Chapter 9
NINE
Contact the enclave for conflict resolution.
CIPRIAN
Dad drags me home for an important meeting, then doesn’t say a damn word that applies to me.
He could have at least had someone create a portal to make things easier on me, but of course that’s too much trouble.
I drove ten hours, and for what? To nod off in the conference room?
I swear he gets off on making everyone jump when he says to.
Swallowing a yawn, I thrum my fingers against my knee while he drones on.
Callum and Gideon showing up with Sheena in tow has thrown him for a loop. Yet, I can already see the dollar signs in his eyes as he calculates what her appearance is worth to the enclave. How embarrassing. I keep my mouth shut.
Sheena has her work cut out for her if she wants to be part of this family. She could always take off—I would help her if she asked—but I hope she decides we’re worth it. With the way she’s falling for my brother and Gideon, I’m almost hopeful.
“Why do you look weird?” Callum whispers, his expression suspicious.
I roll my eyes. I think I might cease to exist if my brother didn’t expect the worst of me. He conveniently forgets that he was the one who left me behind. “Be quiet,” I drawl. “Can’t you see I’m trying to listen to Dad?”
My voice is dripping with sarcasm, but Callum’s face hardens anyway, as if he can’t even tell when I’m bullshitting anymore. Whatever. That’s his problem. I won’t spoon feed him.
I yawn again, glancing at my phone as it vibrates in my lap.
Sheena
Tell me more about the wings.
Ciprian
Gods. I was drunk. I never should have mentioned her to you.
Am I doing this wrong? The bestie thing.
How am I supposed to know? I don’t get why you want to hear about my drama anyway after what happened at dinner last night.
Your parents are a lot.
Ugh… don’t mention it. Seriously, please don’t mention it.
Callum loves you.
I snort, and Cal shoots me another narrow-eyed stare. His girlfriend has some serious blinders on if she thinks our sibling relationship is salvageable, but who am I to burst her bubble?
Ciprian
Sure he does.
Nothing will come of the wings. She’s incredibly hot but radiates trouble.
It would be messy. Like a bomb going off.
Sheena
The perfect fit.
Honestly, Ciprian, you’re describing yourself.
Plus, she’s got a roster of hot dicks orbiting her like she’s the sun.
Hot dicks you say?
Damn girl! Don’t you have enough?
Yeah, but you could use a few.
Unless I read that wrong.
She didn’t, but I’m going to make her sweat that one out.
Leaving her on read, I swallow my grin and glance up at Dad.
He’s still rambling. Gideon’s head droops, a few curls falling over his eyes.
They do nothing to disguise the fact that he’s nodding off.
I kick him in the shin, then focus on my phone.
Sheena
Okay, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, I was abducted when I was sixteen. It probably stunted my development.
Ciprian
You were right. I’m an equal opportunity taste tester.
Then eat up.
You’re filthy.
Sheena might be on to something, though.
Celine is magnetic. Luca is mouthwatering.
And Alistair—damn, Alistair is a tall, dark, and handsome drink made entirely of juicy secrets.
They could be the key to learning what happened to Roscoe and how things work on the Fringes.
I just can’t let them know I’m part of the enclave.
“Ciprian, are you even listening to me?” Dad demands. I raise my chin, making sure my bland expression is firmly in place. “After your drunken display at dinner last night, I’m half a mind to send you back to Las Vegas to start the Roscoe investigation over from scratch.”
I widen my eyes and activate faux contrition mode. “You’re right,” I say. “I fucked—I mean, messed up. Give me a chance to fix it, Dad. I won’t let you down again.”
His chest swells, and he shoots Callum a barbed, superior smirk.
My brother should realize what I’m doing and take notes about the best ways to get around our father, but his expression sours and he slumps back in his chair instead.
I sigh. I can lead a horse to fucking water, but I can’t make him drink, can I?
“Very well,” Dad says. “You’ll go back to Vegas and stay there until you can successfully bring back information worth having.
Roscoe wouldn’t have deserted the enclave.
Someone killed him, and I want them dealt with.
