Page 81 of The Prince's Curse

She left Marlee still wailing in pain, then gathered up the fallen books, praying that Kova had gotten the grimoire.

As she ran through the living room, she heard a familiar female voice. It was Stella, her soft light voice at odds with the angry timbre of her words. The house began to tremble, and shadowy threads burst up from the floor as they moved.

Stella’s voice rose, and then she heard a chorus of clipped shouts and screams, amidst curses of is that the fucking sun?

A male figure bolted for her, and she braced herself for impact. But when she saw the glinting red eyes and bronze hair, she was relieved. Paris grabbed her arm and shouted, “Let’s go!”

“Julian?”

“Safe,” Paris snapped. Close on her heels, he chased her out of the house.

As they burst from the door and into the yard, a brilliant orb of light was spinning over the yard like a pyrotechnic display. Through the blinding light, she caught the silhouettes of several other strange figures dashing for cover.

Looking back, she could see Stella standing at one of the broken windows, hands working rapidly to cast the spell.

Clever little thing.

“Kova! Bring her back!” Stella shouted. Bolstered by magic, her voice was impossibly loud, even sending a shiver down Scarlett’s spine.

From down the driveway, Kova ran for her. His skin was blistered, his eyes full of regret as he said, “I’m sorry, I can’t?—”

Paris growled, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him to the ground in a chorus of cracking bone. “No,” he said, as if he was scolding a naughty puppy.

Safira was at one of the vehicles waving them closer. Blood stained her hair, and one arm hung useless at her side, but she was still on her feet, waving frantically to Scarlett.

Scarlett ran for her, not turning back when Paris let out a laugh and said, “Come get her.”

The scent of Julian’s blood drew her forward. Even more powerful than her need to escape was the need to see that he was safe. He had come for her, he had risked himself to free her, and…

She dove into the back seat of the SUV, accidentally driving her elbow into Julian’s chest. There was a snarling chorus of Russian, followed by the vehicle rocking on its wheels. The rear hatch lifted, and Misha tackled Kova inside. As Paris leaped into the passenger seat, Safira peeled away.

Stella had run out to the yard, pressing her hands to her face in anguish. She disappeared in the rearview mirror, and Scarlett turned to check on Julian. He lay frighteningly still. She brushed his hair away from his brow, wincing at the dark marks. “He’s not breathing,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that anymore,” Paris said drily.

Right. Vampire. She stroked his cheek softly. “Can you hear me?”

The faintest rumble in his chest, but nothing else. Thin tendrils of black swam under his skin like invading parasites. Terror swept through her.

“Jesus Christ,” Paris muttered. “Get Dominic on the phone.”

There was a noisy phone call filled with swearing, which Paris cut off with a shut the fuck up that managed to sound jovial.When he confirmed that they were all accounted for, he simply said, Go home and wait for instructions.

While he spoke, she realized that in the chaos, she’d ended up with Julian’s head in her lap, and she was stroking his hair like he was a stuffed animal comforting her through a nightmare.

A voice rumbled at her ear. “What happened to him?”

She yelped in surprise and looked up to see Misha looking over the seat from the cargo space. One soot-streaked hand still pinned Kova’s face to the floor, though he’d quit fighting.

“Armina’s workshop has all kinds of protections to keep vampires out without her permission,” she explained.

“But he had the bracelet,” Misha said.

“I guess it wasn’t strong enough. As soon as he walked in, it was like he got shot,” she said.

Kova wriggled and said, “You can let me up.”

“If you try anything, I’ll snap your neck so fast you won’t even feel it,” Misha said amiably.

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