Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Tempers are deadly—make sure yours doesn’t get you killed.
CELINE
Ciprian strolls along at my side like there’s nothing inside his beautiful head but fluff. I don’t buy it for a second, but I’ve made too much of a mess on my own to focus on him.
My wings clink with every step. The annoying sound is proof that my emotions are out of control.
And the horror reel playing in my head .
. . it’s all too much. Waking up to my hand around Luca’s neck.
Clink. His face falling in the bathroom when I didn’t tell him I love him.
Clink. How he’d driven away without looking back. Clink.
I will my wings to disappear, then beg them when that doesn’t work.
Clink.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
I know I messed up. I should have said something—anything.
But Luca blindsided me. I had no space to process, no room to be alone.
I had to get out. And damn him for making this harder than it has to be.
He knows me. Knows I avoid attachment. There’s no way he thought telling me how he felt wouldn’t send me running.
My itch is all-consuming. Less warning, more torment. It hasn’t fully gone away in weeks; there’s too much going on.
I’m being hunted by my father’s legion of assassins while someone deposits kids around me as if I’ve been cursed by a celestial stork.
To top it off, I’ve got a basilisk shifter swearing he loves me, a surly vampire embedding himself beneath my skin, and a tagalong demon who acts more like a puppy than the sinister being he really is.
I want to scream—but I can’t even do that, because it would cause a scene. I peer at the houses around us and consider letting one rip, anyway. If my wings would go away, I might risk it, but I’m too recognizable with them out.
Ciprian bends to examine a spindly cactus growing from a crack in the sidewalk, then hums softly as he continues to amble along at my side. I narrow my eyes at him. He saved Alistair, and I still can’t figure out his motives.
“You have nothing to say?” I demand, fearing I may lose it if the only voice I’m subjected to is the one screaming inside my head.
“Oh, hot wings, I have plenty to say.” Ciprian looks at me and winks. “But I got the impression this was a rampage ramble.”
“What the fuck is a rampage ramble?” Can’t he tell I have no patience for vague bullshit right now?
“You know—a walk where you purge your pissed off, frustrated, sometimes illogical thoughts all at once with no consequences. You air them out to a friend and relieve the pressure so they don’t accidentally come out sideways and bite you . . . or someone else.”
“You’re not my friend,” I point out, then stiffen as my magical core sends a stinging wave of pain along my skin.
That was a lie? The last thing I need is a new friend.
I can’t even protect the ones I have. My heart beats faster in my chest, and the itch migrates to the middle of my back where I have no chance of reaching it.
“Maybe not,” Ciprian says with a shrug. “But I could be today. I promise not to judge.”
I let a sliver of my magic out, my runes barely visible in the bright sunlight as I test his intent. No signs of deception. He means it. I frown. That’s so . . . strange.
I try to vanish my wings again, groaning when they stubbornly stay put. Ciprian doesn’t comment. I sigh. Am I really about to confide in him? He’s practically a stranger. Or a new friend.
“I am pissed off,” I admit, kicking a chunky piece of gravel with all my strength. It flies across the street, hits the side of a house, and sends up a small cloud of dust on impact.
“Be specific,” Ciprian encourages. “What’s making you feel that way?”
“Fucking everything,” I hiss. “These kids are popping up left and right. I can’t even pick up groceries without expecting to find a winged toddler in my cart.
And my dad—he’s a complete and total sack of shit.
I know he’s trying to kill me, but the kids don’t fit with his methods.
It doesn’t make any sense, and that pisses me off more. ”
Ciprian nods. “Like you’re overlooking something that would bring order to the chaos.”
“Yes!” I throw my hands up. “Exactly that. And everyone expects me to have an answer for the orphans. Just because we’re all angels doesn’t make them my problem. I left the celestial realm behind, and I’m on birth control; I don’t want to adopt fifty kids.”
“Of course you don’t,” Ciprian says with a shudder. “That’s grotesque. What else?”
“I’ll tell you what else,” I snarl, pivoting to face him.
“Alistair, Luca, even you—you all look at me like an expensive steak you want to sink your teeth into. I’m not a hunk of meat.
And it takes me time to understand my feelings.
Some of us don’t wake up every morning with perfect emotional clarity. ”
“May I point something out?” Ciprian asks.
I shoot him a warning glare, then nod shortly. “If you must.”
“I think you’re more comfortable with people looking at you like a piece of meat than you are when they look at you like something else.”
I scoff. “You’re full of shit.”
Ciprian shrugs, unbothered by my hostility. “Maybe. But it seems to bother you more when they look at you like you’re on a shrine rather than the dinner table.”
“What’s the difference?” I whisper, my wings drooping to graze the ground. “It doesn’t matter if I’m on a plate or a pedestal, I’m still an object to them.”
“Hmm, you could be right about that.” Ciprian nudges my shoulder with his, his tone forcefully cheerful. “But you can’t know for sure if you only tackle it during a rampage ramble.”
“For the record, though, you’re just Celine to me. Angry, more walls than a labyrinth, witty but sometimes cruel, and painfully hot. You’re interesting because you aren’t perfect or shitty—you’re everything in between.”
“Do you think I’m overreacting?” I ask, trying to make sense of his speech. It was convoluted, but not a single word rang false.
“I think you’re just reacting.” Ciprian nudges me again and grins. “Give them room to do the same, yeah? No one has a playbook.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” I ask, trying to rile him up one last time. I feel way better, and I don’t know how he managed it.
Ciprian stares at me, and a weird expression crosses his face. “I’m not smart; I’m a fuckup. I have a lot of miles of rampage rambles racked up. If there were a reward program, I’d be in platinum.”
