that shouted threat!If she were someone else, he’d have broken her like kindling.

Instead, he stuck to the plan and pinned her with his body, trying not to let that sweet smell short-circuit his brain. Palming the little black device in his pocket, he shoved his hand into her jacket like he was trying to disarm her. He pulled out a magazine of wooden bullets and tossed it, then shoved the tracker in her pocket.

“Get your damn hands off me,” she spat, slamming her head backward and clipping his chin. Then sharp pain bloomed in his side, andhe stared down at a bloody wooden stake in her right hand. She twisted out of his grasp, then kicked his leg out from under him. He scrambled away, and she ducked behind one of the massive wooden barrels, swearing under her breath.

She was a damned good hunter, with lightning-fast reflexes and killer instincts. Perhaps she really did mean to kill him.

And perhaps that would be all right.

His instincts bellowed at him. Tear out her bloody throat. Survive, you bastard!

But he got up, just in time to see her aiming at him. Another shot ripped into his shoulder and sent him reeling. Blood spurted from the wound as he tried to dig the bullet out, but she was already coming for him again.She sprang at him, swept his leg, and bore him to the ground.

He put up no fight as she straddled him and glared at him. Her brilliant red hair—fiery like the sunset—was braided tight against her head, though a few stray waves had escaped to frame her beautiful face.

And if he was about to die, then he was going to enjoy this one last memory of her astride him, feeling the heartbeat pulsing in those thighs that squeezed him tight. His blood boiled with wood poison, and he was all too aware of spilling warm red onto the dusty concrete. Insane as it was, it was worth the pain to see her like this, hearing her heart pounding and smelling her in the air.

Alive. Real.

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