Chapter 23 #2
“Poor, cold-blooded baby,” Celine teases, rubbing her ass against my exhausted dick. The poor thing twitches, then rises to the occasion. Such a giver.
I back away until my spine hits the cold wall of the shower. “Nope,” I beg. “Leave it alone; it’s done enough.”
Celine and Alistair’s laughter echoes around the bathroom, and we hurry through the rest of the shower.
After we’re all clean and dry, I go back to the bedroom to examine the curtains.
Celine’s nightly routine takes time, and Alistair joins me first. I sense him watching me from the other side of the room.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I run my fingers along the edge of the fabric.
I snort. “Checking to see if these blackout curtains work so you don’t get barbecued at sunrise.”
Alistair surges across the room. Air brushes against my body from his speed. “You want me to stay?” he asks, his voice flat and emotionless.
“Celine does.” I shrug, pushing the curtains flat against the wall then frowning when they bounce back. “And it would ruin the mood if we woke up to your crispy corpse.”
He chuckles. “You’re too kind.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “Grab the tape out of that middle drawer, would you?”
“Are you sure it’s there? I don’t want to go through her stuff.”
“Yeah, everything’s labeled. You’ll see.”
A beat later, Alistair chuckles. “She is incredibly—”
“Meticulous,” Celine finishes. “Aspirational. That’s what you were going to say, right?”
“You’ll never know because you interrupted me,” Alistair points out and tosses me the tape.
“Safer for you that way,” I mutter, taping the edges of the curtains to the wall until there are no gaps, then turning to face them.
“What did you say, Luca?” Celine raises her eyebrows, rubbing excess lotion into her arms as a grin tugs at her lips.
“Nothing, baby.” I tuck the tape back into the basket labeled ‘adhesive’ and shut the drawer before walking out of the bedroom. Alistair follows me. “You check the front door. I’ll do the windows.”
I hesitate. I was planning to do this all myself. Trusting him with the windows . . . that’s a bigger step than kissing him.
Celine pushes past me, her oversized T-shirt grazing the tops of her thighs as she steps up to the front door to check the deadbolts. “How about I check my own doors and my own windows to make sure my own home is secure against potential celestial assassins meant for me.”
Neither of us argue, silently checking every window together instead. By the time we’re done, the situation is fully in perspective—trust is earned on the Fringes.
This newborn relationship, understanding, whatever the fuck it is, is in the stumbling-around stage. We haven’t grown to the point where all the limbs can function on their own yet. Until we get there, oversight is a guarantee, and that’s going to chafe.
After we check the last window, I grab Celine’s hand and pull her toward the bedroom, Alistair trailing behind us. “It’s physically secure, but what about magic?” he asks. “We should get a witch over here to lay wards.”
Celine stops by the bed, pulling the covers back to sit. “I don’t have the money to pay for that.”
I shoot Alistair a warning look, silently begging him not to offer her money.
His jaw tightens, but he keeps his mouth closed.
Celine scoots to the middle of the bed and secures her hair in a massive knot on top of her head. “Get in or get out,” she says, her words sharp even as her shoulders sag.
After a final glance at the curtains, I climb in on the side closest to the window. The tape is holding for now, but it could come loose while we sleep. I’m not sure how fast sun burns a vampire, and I won’t ask, but I’d rather Alistair sleep on the far side in case.
After a short pause, he crawls in and turns off the lamp. It’s pitch black. With the curtains taped shut, the street lights can’t reach us.
“You’re annoyed with me,” Alistair whispers, his words a statement and not a question.
Celine sighs. “No. I mean, yes, I am annoyed. Not specifically with you, though.”
“It feels the same.”
“I know,” Celine whispers. “Can you hold me and pretend it doesn’t?”
She’s talking to him, but both of us scoot closer.
Alistair’s arm grazes mine as we find a comfortable position. With my eyes adjusting, I can barely make out the outline of our tangled pile of limbs. It’s way too soon to say it, but if this becomes a habit, Celine is going to need a bigger bed.
I startle awake, blinking with confusion as Alistair shoots out of the bed completely naked and darts from the room like a shadowed dart. Is he hurt? I glance at the window, but no direct beams of light are making it past the curtains.
