Olivia’s eyes cut to him. “He wasn’t broken before,” she said sharply. Suddenly, he liked the human woman even more.
“That’s not what I meant,” Julian said, putting up his hands as if in self-defense.
Misha cleared his throat. “I sensed something odd when I did my first pass to track Lilah. I can’t be positive without getting closer, but it feels like Shea has some magic warding to protect himself. I’d like Shoshanna York to join us to investigate tonight.”
Olivia nodded and said, “I’ll call her now and have her and Alistair come.”
“No need to bother him. I’ll just need her,” Misha said.
Julian laughed. “I assure you, Alistair is not sending his mate out to investigate Carrigan Shea without being at arm’s reach,” he said.
“Fair enough,” Misha said. His mate? It was an odd choice of words, but Julian was much older than he was. Maybe he was just old-fashioned.
Leaving them to their work, Misha headed to the aged basketball gym at the far end of the building. The doors were open, with cool night air blowing through the open space. He heard an excited buzz of conversation and the hard thud of fists on bone.
Hurrying through the gym, he emerged to find Paris tussling with Sasha Morozov while half a dozen vampires cheered them on. Well-fed and now fully healed, Paris Rossignol smelled like a seven-course meal made just for Misha. The air practically crackled with his scent, rich and full.
Sweat sheened on Paris’s brow as he grinned at Sasha, whose brow was split and trickling blood. There was only the briefest pause before they launched themselves at each other again, moving in a dizzying blur. Lean elegance defined Paris, but there was a messy ferocity in the way he fought. He was quite capable, but often broadcast his next blow. It didn’t seem to matter, as he was unfazed when Sasha’s fist slammed into his side, simply taking the blow and carrying the other man’s weight around to slam him into the ground. Amidst a furious diatribe of Russian curses, Sasha managed to scramble out from under Paris, throwing a nasty blow that Paris neatly dodged. Despite the ferocity of the match, both men were smiling, clearly enjoying the roughhousing.
Misha cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.” He would have gladly watched Paris fight for hours, but the night wouldn’t last forever. And he wasn’t sure he could keep watching someone that wasn’t him putting their hands all over the other man.
Paris’s head snapped up, and his pupils dilated wide at the sight of Misha. That warm scent took on a spicy, crackling edge that reminded Misha of that promise he’d made, one he was eager to make good on. “Did you find her?”
“I’m close. We need to surveil the target and refine the location,” Misha said.
Paris nodded eagerly. “Let’s do it,” he said, beckoning to Sasha. “Back to work.”
Sasha grinned and said, “Rematch later.”
Paris just smiled and joined Misha, raking one hand through his mussed hair. Misha nudged him. “You’re obviously feeling well,” he said.
“Better than I have in weeks,” Paris admitted, heading around the side of the building to return to the central building. “Thank you for your help on that regard. And for the motivation.”
Misha nodded, trying to hold back a smile that threatened to crack open his face. “You’re welcome, though I’d question your instinct to immediately seek out another vampire to crack your bones,” he said.
“Had to test-drive the repairs,” Paris said. His smile faltered. “Any progress on Dominic?”
“After we investigate the location I’ve found, I’ll brew the panacea for him. His blood samples finished distilling yesterday,” Misha said.
Paris nodded and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he said, uncharacteristically reserved.
“That’s why I’m here,” Misha said.
Paris chuckled and shook his head. “No, you’re here to kill Carrigan Shea. You could ignore everything else.” He squared up to Misha. “Did you help Dominic just for the mission, or because you knew it meant a lot to me?”
“Can it be both?” Misha asked, feeling exposed beneath his incisive blue gaze.
“Of course it can. And I appreciate it.” They lingered at the glass doors to the administrative building. Paris looked up at him and said, “And to be clear, that promise you made me…”
“Are you up for vigorous activity?” Misha teased.
“You’ll have to tell me,” Paris said, nudging him in the side. “Work first.”
“Naturally,” Misha said, watching him walk ahead.
What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t his home, nor his court. And yet, he was entertaining the perfectly cozy fantasy of snuggling up to Paris Rossignol. That was understandable, especially for anyone with working eyes and an appreciation for male beauty. Paris was gorgeous and charming, and anyone would be attracted to him. But he was a good man, too, one who showed more integrity and nobility than Misha had seen in anyone he’d ever met. And he was in good company here in his small court, full of fundamentally good people.
In just a few days, this place had made him feel more at home than he’d ever felt in the Court of Thanatos, where he was regarded with forced politeness that didn’t entirely cover their disdain or fear. His position as a mágissa commanded respect, but no one had ever let him forget that his bloodline was rotten.
