Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Watch your own back.
CELINE
Imani corners me in the dressing room, crossing her arms. “What’s going on, babe?”
“Why do you think—”
“Nope,” she says. “Try again and skip the bullshit this time. I’m already pissed. If you play dumb it’ll only be worse for you.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” I insist.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. Now spill.”
“It’s complicated,” I groan, tossing my makeup kit onto my station and flicking on the lights around my mirror.
Imani drops into her chair and begins pinning sections of her curls back. “It always is. Fill in the blanks for me.”
“You know what I’ve told you about Dad,” I say, then hold my breath until my wings aren’t threatening to turn to knives any longer.
“Dick and a half,” Imani mutters.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t mention this because it didn’t seem especially relevant at the time, but he wants me dead. And he knows where I am.”
Imani drops the clips on her station with a clatter and slowly turns her body toward mine, leveling me with her most intense stare. “Celine . . .”
“I know. Believe me, I know. It’s not great. He’s been sending goons to take me out. If you see someone with wings, turn around and go the other way.”
Imani slumps back in her chair, her piercing gaze so compassionate that my eyes well up with tears. “Gods, babe—are you okay?”
I shrug dismissively, then remember what she’s been through, and let out the breath I’ve been holding.
Imani’s concern isn’t from imagined empathy—it’s from lived experience.
If anyone in the Fringes can understand how I feel, it’s her.
Which is exactly why I can’t let her get anywhere near this mess.
“There’s not a mark on me,” I assure her. “But I don’t want him to know who I’m close to.”
“You think he’d come after me?” Imani asks, raising her eyebrows. “It won’t matter if he does, I’m with you no matter what.”
I force a smile, feeling a pinch in my heart. Imani won’t abandon me, yet six inches of water are enough to paralyze her with fear. It’s funny how friendship gives us the strength to fight someone else’s monsters, when even the thought of our own sends us scurrying for cover.
“He’s already tried with Alistair,” I tell her, desperate to make her see how serious this is. If I have to worry about her on top of everyone else . . .
Her eyebrows shoot up, then she grins. “I knew things were getting real with him.”
“What? Imani, you’re missing the whole entire point.” I shake my head and begin applying my makeup to give me something to do with my hands. “My dad is insane.”
“Yeah, I heard all that, and I’m appropriately freaked out, I promise. But Alistair hasn’t stopped hanging all over you . . . even after someone tried to kill him. That’s about as serious as it gets in the Fringes, babe. Like—when’s the wedding?”
“Shut up.” I laugh, but it comes out sounding manic. Pull yourself together.
Imani checks her phone, then grins. “I came in early to ambush you. We’ve got half an hour until the other girls get here. Spill, and leave nothing out. I want all the dirty details.”
“Fine, but in exchange, I need a promise from you,” I say, locking my eyes with hers. I’m willing to talk this through with her, but only if I know she’ll be safe. It’s the perfect opportunity to get her perspective and ensure she doesn’t become a casualty to my father’s cruel vendetta.
Imani sits up straighter, the humor falling away from her face. “Let’s hear it.”
“Until this settles, you keep your distance from me in public. I’m already losing sleep worrying about who could get hurt because of me. I can’t worry about you too.”
“Fine, but I have a condition of my own.” She points one perfectly manicured nail at me. “You’ll let me know if you need backup before it’s too late. No prideful, loner fringe bullshit where you try to go it alone, then end up as desert detritus.”
“Detritus? Really?” I chuckle. “Did you subscribe to one of those word-of-the-day email newsletters again?”
“Maybe.” Imani levels me with an exasperated look. “Don’t change the subject.”
I pinch my lips together, carefully drawing on my winged eyeliner. By the time I’m done, my mouth is hanging open despite my best efforts.
“Swear it, Celine,” Imani demands.
“Fuck,” I mutter, putting the makeup down and facing her. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes, because I don’t believe you’ll do it.”
“It’s almost impossible for me to lie,” I remind her.
“Which makes you an expert at not quite telling the complete fucking truth.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I swear on my honor as a nish thatsha that if I need backup, I will let Imani know immediately. Now, can I tell you about my new roommates?”
“Oh, gods, yes.” Imani meets my eyes through the reflection in the mirror and grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I slump in my chair, then clear my throat. “I want to start by saying that absolutely none of this is my fault . . .”
I dance my first set absentmindedly. Unloading on Imani left me feeling like a freshly sharpened blade.
While going over things prepared me to face them, it also brought the danger back to the front of my mind.
My only comfort is her reluctant promise to keep her distance until this all settles down.
If only Luca and Alistair would do the same.
The club is different tonight. The lights are the same, and the smells and sounds are all pretty standard too.
I can’t put my finger on what’s off—except the eyes feel different on my skin .
. . more sinister. I give the crowd another scan.
It’s a mix of regulars and strangers. None of them stand out. You’re being paranoid.
Finishing my dance, I collect my top and the loose bills scattered around the stage, telling myself to chill out while I’m at it. Acting jittery is far more likely to put me at risk than going about my normal routine.
Dad wants me dead—but he won’t want a scene. Slaughtering a stripper under literal spotlights with dozens of onlookers standing by is hardly discreet. That means I’m safe here, or as safe as I ever am in the Fringes.
I imagine his minions reporting to him about my chosen profession and grin.
That vein in his temple would bulge ominously, followed by the narrowing of his gray eyes.
My smile fades as I let the scene play out in my mind.
Since he’s no longer in possession of his two favorite punching bags, Dad would find a servant to exorcise his anger on.