We’ve let the Fringes get away with way too much, but I’m drawing the line at murder.
It’s high time they remember who runs this territory, don’t you think, Joshua? ”
“Of course,” Joshua says easily, but his brown eyes are sharp. After a quick study of my face, he winks at me, then changes the subject.
I feel a rush of affection for him. Gideon may be his only child, but he and Sarah raised me as much as Dad and Mom, if not more, and they are a lot harder to manipulate. Joshua knows I want to go to Vegas, and he’s suspicious, but he’s no snitch.
Plus, he’s beyond excited about Gideon and Callum coming home. He never wanted them to move out, and Sheena’s security issues are a golden opportunity for him to herd the prodigal chicks—I mean enclave heirs—back into the nest.
I toss him a half-smile. I see you, too, Joshua Therion. One hurdle cleared, I go over my game plan. As long as I can avoid getting caught by Sarah, I’ll be home free.
Three days after I planted the first seeds, Dad sends me back to Vegas.
I’m more than ready to put the compound in the rearview mirror. Do any of them realize that my shoulders shoot up to my fucking ears every time I drive through the gate? Would they care if they did?
Sheena and I are on good terms, and I want to be there for her during this mess, but being surrounded by nosy, opinionated supernaturals wears me down.
They watched me grow up. There isn’t a skeleton in my closet that hasn’t been paraded around this compound for inspection.
Add in two and a half decades of preconceived notions about how I’ll behave, and I have no choice but to play the role I’ve been cast in.
I’m getting tired of it. The lovable fuckup.
Dad’s last hope for a nightmare demon legacy.
It’s tragic, really. He wanted the perfect heir but had to squish his spare into the mold instead.
Joke’s on him, though. I’m happy to play the part when it suits me, but I’m Ciprian Casanell, and I’m no one’s perfect progeny.
Dropping my head against the steering wheel, I breathe in through my nose.
This pattern of thoughts is as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
It always makes me feel worse, but I don’t know how to put it to bed without crawling in beside it.
And why does everything need to be good for me, anyway?
I don’t drink scotch for my fucking health.
I turn the radio on and try to get lost in the music.
For this job, I need to forget about my enclave responsibilities and blend in.
Fringe Ciprian should be sexy and caustic, a good time, but not too good.
I need to ride that razor-thin line they always balance on, never showing too much interest in anyone while remaining aware of every move they make.
By the time I step back into my temporary home, I’ve purged the worst of my mood by scream singing punk rock until my throat hurts. There’s no point in having fast healing if you don’t take advantage of it during the important moments, right?
“Right,” I answer myself out loud, loneliness creeping over me.
I’m talking to myself a lot these days. Thank the gods I’m a great conversationalist. Locking the door behind me, I collapse face first on the bed for a nap. After a couple of hours dead to the world, I get a whiff of myself, then stumble to the shower, feeling almost cheerful.
Next, I grab some food, then head over to the strip club to snoop. Four days away should have smoothed over any feathers I ruffled by asking about Roscoe. As I approach the now familiar building, a smile takes over my face. I’m about to see Celine, and I bet she looks fucking—
I trip over something in the dark and barely lift my hands in time to avoid face planting into the concrete wall. Poking the lumpy thing with my toe, I jump back as it whimpers.
“Umm, sorry,” I mutter, squinting at the little face blinking up at me. Shit, it’s a kid. Outside a strip club. That’s weird as fuck.
The child blinks a few times, but there’s no awareness in his eyes.
He tips over and goes back to sleep, his mouth falling open against the pavement.
What the fuck is going on here? He’s a bit young to be drunk, and I don’t see any sign of injury.
Bending over, I gingerly put two fingers on the child’s neck, relieved to find his pulse is strong and steady.
I sigh, my fun plans for the night vanishing like smoke.
I’m going to have to get help inside and draw unwanted attention to myself in the process.
I’m not even sure what the kid is. I can sense he isn’t human, but beyond that, his kind isn’t immediately obvious.
Definitely not a demon or a shifter . . .
