Page 97 of The Prince's Curse

After sitting through Shoshanna’s spell on Kova, Scarlett had wanted to stay and watch over him. But she was distressed as she watched him shaking and writhing, his skin stretched parchment thin over his skull in a terrible rictus of pain. Finally, Julian had taken her hand firmly and led her out of the workshop with a promise to return when the other man awoke.

It had been a full day since Kova had gone under. Julian had stayed awake with Scarlett during the day, putting her to work helping Olivia identify locations where Armina might go. Scarlett had been embarrassed to admit she didn’t know where some of them were; she’d gotten in the car when she was told and just followed orders. She thought Kova might know more.

While Scarlett worked with Olivia, Julian sat with Paris, who had wryly joked about how much he did not miss staying up all day to work. Just as they had when Shea was still attacking, they partitioned Midtown and downtown Atlanta into regions and sent the Nightwatch to patrol. They combed the news and spent a few hours doing interviews with new veravin, which felt like getting back to normal.

He’d even had a chance to see Nikko. The wooden bullets had made a mess of his handsome face, shattering his lower jaw. But between Rachel’s care and a hefty dose of Misha’s magic, he had regained consciousness and managed to give Julian a determined blink to answer the question of are you in there?

And when the work was done, he had returned to pick up Scarlett from Olivia’s renovated office. He’d made up some story about needing her opinion, led her into his tiny room in the barracks, and laughed when she shoved him back onto the bed to plant herself in his lap for a kiss.

Lazy kisses had turned to more, and he spent a lovely portion of his afternoon with his face between her thighs. He had so much lost time to make up for, and it was her orgasmic burden to bear.When he was lost in her, listening to the way her breath quickened, feeling the shift of her muscles around him, the warm wetness of her on his tongue…he could forget the rest of the world. He could forget that he might lose her again.He could forget that everyone depended on him to make the right call.

And then she’d surprised him when she tied back that long red hair and fixed a determined look on her face. “My turn,” she’d declared, barely giving him a chance to sit up before she took his cock into her mouth.

What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm, and she quickly learned that his groans and muttered oh fucks were a positive sign. He’d been torn between lying back and melting into the sensation and watching her, flushed lips stretched around him, long waves of hair streaming over his legs as she fought to please him.

“Scarlett, I’m going to—” he began to warn her, and then the white-hot sensation hit him. It had been so long, and he couldn’t hold back as the heat of it slammed into him, blinding him, and his hips surged.

She let out a little sound of surprise and backed away, coughing slightly. He sat up and cupped her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, I tried?—”

She burst out laughing. “I’m fine. Did…did that feel good to you?”

He kissed her lips, catching the taste of himself on her lips. “Incredible,” he said, nipping gently at her lip. He felt that curve of her cheeks, the smile beneath his lips.

“I searched on my phone for tips,” she said. “My browser history is completely ruined.”

He laughed. “Of course you did.”

They’d retreated upstairs for drinks, and while she laughed her way through her school stories, he realized how light she seemed. She was comfortable with him now, and that was somehow even more satisfying than the physical release. She liked being near him.

He wanted more, but he didn’t want to frighten her, nor make her think she was somehow obligated. As she talked, he saw glimpses of Brigitte, but realized how different Scarlett really was. Her life had shaped her differently, like she’d been carved from the same stone but with different tools.

His phone buzzed, and he squeezed her ankle. “Just a moment.” Upon reading the message, his chest tightened.

Alistair:

Kova’s up and ready to meet with us. He wants to speak to the Shroud.

Scarlett frowned at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Kova’s awake.”

An hour later, the Nightwatch and a few companions gathered in one of the renovated conference rooms at Infinity. The light fixtures in the main room of the club were shattered and several of the fuses blown. They’d had other priorities besides another round of renovations.

The faint smell of smoke still lingered in the conference room, but it had been repainted, with new digital screens mounted on the dark gray walls. Olivia had still put her touch on the room, with several small vases of roses on the table and crystal glasses set at each high-backed leather chair. Warmed carafes of blood were placed at meticulously measured intervals down the table.

The Nightwatch, changed as it was, settled into their seats around the table. Since the splintering of the court, he hadn’t assigned them rankings as they’d had under Eduardo’s reign. Still, they’d subconsciously placed themselves in order, with a few additions. Next to Julian was Scarlett, but they followed nearly in order—Paris, Safira, Dominic, and Sasha. Joining them were Alistair, who hadn’t served the Shroud for many years, Misha, and Shoshanna.

Several more vampires currently served the Nightwatch, but had come along well after Kova left them. This was the business of the inner circle, not the entire court.

Olivia had left a seat at the end of the table, and Kova stood there as the rest of them settled. His eyes were downcast, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’d always cut an imposing figure, but he looked defeated now, like a little boy standing before disappointed parents.

“Kova,” Julian said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The other vampire’s throat worked, and he stood up straighter. Inch by inch, he drew himself up until he finally looked up. He looked from side to side, taking them all in, then fixed his eyes on Julian.“I owe all of you an apology. I let you think I had taken my own life, and I gave myself to the witch. I meant to offer myself in exchange for Lucia, but I was a fool to think she would make it that easy. I’m sorry for the hurt that I caused you, and?—”

“You should have told us the truth,” Dominic interrupted. It was not the icy mask Dom had worn for decades to conceal his endless pain, but genuine hurt, even anger.

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