Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Listen to your gut.
ALISTAIR
A splinter of shadowed intuition digs into my mind, firmly embedding itself beyond my reach. Sleep evades me, no matter how much tossing and turning I do. My pillow is too warm, the bed too soft. I peel the covers off my right side and stick my leg out.
Now I’m cool . . . yet I remain vividly awake. It’s maddening.
I use my tongue to count my teeth—thirty-two of them—as I already bloody knew there would be. I count the ceiling tiles next. There are twenty-eight. Incredible information gathering, Ali. Exemplary.
If I could figure out why my mind won’t quiet, I could address it and sleep. But some instincts require decoding before they can be understood. Mine are screaming at me, telling me I’ve missed something, yet refusing to show me a clear picture.
Rolling onto my side, I study Celine and Luca in the darkness. Celine’s lips are parted, her chest rising and falling at a slow, measured pace. Safe. She’s safe. I focus on Luca next, noticing how thick and dark his eyelashes are. Beautiful. Both of them.
My fingers curl, and my eyes heat as blood collects behind them.
Vision sharpened, I can see every dip and curve with perfect clarity despite the darkness.
It doesn’t help me sleep. There’s a puffiness under Celine’s eyes, skin irritated by her tears.
The bruising on Luca’s neck is yellowing around the edges.
I fight the urge to tug them closer. I should have protected them both better.
When Celine and I made our deal, I promised her something casual.
Fascinated by the both of them and envious of their dynamic, I meant it wholeheartedly at the time .
. . I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to keep my word.
Vampires traditionally avoid attachments and keep to themselves. Frankly, I never expected to experience anything like the raw, possessive thirst that consumes me now. Yet here I am. Sleepless. Frenzied.
Celine and Luca would never again sleep soundly by my side if they knew how ferociously I desire them. To pursue them without restraint would be to lose them.
Celine especially isn’t ready. Listening to her shut down during Luca’s declaration proved it. My blood runs cold as I imagine her rejecting me. I tug the covers back over my leg. Dwelling is a waste of time, yet sleep refuses to come.
The sun rises behind the protection of the blackout shades.
My eyes are gritty and bloodshot.
Is it the family we placed the angels with in Valley of Fire? Maybe they aren’t what they seem. I replay our interactions ruthlessly. Nothing stands out.
Hours pass. Celine and Luca stir. I do my best not to resent them for their rest, ransacking every nook and cranny of my brain to explain my unease.
We get up after noon, and I tell no one about my sleepless night. My body feels like it’s moving through quicksand, my nerves ground down until even the slightest stimulation jolts their frayed ends.
By the time Luca and Celine head to the club, I’m more exposed nerve than man.
Ciprian tosses me a few penetrating looks, but doesn’t pry. Five minutes after sunset, he glances up from his phone and clears his throat. “I’m having a bad day too, you know. How about we go to the club and flirt with Luca until he kicks us out?”
I force a smile and nod. Dwelling at the club is better than dwelling here. At least at the Naked Fang, I’ll know they’re both okay.
“Off we pop,” I say, bracing my hands on my thighs.
Ciprian stands and smirks at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you sound British sometimes?”
I flinch internally. Gods, my lack of sleep really is taking a toll if it’s that noticeable.
“Nice catch,” I mutter. “My mum is English. Blood bluer than the aristocracy, although she would disagree due to these.” I tap my fangs. Technically, she considers what we are to be far more damning than a simple class demotion, but Ciprian doesn’t need to know that.
“That’s cool.” He opens the front door and steps out onto the landing. “My mom would love to be royal.”
I cock my head. There’s something there . . . in his tone. I can’t put my finger on it. A wry sort of amusement?
“Are you close to your family?” I ask, locking the apartment behind us and following Ciprian down the stairs. The street light shines on his face, bathing it in a sickly yellow glow. He scrubs his hand over his chin, but not before I see his frown.
“Gods, that’s kind of a loaded question.
Mom would tell you yes, but she’s not interested in a real relationship.
” He sighs, then chuckles. “Here I am rambling about my mommy issues while we head to a strip club. Someone, somewhere, with a lot of letters after their name would have something to say about that.”
I grunt in response as I process his words, scanning the street, rooftops, and sky for winged assassins, before facing him. “Mothers can be complicated,” I admit.
Pain flickers across Ciprian’s face, only to be replaced a heartbeat later by the cocky smirk he wears so well.
