Page 53 of The Prince's Curse

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping her arms around the pile of grocery bags. This whole situation was so strange that the weirdness of a vampire woman buying her dinner didn’t even register.

As the night blurred by, she wondered what the hell she was going to do. If she believed them, then everything Tante Mina had told her was a lie. Her life was built on fragile spun glass that was teetering off the shelves and into gravity’s clutches.

And maybe they were lying. Maybe they were all in on a lie that was so strange it almost had to be true.

It was just after two in the morning. Sunrise would leave them all weak, and if she had to run, she’d go as soon as the sun was on her side.

Chapter 13

Even in his wildest dreams, he never imagined that he might have more than a few hours with the love of his life, that she would do something as normal as sit at a slightly dusty dining table and devour a massive sandwich while apologizing for being so hungry. Her holster was still strapped across her shoulders, a gun within easy reach, but she was relaxed considering the circumstances at least.

He knew he had to be acting strange; he gazed at her in wonder, like watching a solar eclipse. She was so real and alive and normal.

Safira and Paris sat in the living room speaking quietly after he’d scolded them for staring at her like a zoo exhibit. Then they’d turned their attention to him. Shea had certainly cracked a few ribs, but that witch’s dark magic had been worse. He’d be fine after sleeping and filling his belly. After determining that he was relatively healthy, they’d both ranted at him for endangering himself for a solid two minutes.

He didn’t care. He’d touched her, and she was still alive. Her presence was a gentle breeze that stoked that spark of hope in his spirit. He barely recognized the feeling that rushed through his veins. Was this…excitement? Was it happiness?

While Scarlett was eating, a car rumbled up the driveway. Her eyes cut toward the door, and she started to rise. Paris put up a hand. “It’s Misha,” he said, tossing her a faint smile. “My partner, who you also tried to kill.”

“Sorry,” she said.

He shrugged, then headed to the door. A smile curled across his face as he kissed Misha, quick and chaste, then tipped his head in a subtle gesture.

Scarlett’s eyes went wide as she took him in, and Misha instantly backed away. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she protested. Cold swirled in her chest, raising prickling goosebumps down her arms.

His eyes were fiery red, and he put up his hands. “Good God,” he muttered. “What has she done to you?”

He heard the rapid thrum of her pulse as she met Misha’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

“What is it?” Paris asked.

“You remember how I told you that your curse smelled like a rotting corpse?” Misha said.

“I don’t believe you used such specific terms. I’m retroactively offended,” Paris said.

The blood witch smiled. “I was trying to spare your feelings.”

Scarlett surreptitiously sniffed at her shirt. “I can’t smell anything.”

“It’s magic. Not your body,” Misha said.

“You smell like a normal dhampir who could use a shower, but hasn’t reached the point of being offensive yet,” Paris said helpfully.

Despite the light insult, she smiled. “What can you see?”

“Curses are outside my expertise. But it’s very powerful and very complex,” Misha said. His lashes fluttered, and then those brilliant red eyes seemed to cloud over. His jaw dropped, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he’d been flash-banged. “It’s like a black hole.”He took a reluctant step closer. “May I?”

Paris caught his arm. “Don’t touch her. We don’t need to go into mad scientist mode just yet. I just wanted you here for backup.”

“And food delivery,” Misha said wryly, passing him a large black cooler.

And because you don’t want to sleep alone, Julian thought. The flickering light of pleasure in Misha’s eyes was enough to tell him he’d had the same thought.

Paris reached into the cooler and passed Julian one of the blood bags before giving one to Safira. Julian’s belly rumbled with hunger, but he met Scarlett’s eyes. “Do you mind?”

“You have to eat, too,” she said with a shrug. But she averted her eyes as he drank. Without being warmed, bagged blood was about as appealing as tea steeped with cigarette ashes. Still, it was enough to warm his body and dull the ache of his tussle with Shea and his witch.

Finally, Scarlettset down the tattered remains of her sandwich, drained half a bottle of water, and sat back. “Thanks for dinner. I was starving,” she said.

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