Page 47 of The Prince's Curse

The tracker wasn’t so sophisticated that they could pinpoint an exact location, so it could have been in a room on any of the dozens of floors above him. But she had been in here. Even through cleaning products and the masked smell of piss, he could smell her.

He nudged at the trash can with his foot, noticed its bag had only a few crumpled paper towels. It had been emptied recently. Bending awkwardly, he slid his hands along the underside of the sink, then found a plastic bag taped to the edge.

Pulling it out, he felt a sense of victory, even if it had brought him no closer. He tucked the tracker into his pocket, then hurried out to the bar in the lobby. Waving off the bartender, he took a cocktail napkin, then borrowed one of the pens from behind the bar. He wrote his phone number on it, then added:

Scarlett, please talk to me. —Julian.

It felt silly and desperate, but he had been far worse things than silly and desperate. He tucked the napkin into the bag, resealed it, then secured it under the bathroom sink again.It was a long shot, but she’d hidden it here instead of trashing it for a reason.

As he walked back through the lobby, he stopped dead in his tracks when her fresh scent pierced through his senses. That was fresh, not a wisp from thirty-six hours ago.

Hope swelling in his chest, he followed it. First, it led up a set of carpeted stairs to a lounge that overlooked the lower levels of the lobby. Half the tables were empty and clear, but a single table in the corner had one chair pushed out, a half-finished cocktail still sitting on its napkin. He ventured closer and was bowled over by the intensity of her scent. The drink was cranberry juice and soda, no alcohol.

Pressing the glass to his lips, he tasted her. The sensation overwhelmed him. He set the glass down and darted back down the stairs with adrenaline pulsing in his veins. Even as he burst out of the doors and back onto the street, that shadow warned him.

She’s playing you. It’s a trick.

And he didn’t give a damn if it was. He took out his phone and texted Paris.

I’ve got her scent. Follow me but stay back.

Paris would be furious, but this would be a good test of his ability to follow. Yes, he was selfishly motivated to find Scarlett, but this was not just about him anymore. As Olivia said, this was about the court now. The sooner they dealt with this, the better. At the very least, he wouldn’t be as distracted, and that was better for the court.

After flipping up the armored collar to protect his neck, he jogged briskly down the street outside the hotel. Hazy yellow lights cast arcs over the empty streets. Her scent led him down a few blocks, then up a steep hill. Past loading docks and office buildings, past closed restaurants and Uber drivers idling as they waited for new jobs.

The trail took him past the mirrored glass tower of a hotel, which flashed with the dazzling neon of the SkyView, a Ferris wheel overlooking the city. Centennial Olympic Park was nearby, with its neatly manicured trees forming a green space in the middle of the urban sprawl. And it wasn’t far to the rubble of the old Constitution building, from which Carrigan Shea had orchestrated his short-lived reign of terror.

Standing on a street corner bathed in pools of colorful light, he drew in her scent. No longer a thread, her scent was a gusting wind, a hurricane swirling around him. Closing his eyes, he focused on that thread, trying to find its direction.

Where are you, Brigitte?

It was foolish after all they’d been through, but he imagined her smile, imagined that red hair streaming in the wind. If they were really soulmates…

His eyes flew open. There was no one near him, but he felt a distinct tug on his left hand. Whirling on his heel, he held back the urge to run and walked briskly across the dark street. With each step, her scent grew stronger, inviting him in with its warmth.

He jogged down the brick walkway into Centennial Olympic Park, which was quiet by night. Under a shelter, a group of people gathered to talk, but most of the park was empty. Even the usual whisper of the fountains was quiet.

A strong heartbeat caught his ear, and he turned slowly to see her standing at the center of Olympic rings inlaid at the park’s center, one hand resting at her hip. Her green eyes practically glowed in the moonlight, and it took everything not to run to her. “You found me,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he said. Despite the solid ground beneath his feet, he was walking a fraying rope over a bottomless chasm. “Careful standing there. You could get wet.”

Her eyes drifted down, taking in the darker brick around the rings. “They must turn them off at night,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “You wanted me to find you.”

Her brow twitched, but she didn’t answer. He dared to take a step closer, and she threw up one hand. “No closer.”

“Okay,” he said amiably. He put up both hands and said, “I’m not here to hurt you. I think you know that, don’t you?” He focused on her intently, thinking trust me, hear me, let me protect you.

Perhaps he imagined it, but she looked down, her left hand clenching in a fist. “Why did you tell me that you loved me? What did you mean by that?” she asked.

“Could we sit somewhere instead of talking across the park?” he asked.

She shook her head rapidly. “You stay right there. We can hear each other just fine.”

“I don’t want to frighten you away like Shoshanna and Alistair, but what I tell you is going to sound very strange,” he finally said.

She let out a little laugh. “Everything in my life is very strange right now. I want to hear it.”

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