He changes the subject smoothly. If I wasn’t expecting it, I might not have noticed.
And even though I’m fully aware he’s steering our conversation into less turbulent waters, his chattering soothes me.
Ciprian is charming in a way many people train for years to achieve and never reach. He would be a tremendous asset to my information network. If only I trusted him.
I pull in outside the club, but it takes a while to find a parking spot. “Must be busy tonight,” I say.
He mumbles something noncommittal, the first resurgence of his ‘bad day’ since he stopped talking about his mom. I remember him trembling on the bathroom floor last night and frown. I’m not sure flirting with Luca can fix whatever’s wrong with Ciprian.
We walk silently to the club, both monitoring our surroundings carefully. The door is only about ten feet away when someone shouts.
“Hey, Casanell!”
I turn to look. A guy I’ve never seen before is waving excitedly at us—no, at Ciprian. The yellow glint in his eyes tells me he’s a shifter. Probably drunk and confused.
We keep walking. Ciprian is moving more quickly than before. I narrow my eyes and slow down.
“Dude, wait up,” the stranger shouts. “Your dad sent me. He says you haven’t been answering your phone.”
I stop. The splinter quivers wildly inside my brain.
“Ignore him,” Ciprian mutters, reaching for the door.
I ignore him instead, turning to face the shifter. “Who did you say you were looking for?” I ask politely. “Maybe I can help.”
“Ciprian Casanell,” the man barks, his eyes flashing a brighter yellow as his chest puffs out. “I don’t need help from fringe scum either; I’m here on enclave business. Don’t even think about getting in my way.”
The splinter disintegrates, and everything snaps into place.
Ciprian’s careful questions. How powerful he is. The way he never quite fits in.
“Ciprian Casanell?” I repeat, shaking my head as my eyes burn. “I should have known. You’re here for a job. Tell me, Casanell, are we the job?”
“Listen, Alistair, please.” Ciprian grabs my upper arm. “Let me explain.”
I shove his hand off. He’s not who he claimed to be—I’ve heard all I need to hear.
“You lied to us,” I hiss, shoving him back into the outer wall of the Fang. “And you betrayed Celine.”
“No.” Ciprian’s head snaps up, anger and desperation twisting his face into something I don’t recognize. “I absolutely did not.”
I scoff. His audacity, to keep pretending, even now . . . It reeks of enclave entitlement. I should have recognized it for what it was the first time I saw him. My judgment is to blame for this; I let a rat into our midst. That ends tonight.
“Come on, man,” the shifter whines. “Let’s go back to the compound. It’s gross here.”
“Brendan,” Ciprian snarls. “If you don’t fuck off right now, I will remove your organs and feed them to my father one by one.”
Brendan goes unnaturally still, one finger twitching at his side. “He’ll kill me if I come back empty-handed.”
Ciprian shrugs—he doesn’t give a shit if that happens or not. “Sounds like you’ve got a choice to make,” he drawls. “Stay and die tonight or crawl back to the compound and survive a few more hours.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Brendan grunts. “Everyone says so.” His tone is belligerent, but there’s fear in his eyes as he backs away and disappears into the darkness.
The insult rolls off Ciprian as if he didn’t even hear it. His black eyes are fixed on me. The heat in my veins, the burning. I want, no need to tear him to pieces.
That night he saved my life, he wasn’t wandering around or heading home like he claimed, he was following me. If I had died, his lead would have died with me. He played us all, every step of the way, half-truth after half-truth. One calculated risk after the other.
For the first time in years, I’ve been completely fooled.
It cuts through the thin veneer of my control until I’m hanging on by a thread.
“You’ll tell Celine the truth,” I tell him, my fangs throbbing. “Then you’ll crawl behind your gilded walls and leave us alone. Forever.”
“Let me explain, Alistair. Please!” It disgusts me that he thinks I’m so easily tricked. I won’t give him another chance to deceive me. He’s been playing a game of chess and using us as the pawns. I won’t forget it.
“I can’t stand to look at you,” I snap. “Go tell her. Now.”
Ciprian flinches as if I hit him, his shoulders slumping. The begging. His dejection. It’s all part of a carefully curated act. He’s upset that his game is over.
The door swings wide with a sickening screech, but the cold glide of the Fang’s wards does nothing to cool my rage.
Noise crashes into us. It bounces off my exposed nerves like hot wax.
The Fang is packed, bodies stacked from corner to corner as Celine works the pole, her routine drawing raucous hoots and hollers.