Page 5 of The Prince's Curse

“Because it was your duty to protect the rest of our court and everyone we love,” Paris said sharply. His expression softened as he touched Julian’s cheek. “Which you did.”

“You could?—”

Paris rested his brow against Julian’s, and he felt the tug of the blood bond between them. Doubly bound, he was now the Elder to a court in addition to being Paris’s maker. Coupled with being friends for nearly three hundred years, it was hard to hide anything from the Frenchman.

“We’ve talked about this. If you need me to, I will, but don’t do it because you’re giving up,” Paris said quietly. He pulled back, pale blue eyes full of concern. “Are you giving up on her? On us?”

If there was ever a doubt that he was unsuitable for the crown of the court, it was this. He wanted to say, Yes. I can’t do this anymore.

He could see the yearning in Paris’s eyes for everything to be all right, for the chapter to close on everything that had plagued them. Paris would never say so, but his eyes pleaded: Man up and shoulder this burden a while longer.

It was not fair, especially after the way Paris had fought for them. He had fought Shea twice, both times suffering terrible injuries, both times staring his own death in the face and spitting fuck you anyway. He had earned the right to be happy a thousand times over.

And things were far better than they had been; five of their brothers no longer cursed, happily paired off with soulmates. Things were better than they’d been in two years, since before the Morettis first came to town with their unruly followers. Back when Eduardo and Julian were lamenting Baron Moretti’s disregard for vampire law, they had no idea that they’d soon be dealing with the likes of Carrigan Shea.

But now the self-proclaimed king was dead, his corrupted court scattered, and there had been no sign of the Shieldsmen attempting to take them out again despite Jack Eslinger knowing exactly where they were. There were still Untethered vampires in town, with a few making halfhearted attempts to fill the void Shea had left, but the Nightwatch had been eliminating them as quickly as they showed themselves. Things were almost peaceful.

Things were almost good.

Still, he could not bring himself to speak, because he could not bring himself to lie to Paris. The other man gently stroked his cheek. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m asking you to have hope,” Paris said. “I know how painful this is, but if there is any chance Shoshanna can solve this, then I need you focused. We are not defeated yet.”

Always we. But this time, when she died, Paris would still have Misha. Dominic would have his Rachel, and so on. And somewhere deep down, they would think, Thank God it wasn’t us.

Julian’s throat tightened, and he nodded. Fixing a bland smile on his face, he said, “I’m ready.”

Paris smiled, but the concern in his eyes said he knew that things were not settled. Still, he headed out of the office with Julian in tow, leading himdown to the subterranean parking garage. Several weeks of intense renovations had given Infinity a facelift, though it wasn’t ready for the court to return just yet. Misha Volkov and Shoshanna York had been working around the clock to build impenetrable magical security in tandem with the steel doors and sensors that would hopefully prevent another destructive raid like the one that had left it smoldering months earlier.

After centuries of following Eduardo, protecting him from threats, it didn’t feel right to have Paris protecting him. He was used to being the sentinel and shield in one, and he didn’t like that his Vessel and one of his closest friends now played that role for him.

Waiting in the garage was a sleek black SUV driven by Danielle Pierce, dressed in a sharp black pantsuit. She got out and opened the passenger door for him, and the mere sight of a woman opening his door was enough to grate his sensibilities. He grabbed her wrist lightly. “Danielle, please. Let me.”

“Sir,” she chirped, cheeks flushed with a recent feeding. “I’m your driver tonight.”

“And I can open a door,” he said. Her face fell. “I appreciate your diligence. I may be the anchor of Shoshanna’s spell, but I am not a king nor some high lord. You may drive, but you do not have to bow to me.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “All right.”

Paris shot him a dirty look, but climbed in the back seat with him as Danielle closed the door for them. In poorly-accented German, Paris said, “Let her enjoy being part of the court. She was beside herself about getting to be a part of things tonight.”

He sighed and nodded. The familiar growl of Nikko’s car rumbled to life as he pulled ahead of them, with Dominic tucking in behind them. Soon, the glow of Atlanta filtered through the tinted glass windows, and Julian felt the prickling unease of being exposed.

Nine more days.

Nine more days until Brigitte—Scarlett, he reminded himself—turned twenty-nine again. That was always the turn of the hourglass, when the witch set her on the path to inevitable destruction again. The precise timing was unpredictable; once it had been two days after, and once it had been several agonizing weeks. His chest tightened at the thought of it, his blood going hot and prickly in his veins. Suddenly, his shirt felt too tight, cinching off his wrists and neck like chains.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but Kristina had hunted with her. She was a vampire hunter this time, because Armina Voss had a particularly cruel sense of humor.

Driving down that busy interstate, he closed his eyes as images of her flashed through his mind.

Death and despair, blood in the sunlight.

That very first time, when she’d been slain in the street after returning from the market, and he’d felt her dying.He’d torn out of bed and into the sunlight, his skin blistering and boiling as he tried in vain to give her his blood. Her pretty blue dress was ripped open around those terrible knife wounds, her lips pale blue from blood loss. Perhaps if her throat had not been slashed, she might have been able to swallow, but it was too late. She died there in the sunlight, not in the dark, not alone, but in his arms with people gawking at the man who was burning and smoking as he cried.

He was too late.

It was unbearable then, and somehow, it only got worse.

How would it happen this time? Perhaps she would wander out in front of the car and they would strike her, realizing too late that the dark form was his Brigitte.Or perhaps he would walk out of his office and see her fall from a tall roof and crumple in front of him. Cradling her broken body, he would tell her in those final moments that he still loved her, that he had waited all this time for her. And worst of all: she would recognize him in those last awful moments. Just in time to fail her again.

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