Page 46 of The Prince's Curse

And there had been once again, just after the fourth time he watched her fade away. He had given up then, and after burying her with a bouquet of magnolias, he had walked the silent streets of Atlanta until the sun rose.

Then he sat in the rising sun, even as his skin seared and peeled away, as it penetrated down into the darkness. And it was Safira who had come to him, furious and sobbing as she covered him with a coat.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she spluttered.Her pale skin was searing in the fiery blaze of sunrise, but she didn’t falter.

Tears had streamed down his burnt, cracked cheeks. “Finish me off. Just let me rest.”

And instead of pulling back to slap him across the face for saying something so stupid, she just held him close. Back then, he’d vowed to not put her or the others through this kind of pain, but he had lost his resolve over the last few decades.

Until he saw her. Until he saw her weeks before he should have crossed her path. Until Shoshanna York reminded him that things were different, that everything was different now.

That tangled shadow of hope and despair pooled in his mind. He could almost imagine it there in the corner of his office, a place no light could push away. And for once, that voice was confused.

In one moment it said give it up, there’s no point, and in the next it said Paris has been sleeping, you fucking idiot! Look at all of them!

Just down the hall, he could hear Olivia talking animatedly as she asked if she could speak to a guest named Scarlett Ward, and that no, she didn’t have a room number, but it was an emergency and it would really be best…

He steeled himself, sat up straight, and made up his mind.

“You can’t go out alone. You’re in charge now, and we depend on your safety,” Paris protested. Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the Frenchman was clearly irritated with him.

“Then take the Covenant,” Julian said.

Paris glared back at him without speaking. He wouldn’t accept because that was one step closer to conceding defeat, and the stubborn prick wouldn’t do that until one of them was dead. It was one of his most annoying—and most admirable—traits.

“Come with me. You can stay nearby, and I’ll give you the signal if something goes wrong,” Julian said, already tightening the holster across his back. “If she runs, you drop her with a tranquilizer.”

Kristina Arensberg nodded from across the armory. “I’m on it.”

Julian held up one of the small black boxes Karina had given them. Since dealing with the Shieldsmen months earlier, GPS trackers had become part of standard protocol for their missions. They weren’t letting anyone get away if they could help it.

When he looked up from adjusting the holsters, Paris was glaring at him, blue eyes accusing. His jaw ticked, and Julian knew that he was testing him. Would he use his power as Paris’s Maker again?

Julian held his gaze. “I know that we kept Eduardo locked away for safety, but that is not how I wish to operate. You were frustrated because Eduardo had lost touch with the cost of his decisions,” Julian said. He put on an armored black jacket that fit neatly over the holster, then adjusted the cuffs. This was much better than the formal suits he’d been wearing lately.

“This is different,” Paris protested.

“You have asked me to both keep hope with regards to Scarlett and to lead this court. If you want me to do both, then I will, but you will not dictate how I do it,” Julian said. “If you want to be in charge, then take the Covenant from me. Otherwise, let me lead and fall in line where you belong.”

It was a wonder that Paris’s teeth didn’t crack out of his skull from the tension in his jaw. His blue eyes darkened to red, and the turmoil tugged firmly at their bond. If Paris wanted him to lead, then he would learn another lesson. Sometimes Elders made decisions that required their followers to shut the hell up and do their jobs. Julian had done it many times, and now Paris had to do it.

If he could.

“Fine,” Paris said. “If she breathes wrong, she goes down.”

Twenty minutes later, he was climbing out of an SUV and staring up at the glowing façade of a high-rise hotel. After another reminder from Paris, like he was a teenage boy with a curfew, Julian slammed the door and hurried up the curving walkway as a valet drove a humming electric car around to the parking garage.

A noisy fountain sprayed against shifting neon lights, casting a harsh glow in the dark. The sound drowned out his hearing, and he hurried inside to where it was quieter. Past the automatic doors, a man in a security uniform greeted him, “Evening, sir.”

“Good evening,” Julian said, his voice sounding distant to him.

The towering hotel felt like a strange, modern cathedral, looming over him as he stepped into the lobby. Glass elevators whizzed up and down the floors like a spinal cord against a massive ribcage. Hundreds of mingling scents competed for his attention, all of it beneath a lingering hint of smoke, but he held his unwashed shirt close to his nose to find her scent.

He patrolled the lobby, excusing himself as he skirted around a wedding party taking pictures. Mostly humans, and a vampire that smelled like the Durendal, like his bloodline. Perhaps one of their newer members having a drink or hooking up with a conquest.

Scarlett’s faint scent grew stronger as he approached the men’s room, just as Jonas Wynn had reported. He stepped inside, peered into the stalls, even bent to look behind the urinals. Her scent was still here, and he felt the familiar tug at his heart, as if she was calling to him.

Nothing here.

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