Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
Watch. Listen. Learn.
ALISTAIR
The entire house shudders, yanking me from sleep. My eyes snap open, searching for the point of attack. Besides us, the bedroom is empty and quiet in the dim, gray gloom of early morning.
Ciprian sits up, rubbing his eyes as he scans for threats. “What was that?”
Malach yawns and pulls his arm loose, shaking out the pins and needles. It must have gotten pinned beneath Luca at some point during the night, but Malach isn’t bothered. “S’lach is testing the gate. Searching for weaknesses.”
“Why?” I snap. “He agreed to duel.”
“Agreements mean nothing to him,” Riven says. “He broke his contract with me and didn’t think twice about it.”
Celine pulls a pillow over her face. “Unless he’s knocking down the front door as we speak, cut the chitchat.”
Ciprian lays back down and curls around Celine. I shake my head. A few months ago, seeing him wrapped around her would have made me sick with rage. Now, I just feel warm and a little possessive.
I roll onto my side to watch them. Someone knocks on the door.
Malach barks something in the common tongue—I’m almost sure of it. I’m starting to recognize the differences in the celestial languages. I spent years carefully erasing my British accent to blend in on the Fringes, and I’ve had loads of practice noticing subtle tonal shifts.
The shared celestial language is smoother than the thatsha dialect.
It rolls off the tongue more easily, has fewer sharp consonants, and doesn’t seem to require much enunciation.
It’s a working person’s language, with an efficient accent that suits the needs of the people who speak it.
I wonder if Malach and Celine would teach me.
“My apologies for disturbing you,” Lyklan responds in his heavily accented English, for our benefit, no doubt. “But I thought you should know—S’lach has amassed a sizable force outside the gate.”
Celine groans, then raises her voice. “And if you absolutely had to assign a size, what would it be?”
Lyklan clears his throat. “Dozens.”
“Motherfucker.” Celine rips the pillow off her face and hurls it at the wall.
It explodes on impact, adding to the layer of down already on the floor. They really need to invest in sturdier pillows. If I spoke the common tongue, I could let the housekeeper know, but I’m sure she’ll figure it out once she finds the mess.
There’s a pause as Lyklan absorbs Celine’s outburst through the door.
“As I said,” he drawls. “My apologies.”
“Oh, shut up, Lyklan.” Celine rolls her eyes at the door. “You know I’m not mad at you. Come back in five minutes; we need to find clothes.”
A deep, husky chuckle comes through the door. “Only if you want. I would hate to inconvenience you.”
Green eyes flashing, Malach snarls something in the choppiest of their languages. It’s crisp, and each syllable cracks like a whip. I don’t have a clue what he said, but from his dark scowl, it wasn’t ‘thanks for stopping by.’
Lyklan laughs, louder this time. “I’ll be back with food.”
I glance at Malach. His curls are wild, lying flat on one side and standing up on the other.
A handful of raised white scars decorate his muscles now, injuries that had already started to heal before we got him to Sheena.
There’s an air of suppressed violence about him that allows me to relax my guard.
Jealous Malach takes some of the pressure off me.
If he beats Lyklan’s ass, I won’t have to. It’s nice.
Celine glances at his naked chest and licks her lips.
“Nope.” I block her view with my body. “You said five minutes. He’s going to come back, and I don’t want to have to kill the playboy angel.”
Celine’s eyebrows shoot up. “A playboy? Lyklan?”
Malach sighs. “Lyklan has an active romantic life.”
“Sure,” I scoff. “If that’s how you want to put it. He’s fucking half your staff, angel.”
“Wait.” She narrows her eyes at me. “How do you know that?”
I huff, offended that she doubts me.
“He’s a spy, remember?” Luca’s voice is husky. “I bet Riven noticed, too.”
“Of course,” Riven says. There’s a bored note in his voice, but it’s patently fake. He’s pleased to be recognized for his observational skills, and he can’t fool me.
Ciprian sits up and scowls. “Loud,” he mutters.
“Spoiled,” I toss back. “You’re wasting daylight, Casanell.” I’m winding him up for my own entertainment; it’s barely light outside. When he doesn’t take the bait, I feel robbed.
He crawls down the bed to avoid climbing over anyone, then leans over to lift Celine. His abs bunch as he scoops her up, and the combination of their naked skin makes me thirsty.
“Um.” I clear my throat awkwardly. “If anyone is up for it, and the timing is convenient, I could use some blood.”
Before I can blink, there are three—no, four—wrists thrust in my face. My eyes bulge as I follow the big vein in Malach’s forearm up. “I’m not sure, with the blood circle,” I sputter and swallow heavily. “But I appreciate the offer.”
Malach blushes. “I don’t think you’re in love with me, Alistair.
I was only curious. Your mom told you it could happen with anyone you fed from who you had feelings for, right?
Do those feelings have to be romantic, or .
. .” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I guess, I thought maybe because we’re friends now, right?
Maybe the blood circle would understand that. ”
He glances down at his lap. I know I should say something. Anything would be better than my stunned silence, but I’m astounded that he’s spent time thinking about this. And touched.