Familiar guilt swirls in my stomach. His actions are no one’s responsibility but his own.
As always, that statement feels like a lie.
After all this time, I can’t make myself believe it.
You make me do this, he would shout. Discipline—once you learn discipline, these lessons will stop.
Lies. I could sense that even then. He was lying to me.
Lying to her. Lying to himself, too, I suspect.
Nerves tingling, I avoid weaving through the crowd after my set. I usually pick up good tips that way, but I can’t make myself do it tonight. Not while I see the crowd as nothing but a collection of clenched fists attached to dangerous strangers.
Backstage, I tie my top back into place, adjusting the cups of the lingerie until they sit perfectly over my breasts. The curtain wobbles slightly, then Luca steps into the tight space, a water bottle in his hand. He offers it to me without a word.
Luca’s kindness makes it harder to hold on to my composure. My eyes burn. Why won’t my stupid memories leave me alone?
“Who’s manning the bar?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“It can man itself for a few minutes.”
I nod. “If you want a break, I can keep an eye on it. That’s no issue.”
“Breathe, baby.” Luca takes an exaggerated inhale, worry in his hazel eyes.
“I’m fine. I j-just—” I stutter, a lump swelling in my throat, thick and tight. It burns as if it’s wrapped in barbed wire, making it hard to get the oxygen I need. I toss up my hands, at a loss for how to explain why I’m freaking out.
“Breathe,” Luca says again. “Take it one breath at a time.”
I match his every inhale, then drain the bottle in long, greedy chugs. Some of the water trickles from the corner of my mouth, and I wipe it away, cringing as I picture how messy I must look.
Luca takes the empty bottle from my hands, tosses it on the floor, then hauls me into his arms. His hold is tight—perfect.
I sag against him, convinced he’ll hold us both up if I need him to.
Another shaky breath brings me his familiar, comforting scent, and slowly, my panicked thoughts fade to the background where they belong.
Lifting my chin from his chest, I study Luca’s face. Concern for me is carved into every angle and curve. If my father catches even a whiff of what he means to me, I’ll lose him forever. That’s the reality we’re living in.
Gritting my teeth, I cradle Luca’s face in both hands. “You’ll be careful at all times; do you hear me? I can’t bear to . . . Be careful, Luca. Promise me.”
“I promise.” The words have barely left his lips before I’m kissing them, hungry and frantic. I should drive him away to keep him safe, but I can’t. I’m too selfish, too weak. I lack the discipline to do this alone.
“Celine,” he groans, then pulls back to glance at the thin black curtain blocking the crowd’s view of our position. “I don’t want to hide. I want Ciprian to know you’re mine. I want all those horny bottom feeders out there to know it too.”
I open my mouth to give him a valid excuse. It’s more dangerous. It makes the target on his back twice as big. Then I focus less on what I’m going to say next and more on what Luca is saying without words: there’s hurt behind his eyes.
“Is this because your basilisk wants ownership or something else?” I ask. “Because if you’re feeling territorial, you can deal with it.”
He runs his fingers roughly through his hair, making his normally tousled look even messier. For once, I don’t want to bring order to the chaos. Luca is perfect exactly as he is.
“No, I mean, I am territorial. There’s no point lying about that, but watching you claim him while you hide me . . .” Luca won’t meet my eyes, and I feel sick.
“I’m hurting you,” I say, and the truth of that statement hits me square in the chest.
He sighs. “I know it’s not intentional.”
I swallow hard. Does intention matter when the end result is the same? Luca does everything he can to make sure no one gets the chance to hurt me, yet I’m hurting him constantly with this decision. Well-meaning or not, that’s on me.
“What if we tell Ciprian so we don’t have to hide while we’re in my apartment?” I suggest. “He can have the spare room, and you can stay with me and Alistair.”
“Yes,” Luca says without a second of hesitation. He lifts me up on my tiptoes to kiss me, his tongue stroking mine before I push him back.
“You didn’t let me finish.” I gesture to the curtain, where the stage lights are currently shining through the dark fabric.
“I still want to keep it quiet out there. I won’t put you more at risk than I already have, Luca.
Please try to see it my way. If someone from your past was trying to kill you, would you drag me directly into the line of fire? ”
He groans. “When you put it like that—”
“I sound smart and impossible to argue with.”
Luca smiles, rolling the hoop between his lips. “I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
I shove at his chest, but he catches my hands, pulling me into his body and trailing kisses along my neck. His touch makes me hot and needy, and I can’t believe I managed to keep my hands off him for as long as I did.
“You’re important to me,” I tell him emphatically, admitting the only version of the truth I’m brave enough to share right now.
Luca’s eyes flicker yellow, and he kisses my forehead. “You’re important to me too.” Does he mean what I mean when he says that? I refuse to ask, bending over instead to grab the discarded water bottle so he won’t be able to read the question written all over my face.
“We can handle this, right?” I ask, feeling more myself than I did fifteen minutes ago, despite the butterflies knocking around in my stomach.
Luca nods, bringing my knuckles up to his lips. “No one will take what we’ve built, Celine. Not without a hell of a fight.” He’s not talking about material things but about everything else. The things in a person’s life that can’t be measured; things that make life worth living.
I nod, determination replacing my fears.
I traded everything familiar to me in order to gain autonomy here on Earth.
I chose this life. I’m exactly who I want to be.
And Luca is right: no one will take that from me.
If they try, I’ll kill them. It’s the most unvarnished truth I’ve confronted all day.