Pulling my arm out from under Celine, I follow him and ease the bedroom door shut behind me, just in time to hear a pained groan.
Fuck. No longer giving a shit about noise, I sprint into the living room and find Alistair cradling his arm to his chest. His crimson eyes are feral as he hugs the wall to avoid the light.
“I smelled blood,” he snarls. “And forgot her windows aren’t all sun-proofed.”
I hear him, but his voice is hollow, as if it’s coming through a tunnel.
Dripping runes cover every surface of the walls; runes that definitely weren’t there when we went to bed.
Adrenaline and sleep war for control of my brain, and my fangs descend involuntarily as my arms tremble with the urge to shift.
“How the fuck?” I hiss. We were sleeping a few feet away. How did someone come into this apartment and paint runes on the wall without any of us noticing?
“Check the door,” Alistair says. “I tried, but the sun . . . Luca, you’ve got to stay calm until we know what’s going on. They could be nearby.”
His words snap me out of it, and I stride to the door and check the locks.
All three are still in place, but the breeze hits me a second before I see the open window.
Rushing over to it, I stick my head out, blinking as my eyes adjust. There’s nothing to see besides the assorted brick and stucco buildings being broiled by the morning sun.
“Anything?” Alistair asks, his voice tight.
I glance down, then step back to get a better view. “More runes on the windowsill, but these are different.”
“Let me see,” Celine says, her voice reaching me a second before her hand lands gently on my shoulder.
Pulling back, I step away from the window with my eyes cast down. My basilisk is mostly under control, but neither of us want to risk her. We already failed her by sleeping through a fucking home invasion.
“This rune means open,” Celine says, slamming the window and latching it briskly. “It’s not a thatsha rune, just a common one, used most often by the guardians. They have a range of minor magical abilities.”
“I’m calling a witch,” Alistair says.
“It won’t matter.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, and he growls. I wince as all the tense, dangerous energy in the room heats to a boiling point.
“I’ll pay, Celine,” Alistair insists. “I don’t care about the cost. Let me help.”
“No! You aren’t listening to me,” she snaps, balling her hands at her sides. “It won’t matter because this is celestial magic. You could call ten witches and it wouldn’t fucking matter. It’s like trying to fix an airplane with train parts.”
“I understand that,” Alistair seethes. “But we could at least get a warning when someone enters your apartment, then—magic or no magic—we could kill them.”
I grunt in agreement. Celine’s angry stare digs into the side of my head.
“And that reminds me,” she says. “No more tips at the club. I won’t accept them.”
“What?” Alistair sounds shocked. “Can we discuss this after the skin on my arm grows back? I’m more than happy to have a conversation about your misplaced feminism once we figure out who broke into your godsdamn apartment.”
I wince and step back. He’s frustrated. I am too, but Celine is going to toss him out the window if he keeps this up. Her concern over money may seem random. It makes senses to me, though. I’ve spent years unraveling what makes her tick.
This break-in, the orphaned angels, two guys in her bed—Celine feels out of control. She hates that, so she’ll claw her balance back any way she can. If Alistair gets in her way, she’ll move him, and she won’t be gentle about it.
I need to get them back on task or this could escalate quickly. Running my finger through one of the runes on the wall, I clear my throat. “It’s still wet,” I say, breaking their tense standoff, then sniffing the red liquid. “This isn’t blood.”
I make eye contact with Alistair without thinking, relieved when he doesn’t turn to stone.
His face twists into a frustrated scowl, his injured arm hanging stiffly at his side.
I can sympathize with him. Hiding my protective instincts from Celine to avoid driving her away is a concept I’m intimately familiar with.
“I smelled blood,” Alistair says. “It woke me, but you’re right, it’s not coming from the walls.”
I nod, then inhale deeply. Smell is my strongest sense, and blood gives off a metallic odor. It’s stronger by the window.
Nudging Celine out of the way, I squat to take a closer look. Sure enough, there are several drops of blood on the latch, as if the intruder cut themselves while climbing in or out. I raise my eyebrows, shocked that this small amount woke Alistair up.
“Found it,” I say, pointing at the latch.
Collecting a little on my finger, I bring it over to the kitchen where Alistair is hunkering in the shadowed corner. He grabs my wrist and smells my hand, then nods.