Frowning, I study him more closely. There’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. I want to ask why he thinks he’s a fuckup, but I don’t get the chance.
The whooshing sound of flapping wings interrupts the silence.
It’s been a long time since I flew, but the sound is more familiar to me than breathing. Unmistakably celestial. I stiffen, looking up, then around for something to defend myself with. “Get out of here,” I bark at Ciprian, giving up on finding a good weapon. My bare hands are more than enough.
“Not a chance,” he whispers. “Don’t move or speak.”
“Don’t tell me what to—”
Ciprian claps his hand over my mouth and pushes me into the nearby retaining wall. Fuck. I need to prepare to fight, and I can’t see anything but his shoulder. His stupidity is going to get us killed.
The flapping wings get louder until they’re right on top of us.
Enough of this. I brace to shove Ciprian out of my way, but .
. . no one lands. The sound gets fainter, then disappears completely.
It doesn’t make sense. We’re standing against a concrete wall in broad daylight. How could they have missed us?
Forcefully, I move Ciprian, but I’m too late. The sky is clear. Our winged visitor is gone.
I spin to face Ciprian, my mouth dropping open to yell. Then I close it. Open but unfocused, his eyes are bottomless, swirling pools of inky, roiling obsidian. Magic skitters along my skin, only obvious now that my battle adrenaline is fading.
“What did you do?” I ask, frustrated beyond belief. This was my chance to figure out who Dad sent to kill me. This was my chance to get answers.
“I saved your life,” Ciprian says, blinking until his eyes clear. “Did you forget someone is trying to kill you?”
My wings droop. Suddenly, I don’t have the energy to yell anymore. “This was my best shot to figure out what’s going on, and I didn’t even get a good look,” I whisper. “You hid us somehow. How did you do it?”
Ciprian’s onyx eyes turn hard. There’s no hint of our earlier camaraderie, only impenetrable, flat darkness. “I showed him what would be true nine times out of ten: a blank, boring street. I’m sorry that messed up your plans.”
“Don’t do it again,” I say, but my words lack their usual bite.
The Ciprian staring back at me is an enigma. I don’t recognize him at all, and it makes me wonder: if there are multiple versions of him, how will I ever know which one is real?
I need to get home.
This time, when I tell my wings to retract, they obey, and I’m able to drive us back to my apartment. I don’t take the long way.
By the time I unlock the stack of deadbolts on my front door, my stress is hovering at a manageable level. Ciprian trails along behind me, silently scrolling on his phone. His face is pinched.
I don’t ask him what’s wrong. It’s not my business, and it’s not how we do things out here on the Fringes. Information is currency. It wouldn’t be right to demand credit on a personal account I never intend to settle.
This afternoon was an exception. A mistake. I told him too much. Learning about his magic will be my payment for those ill-thought-out moments of transparency. I don’t plan to share the knowledge with anyone else unless I have to.
Ciprian has some sort of illusion power; there’s no other way he could have hidden us from the angel. It’s not a common skill, at least not around here, so it didn’t occur to me before.
I know a couple of witches who can manage simple visual warps, but it’s incredibly taxing and they have to prepare ahead of time.
Brandy is one of them, but she would be laid up in bed if she tried something on the fly, and Ciprian is fine.
Besides the tightness around his eyes, he couldn’t look healthier.
“Do you need to take a nap?” I ask.
I promised myself I wouldn’t prod, but now I’m curious about how he regenerates his energy. It’s the one thing all supernatural species share. Alistair feeds on blood, and Imani soaks in water. I have no idea how demons recover their magic.
“I’m fine,” Ciprian says. His tone is polite and detached. I don’t like it. Somehow, it’s less honest that his snark.
“Suit yourself.” I lock the door behind us, my shoulders climbing to my ears. It’s ridiculous. I’m more stressed walking into my own home than I was while being actively hunted by a winged assassin.
“Remember, you’re everything in between,” Ciprian says.
Sighing, I face him, feeling like there’s an impossibly large boulder coated with itching powder strapped to my back. “What do you even mean by that?” I ask.
“If you don’t forget that you’re everything in between, it’s easier to remember that they are too.”
I frown. “You think I should ignore what happened?”
Ciprian shakes his head. “You’re doing it again. You try to distill everything, to separate the salt from the water—like saltwater’s too messy for you. But it’s real. Just more complicated. I know you want things neat and orderly, but life doesn’t work that way. You’ve got to embrace the mess.”
A bolt of pain shoots through my jaw, and I realize I’m clenching it way too tightly. I roll it around until the cramp stops. His words ring true, even without using my gift. “Anything else, wise one?”
“Yeah, don’t call me wise. It makes me feel old.” Ciprian grins, a hint of the playful, sarcastic demon peeking out at me.
Rolling my eyes, I flip him off, head down the hall, and say, “In case it wasn’t already clear to you, Luca and I are together.”
Ciprian snorts. “Please. I’ve known that since the first night I stepped into the Naked Fang. Do you also want to tell me the walls in here are a cool, verdant green while you’re at it? Because that’s the only thing more obvious.”
“It’s springtime viridescence, dick-for-brains,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him.
“Cool.” Ciprian glances at his phone, then back up at me. “Since you’ve finally quit hiding Luca like a bad bald spot, can I have the spare room?”
“No,” I say waspishly, then continue down the hall. My smile fades with each step.
Embrace the mess. Embrace the mess. I repeat Ciprian’s words in my mind like a battle cry, not quite sure I know how to put them into practice.
Hand on the doorknob, I release my breath and twist the cool metal.
I’m not a coward, and one thing is crystal clear to me: I owe Luca and Alistair an explanation.