Luca smacks me in the shoulder. “For fuck’s sake, Ali,” he hisses. “Go to the bathroom with Malach and find out. You’re being mean.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Malach says. “He doesn’t have to.”
I growl and cut him off. “You are my friend, Malach. We’re friends. You surprised me, that’s all.” I climb from the bed and step into a pair of clean sweatpants. “I’m happy to give it a try, but please don’t take it personally if I throw up afterward.”
Our walk to the bathroom is silent. While I clean my teeth, Malach scrubs his hands and arms methodically before patting the skin dry and propping against the edge of the bathroom sink.
When he offers me his wrist, I take it and glance at him.
“It’s going to make you horny,” I warn him. “Unless you’d rather I make it hurt.”
He shakes his head.
I bring his wrist to my mouth, freezing right before his skin touches my lips. “I won’t read into it if you need to touch yourself. I won’t even watch.”
Malach rolls his eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”
Before he can tense up again, I bring my mouth—not to his wrist—but to his forearm, licking the bulging vein I noticed earlier before sinking my fangs into it delicately.
Malach grunts as I swallow a mouthful of his blood. It’s delicious—warm and earthy, without any eau de garbage. His blood doesn’t taste rancid to me, but I pull back anyway, giving my body time to accept or rebel against the idea of adding a friend to the blood circle.
One minute passes, then two, and my fangs throb.
I feel totally fine. No, I’m thirsty as hell, every instinct screaming at me to take more. “I think you were right,” I admit.
Malach’s eyes are glassy, and I can see the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. I look away, not wanting to make this weird and send him running.
“Good,” he whispers. “That’s good. Do you need more?”
Fuck, he sounds hopeful.
Growling low in my throat, I lick the puncture marks on his arm closed and sink my fangs directly into his neck.
His pulse is fast, but he slumps against me, resting his forehead on my shoulder and exposing his entire throat in the process.
A small sigh leaves his lips, and I have to force myself to slow down.
Malach is too trusting.
He spent weeks under torture, yet he volunteered to be my blood bag, and we both know it’s not about feeding me breakfast. Malach is aware of my fear of being separated from Celine, Luca, and Ciprian, and slowly starving to death.
He’s offering me peace of mind and control, right on the heels of losing it himself.
If we all die, no one will care that Malach wanted to be part of my blood circle, but I care. It matters to me. It matters a whole bloody lot.
My fingers sink into his curls to hold his head still. He’s squirming and panting now, and I don’t want to tear his skin by accident. I’m the one getting something tangible from this exchange, the least I can do is make it pleasurable.
When I’m full, I pull my fangs free and lick the wound. “That’s enough,” I tell him. “Thank you, Malach, I feel much better.”
He moans as he nods; fingers spasming around the lip of the sink. Curls wild. Cheeks pink. Pupils dilated. Fuck. He’s wrecked.
“Celine,” I call, raising my voice enough to make sure she hears. “Can you come in here for a minute, angel?”
The door opens and closes, and I meet her worried brown eyes in the mirror and smirk. “Malach could use a little help, I think.”
Her concern melts as she takes in Malach’s glassy eyes and hard cock. Without hesitating, she puts her hand on his knee and meets his gaze. “Can I touch you?”
He nods, looking half drunk, and I ignore my own erection. I’m not attracted to Malach, although I know he’s an attractive guy. But a non-fatal vampire bite almost always comes with some sexual side effects.
I won’t touch him. Neither of us want that, but I also don’t want to leave.
Celine slips her hand into his sweats, and he groans. Standing abruptly, he bats her hand away, drops his pants, and reaches for her. “I-I need—”
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. Dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and panties, Celine bends over the sink and pulls the crotch of her underwear to the side. “Take what you need.”
Like he’s in a trance, Malach lines himself up and pushes inside her.
Her groan is indecent.
I lick my lips, captivated by the way her ass bounces as he fucks her. I took a lot of his blood, so I don’t expect him to last long. When he talks to her in the thatsha language, she gasps, pushing back against him until they’re both grunting and moaning with each thrust.
As soon as Celine comes, Malach explodes, squashing her against the sink, his arm wrapped around her waist, protecting her from the full brunt of his weight.
Celine smiles at him in the mirror, her expression soft and unguarded.
Maybe I should be jealous, but I don’t have it in me right now. This feels right. And if anyone deserves her softness, it’s Malach, the angel who spent most of his life loving her.
She turns, kissing him gently, then meets my gaze. “Are you good?” she asks me.
I glance down and shrug. I’m still hard, but I can handle it later.
Celine laughs. “No, I meant are you going to be sick?”
I shake my head. “Malach was right.”
She smiles at him affectionately. “Of course, he was. Malach is always right.”
The walls of the house shudder again, and the easy calm fades from her expression. “I want breakfast on the balcony this morning,” she says. The normal, almost whimsical, sentence is at odds with the tightness around her mouth.
I will my erection to go down and follow her out of the bathroom. S’lach ruined the moment, and for that alone, he deserves another death sentence.