“This is the blood that woke me,” he confirms. “I’ve never smelled it before, but if I ever smell it again, I’ll recognize it.”
I nod and take the opportunity to check out his injured arm. Red and angry, the skin of his forearm is already peeling. “Do you want some ice for that?” I ask, tilting my chin toward the freezer.
Alistair shakes his head, but his scowl smooths out. “I’ll be fine. It’s starting to heal.”
I nod, then check on Celine. She’s staring absently out the window; her arms and wings wrapped around herself. Sighing, I give her space to think, digging under her sink until I find the cleaning supplies I need to fix the walls.
When Alistair reaches for a rag, I grunt and pull it out of his reach. “Can you make me some coffee?” I ask, making sure to stay between him and the chemicals. If he gets even a single drop of heavy-duty cleaner in that fucking burn, he’ll be in agony. It’s not worth the risk.
Alistair frowns, running the fingers of his good hand through his hair. The black strands are messier than I’ve ever seen them. He watches Celine walk away, frustration flashing through his eyes.
“You can’t push too hard,” I whisper.
He groans up at the ceiling. “Would you believe me if I told you I was holding back?”
“Yeah, I believe it.” My basilisk is hovering beneath the surface, rattling in my chest. Now that Celine is out of sight, it’s going to steadily get worse.
By the time she comes back, dressed in ratty sweats, the kitchen smells like coffee. Celine stops in front of Alister, staring at his burned arm. Her own twitches a few times at her side before she goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him, then disappears into the pantry.
He blinks at me, his face twisted in confusion. I choke on my laugh. No matter what happens, I have to stay on her good side. If we both get booted, there will be no one around to watch her back.
Celine reappears with a gallon of green paint in one hand and a plastic tray and brush in the other.
Eyes determined, she follows behind me, silently painting after I clean the red paint off the walls.
We cover the runes slowly—they’re all the same—matching the ones that glow on her skin when she uses her magic.
Between the cleaning products, coffee, and paint fumes, the smell is nauseating.
Alistair breaks the quiet after about half an hour has passed. “Can I stay until dusk?”
Celine’s head snaps up, a smudge of green paint on her chin. “Do you think I would kick you to the curb to burn?” I swallow a groan as her wings begin to smoke.
“No?” Alistair doesn’t sound convinced, and from the frustration on Celine’s face and her glowing wings, she doesn’t appreciate that at all. She carefully places the lid back on the paint can, then bashes it closed with her bare fist.
“Damn, baby.” I wince. “You should do that with a hammer, not your hand.”
“I’m fine,” she shouts. “And, Alistair, since it apparently needs to be said, you can stay until dark. I asked you both to stay. I’m not going to murder you because someone is after me. What kind of person do you think I am—or does my character not matter, since I’m fuckable?”
Her wings burst into flames, the ultimate exclamation point to her rampage. Before Alistair can say a word, Celine disappears down the hall. Alistair glares at the ray of sunshine blocking his path, a crazed glint in his eye.
“Nope,” I snap, pointing at him with my spray bottle of bleach. “Don’t even think about it. She will cool off, and when she does, you can discuss it. Let it ride for now, Ali.” The nickname slips out. Neither of us acknowledge it.
“I hate that advice,” he hisses. “I need to get to her now!” He stumbles back a step, bracing against the counter, and shakes his head, surprised by his own intensity.
I take a deep breath, regretting it as soon as the bleach hits my nostrils. “Chill out and make me another cup of coffee,” I tell him, hoping an occupation will make him less likely to run through a gauntlet of sunbeams.
Alistair snarls. “I’m not your fucking barista.”
“The sun says you are, though,” I joke. “If you make me another cup without giving me attitude, I’ll see about blocking that window so you can go to her.”
He stills. “You’re holding me hostage.”
“No,” I correct him. “That big orange star is; I’m just not rushing to help. This is for your own good.”
“How?”
“You were fucking everything up.” I shrug. “Now sit over there and help me figure out how we’re going to keep her safe.”
Alistair slams my full mug of coffee on the edge of the counter, then sinks to the floor angrily. Once I’m sure he can’t see me, I let myself grin. Because as mad as he is, and as stressed as Celine feels, I’m confident we can fix it.