Page 57 of The Prince's Curse

The dhampir woman stifled a yawn, blinking rapidly as if she’d just been struck with fatigue. They weren’t far from sunrise, and that was another potential hurdle. As Paris and Misha debated the merits of firebombing the house versus magic, Julian bent to speak to Scarlett. “If you’re tired, you can sleep,” he said.

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. “I should. But…”

“You can stay here. We won’t bother you,” he said. Then he smirked at her. “If it makes you feel better, I sleep like the dead. You could kill me in my sleep.”

“That’s morbid,” she said.

“You did try to kill me,” he reminded her.

A ghost of a smile flitted across her pretty face. “I really could use some sleep.”

He rose and said, “We’ll continue discussing this later. She needs to rest. I want someone to go back to the hotel and check for?—”

Paris held up his phone. “I did it while we were driving here. Nikko and Sasha are on it.”

“Of course you did,” he said quietly.

He offered his hand, then brought it back, a bit embarrassed as Scarlett rose. She cleared her throat. “This is very strange. But thank you for dinner and for not killing me.”

Paris chuckled. “Good night, Scarlett.”

She hesitated. “You guys should know that some of the Shieldsmen arrived recently to help Armina. I don’t know if she’d send them after me, but…” She let out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you guys should be careful out there. One of them has good reason to want you guys dead.”

Julian’s blood went cold. “Who?”

“Jordan Cole,” Scarlett said. “You kept him prisoner. Tortured him, as I hear it.”

The dhampir hunter’s fate was one of those decisions where Julian had been forced to bite his tongue and shut the hell up. They’d been trying to deal with the Shieldsmen and Carrigan Shea simultaneously, and when they managed to capture Jordan Cole, their former Scythe thought they’d hit the jackpot.

Unfortunately, he was dhampir, and couldn’t be compelled with blood. And no matter how much medieval torture Hugo pulled out of his gruesome repertoire, Jordan hadn’t given them anything useful. Julian had finally gone to Eduardo and told them to put Jordan on ice at the Mausoleum, but they should have just killed him. Now they had a pissed-off hunter who knew where to find them.

“Fucking Hugo,” Paris muttered. “And you swear you haven’t talked to any of them since you got here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want them to know where I am.”

Paris cast Julian a skeptical look, but he nodded and said, “It’s all right.”

They headed upstairs. The air was cool and stale, but the house was still as clean as it had been when Rachel vacated. One bedroom with a narrow bed was painted bright blue; Rachel’s daughter’s old room. The big bedroom at the end of the hall was still furnished with a bed and a dresser, which would be enough for the evening.

When Rachel had moved in with Dominic, the court had purchased her house from her and kept it vacant for use as a safehouse. When Eduardo was still here, they had half a dozen places all over the city where they could move him in an emergency. Some had been compromised, and this place was arguably at risk to the Shieldsmen, but it was the best they could do without risking Scarlett twisting up all of Shoshanna’s protective magic.

Scarlett perched on the edge of the bed, which was neatly made and adorned with a mountain of decorative pillows. Relief eased her features as she toed off her shoes and let out a heavy sigh.The smell of Rachel and Dominic lingered even after months away from the house, but the air was now perfumed with Scarlett’s scent. “I think there’s linens in that closet. So…I’ll leave you alone,” he said.

“Wait. Close the door, please,” she said. Then she shook her head and laughed. “That’s silly. I know they can hear through the walls.”

“We’ll go outside and entertain ourselves in the car,” Paris called from downstairs.

She laughed and covered her face. Sure enough, the front door slammed, and then he heard the quick open and close of two car doors, followed by the engine rumbling. If he knew Paris, then they were going to find a nice private place to make out like teenagers, if not maneuver themselves into a quickie.

Slowly, she regarded him, then took the gun from her holster and set it on the nightstand. With a sigh of relief, she stripped off her jacket, then the snug straps of the holster. He had no illusions; with dhampir reflexes she could have the gun in her hand in a split second.

Then again, he could be on top of her in a split second if he had to defend himself. At the very least, it was a small sign of trust. Finally, she slumped onto the bed and said, “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can’t help thinking that this is all some elaborate game.”

“I can understand why you’d think that,” he said. “It isn’t, but I know that my words aren’t going to convince you.”

She looked up, then lightly patted the bed next to her. His heart crawled up his throat as he joined her, forcing himself to hold back so he didn’t fling himself at her. She lightly lifted his wrist, turning it over to trace the lines of his palm. Her touch sent shivers down his spine.

“You say we were together before, but that doesn’t make sense,” she said.

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