Groaning, I open the door and shoulder my way through the crowd.
It’s Friday night, and the Naked Fang is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it.
Luca is behind the bar, his hair falling in his eyes as he fills a pitcher with beer.
The tattered tank top he’s wearing should make him look like he left his fashion game in the ’90s, but grunge suits him perfectly.
I wait my turn impatiently, noting with satisfaction the recognition that flares in his eyes when he spots me. “What can I get for you?” Luca asks.
I shake my head. “You don’t have anything back there strong enough for this. I need to show you something.”
Luca sighs, then rolls his eyes. “That was a terrible line.”
“I’m not talking about my cock, man,” I say, wincing. “In fact, don’t even think about my cock during this conversation, please. There’s a kid passed out in the alley.”
He frowns at me. “We don’t serve underage here.”
“No, you’re not hearing me.” I raise my voice over the rising thump of the bass. “There’s a literal child outside. I tripped over it. Him,” I correct myself.
Luca’s stare sharpens. He studies me, then glances over my shoulder in the direction of the back rooms. “Fuck, okay. Show me.”
I lead him out the door, feeling eyes on me the entire way.
I glance back, but there are way too many people in this club to know who’s watching.
Part of me hopes the kid took off, but he’s right where I left him, curled up in a tight ball on the hard ground.
“See,” I say, pointing to the child. “I told you.”
Luca shoots me a disgruntled look, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Not this again. Shit.” I frown, but before I can ask him to explain what he means, he focuses back on me. “Can you tell what he is?”
I shake my head. “Not a demon. That’s for sure.”
“You didn’t see wings, did you?”
His cagey tone catches my interest, and I cock my head to the side. “No wings.” Angels aren’t the only winged supernaturals, but given Luca’s connections . . . Only a dumbass would miss the obvious logical leap. “You think he’s an angel?”
Luca stiffens. “I have no idea what he is. Watch him for a second, would you? I’ll be right back.”
“What?” I snap. “Don’t leave me with him.”
Luca ignores me, disappearing into the club without a backward glance. I eye the child suspiciously, but he’s sound asleep.
I count to sixty four times before the door opens again with a metallic whine.
Luca steps through, followed by Celine. She has a green, silky robe tossed over her shoulders and belted at the waist. This outfit is somehow hotter than the lingerie I imagined earlier.
Celine glances at me with narrowed eyes, then peers at the boy.
“What is it?” I ask while Luca grunts impatiently.
Celine levels us both with a frustrated glare. “He is a child,” she says.
“No shit,” I scoff. “But what kind? There’s no way that energy is human.”
Celine ignores me, giving Luca a nod. He scrubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw and digs a cell phone out of his pants. My temper surges. I hate being ignored.
“Don’t do that,” I hiss. Both of them lift their heads. “I found him. Don’t you think I deserve to know what he is too?”
“No,” Celine says shortly.
“Why not?” I demand, advancing a step toward her.
“Because I don’t trust you.”
“Because I’m a demon?” I crowd her, matching her glare with one of my own.
Never in a million years would I lay a hand on her, but I’m curious to see what she’ll do if I push her too far.
And I’m not going to let them carry this child off without knowing what they’re going to do with it—fuck—him. “That’s pretty rude, if you ask me.”
She lifts her chin defiantly, then groans as her wings shoot out of her back, shredding the back of the colorful robe like tissue paper. “First, I didn’t ask you. Second, it’s not because you’re a demon; it’s because you’re a stranger. Third, you owe me a new robe, you dick.”
I listen to her rant with half my focus, the other half watching with fascination as smoke drifts up from her wings.
Curious, I reach for the closest feathers to me, and sure enough, they’re radiating heat.
Right before my fingers connect, she slaps my hand away.
The feather I was about to touch bursts into flames.
“Holy shit! You’ve got hot wings,” I exclaim. It’s an idiotic thing to say, but I can’t help myself. They’re fucking cool.
Luca groans, then the kid’s eyes snap open. He takes one good look at the fireball that Celine has become, scrambles to his feet, and starts speaking in tongues.