Page 95 of The Prince's Curse

“Let go,” he choked out. He scrambled away, tearing off his shirt and throwing himself to the floor. The impact rattled through his bones, and he let out a clipped cry as the pain swept through him.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked.

“Everything hurts,” he bit out. “I haven’t—” Behind clenched teeth, he let out a groan. The carpet beneath his fingers was sandpaper-rough, and he was shocked to see that it hadn’t shredded his skin. Cool air blew across his skin, yanking each fine hair against its root in a painful sting.

If he remained perfectly still, it was bearable. How could he survive this madness?

As he slowly regained his composure, he realized that this was likely not the witch’s magic gone wrong; it was his entire nervous system waking up after more than a hundred years of feeling nothing at all. “I feel everything now,” he said. Even the movement of his jaw hurt. Was he so old that his joints were scraping now?

“Your curse,” Sasha murmured. Instead of fleeing, Sasha knelt on the floor next to him. The vibration sent a painful jolt through Kova, though it faded quickly. Sasha gently stroked his hand. “Does this hurt?”

The sensation overwhelmed Kova’s flayed nervous system and he shuddered. When the initial shock of it faded, the confusing signals in his brain seemed to reorient, recognizing that fingers on skinwas neutral, perhaps even slightly pleasant.

“This is pathetic,” he bit out, hiding his face.

“No more pathetic than when I grew fangs and bitched about how my mouth hurt for days,” Sasha reminded him.

He laughed, then jolted at the unfamiliar sensation. Unlike Dominic, who felt constant pain, Kova’s curse had sapped every sensation. No physical pleasure, no pain. Even when he’d made love to Lucia, he hadn’t felt it, had simply devoted himself to her in hopes that he would overcome the affliction.

Upon making his deal with the witch, her bindings had inflicted pain, but that was the only sensation he’d felt in decades. Sometimes he defied her just to feel something.

Slowly, he sat up, examining his hands. The markings remained, but they were no longer bright bloody red; they were deep black. And strangely, the markings on his left hand were altered; it was as if someone had sliced from his ring finger down to his wrist, cutting a clean white slash through the marks. The skin was unmarred, but when he touched it, it felt warm, and he smelled Shoshanna on the air.

He looked down to find the markings on his chest black, too, but there was a blistered pink patch of scar tissue over his heart. He looked up at Sasha. “She did it?”

“She did it,” Sasha echoed. “We told you that she was clever.”

Kova burst into tears. Being freed from Armina’s grasp had been a fleeting dream for so many years. He was sure that he would die, and it would be a mercy, as he would never have to face himself again.

But now here he was, with his brothers, and all the weight of his mistakes upon him. And now he had the chance to make things right…and the chance to fail. He might see his Lucia only to have her turn away from him in horror.

Sasha caught him as he slumped and held him tight. The sensation was too much, but being alone was even worse. “It’s all right, bratishka,” Sasha said quietly, holding his head to his shoulder, fingers stroking his hair like he was a little boy. “It’s all right.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Kova rasped.

“No need to begin yet,” Sasha said. “Would youlike somethingto eat? We all feel better when we are well-fed, yes?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Sasha nodded, kissed his brow, then scurried out of the room. Kova laid flat on his back, keenly aware of every joint in his body. Even the weight of gravity felt new, and he marveled at the strangeness of it.

Beneath him, Kova heard Shoshanna blurt, “Really? That’s great!” Then there was the sound of rustling, a microwave, and the thumping of feet on the stairs just before Sasha entered with a coffee cup in hand.

“She wanted to heat it on the stove, but I told her you wouldn’t judge the convenience cooking,” Sasha said wryly. He handed over the mug, and Kova sniffed at it. The smell was nearly orgasmic. He took a tentative sip and groaned at the taste of it. Thick and sweet, with a richness like aged mead that coated his tongue and intoxicated him.

“I haven’t been able to taste anything since the curse,” he marveled. God, it was like nothing he’d ever tasted. For countless years, he’d had only the sense that his hunger abated, with none of the pleasure of feeding. No warmth, no iron bite, no sweetness. He drained the cup so fast he nearly choked, then lay back as the euphoria swept over him.

“Shall I get you another?”

Kova shook his head. “No need to be a glutton.” He scrubbed at his eyes, and as the pleasure of the feeding faded, he realized the enormity of what lay before him. He sat up slowly to meet Sasha’s gaze. “I have so much to apologize for, bratishka. I’m sorry that I left you the way I did.”

Sasha took the mug, caught a stray drop with his finger, and laughed. “Of all people, you don’t have to apologize to me for that. I didn’t remember,” he said wryly. Then his smile cracked into a broad grin, and Kova laughed with him.

“Fair enough,” he said.

His brother had a brutal efficiency about him, but he also had always been strangely sweet, open and simple in a way Kova envied. “You helped me when you came before. When my memory was still ruined.”

“I tried,” Kova said. “I was so angry when I saw you there with them.”

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