Chapter 3
THREE
All supernaturals are entitled to equal representation.
CIPRIAN
I want to crawl into the obscenely large bed and never get out, but I’m covered in grime. Since I can’t fathom exposing the clean linens to my filth, I duck into the shower and hope Sheena’s wishes are more trained in plumbing than she is.
The spray hits my back, hot and perfect, and I close my eyes.
The ground comes at me fast—Malach tossing me into the portal a fraction of a second before he slammed into the icy rock. I heard a crack, then it was lights out. I didn’t witness the showdown with S’lach or hear Malach tell Celine he’d been working with her father all along.
All this for revenge? It sounds impossible, but the facts are damning.
Celine doesn’t want to believe him. I don’t blame her, but I am worried. She’s got a reckless streak to match mine. I don’t know how far she’ll go to prove Malach’s innocence. She could chase the memory of who she wants him to be into an early grave, and that terrifies me.
The ground comes at me again; blood and rapidly cooling monster guts smeared in all directions. I remember the sick churning in my belly as we fell, the prickling in my palms as terror consumed me. Enough. I force my eyes open and stare at the tiled shower wall until the neat lines of grout blur.
The door opens, and I shuffle over as Luca steps in beside me. His hazel eyes are bloodshot, and the circles beneath them are so dark they could easily be mistaken for bruises.
“How’s she doing?” I tap the skin over his heart.
He slumps. “Have you ever seen a tornado?”
I wince. “That’s not great.”
He drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “I thought . . .” he sighs. “Shit, Ciprian, I thought if we could get away from that fucked-up realm, that everything would be okay. And now she’s spiraling, we still can’t go home, and that son of a bitch is still roaming around, alive and well.”
“I know.” I grab the shampoo, squirt some into my palm, and lather his hair up. It’s stiff with grit and gods know what else.
Luca relaxes against me. “Your brother,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you were close.” There’s a question buried in there. He’s not asking outright, giving me an opportunity to answer or deflect. It’s indirect, but I’m growing to appreciate their Fringe-coded way of checking in. It’s almost sweet.
“We aren’t,” I admit, wincing at the pang in my gut. “Or we weren’t. Sheena changed things for us, I guess. We’re working on it.”
Luca grunts. “He’s hot.”
“Why does everyone feel the need to tell me that?” I hiss.
Luca chuckles and kisses my neck. “Major oldest child energy, though, which has never been my thing.”
“Yeah?” I tug him under the spray to rinse the shampoo from his hair.
“I prefer brats.” He nibbles on his lip ring and watches me from heavily lidded eyes. “Competent brats, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I deadpan.
“And only children, too.” He winks. “Celine, Alistair—anyone who’s never had to share their toys before. Something about the push and pull does it for me.”
“Uh huh.” I hide my smile and dump shampoo on my head.
“How are you handling being back here?” Luca asks.
I freeze with my fingers buried in my hair. So much for Fringe avoidance—that wasn’t indirect at all. He lulled me into a false sense of complacency. I should have known.
Shrugging, I deflect. “This room didn’t exist two hours ago, Luca.”
“Ciprian.”
I groan. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a little overwhelmed. Sheena, Callum, and Gideon are my family. I want you all to get along, but if there’s friction, what can I do about it?”
He hums low in his throat. “You didn’t mention your mom.”
I duck under the spray and scrub my hair until my scalp stings.
The hot water is soothing, but I’m too tense to enjoy it.
I yank the faucet to the off position and face Luca.
Drops of water roll down his chest, running through the grooves of his abs and clinging to his hip bones. It’s distracting. And irritating.
“You’re annoyed with me,” he says quietly.
“No.”
“You are,” he insists. “It’s written all over your face.”
“You don’t know me.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop myself. I regret them immediately. Luca’s trying to learn more about my life, but it feels too risky—dangerous in a different way than the hell we went through in the monster realm.
His handsome face twitches, and he backs up a step. “My mistake.”
I sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”
He opens the glass shower door and glances at me over his shoulder as he steps out. “Isn’t it, though? And maybe you’re right, but if I don’t know you, Ciprian, whose fault is that?”
He reaches into the cabinet below the sink and grabs a towel, running it through his hair roughly before knotting it around his waist.
I watch him helplessly. The mirror is too fogged up for me to see his face, but the tense lines of his back tell me everything I need to know. I hurt him, and now I’m standing here, mouth clamped shut, not doing a godsdamn thing to fix it.
Is this the part where I ruin everything?
Cold water runs down my neck, but I’m too miserable to do anything about it.
We’re in the compound where I grew up. This is my turf, but the ground isn’t solid beneath my feet. I’m as out of my element here as I was in the Fringes.
Luca faces the door, wraps his long fingers around the knob, and sighs heavily. He glances at me and curses under his breath. A split-second later, he’s yanking me out of the shower and covering my mouth with his. I put everything I can’t say into the kiss.
We’re both gasping for air by the time he pulls away.
“Going home is scary,” he whispers, emphasizing each word like he’s telling me a secret. “I get that, but you’re going to have to be brave, because I want you, layers and all. And I’m going to have you—even if it nearly kills us both.”
Thank fuck. I kiss him again, telling him I understand in the only way I can manage.
I slip out of bed early, sliding into a pair of sweats that Sheena made for Luca, then easing the door shut behind me.
Across the hall, I knock on Sheena’s door and wrap my arms around myself.
There’s muffled grumbling—fuck, why am I doing this? It’s six o’clock in the morning, and we didn’t get here until late.
The door opens, and my brother’s bleary face appears in front of me. His dark hair is a mess, and his cheek is creased from the pillow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, backing up a step.
“Ciprian—”
“No, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
“I can get Sheena for you.”
I wince, not sure how to admit I didn’t come over here for my best friend. I came to talk to my brother, and now I feel like an idiot. I try to force the muscles of my face into a normal expression. I don’t think it works.
Callum studies me and frowns. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t do that; it’s fine—”
“I’m not arguing about it.” He narrows his black eyes to slits and points at me through the cracked door. “Stay right there, Ciprian, I’ll be back in thirty seconds.”
I hate it when he bosses me around, but for some reason, I listen.
Callum returns before I can change my mind, hopping on one foot as he shoves the other into a white sneaker. He’s holding a baseball cap, which he tosses to me as he says, “Your hair looks like shit.”
I grunt and slide it on my head.
Neither of us speak as Callum leads me to the kitchen.
He starts a pot of coffee, and we both watch the steaming liquid trickle down. It covers the bottom first, and each additional drip sends a tiny ripple outward until the coffee laps rhythmically against the curved glass walls.
Once it beeps, I drag my eyes away from the pot and grab the creamer from the fridge. French vanilla. Basic as fuck and exactly what I need right now. I dump a hefty amount in the silver tumbler Callum presses into my hand and secure the lid.
We’re officially out of distractions.
“Maze?” Callum mumbles.
“Sure.”
We walk outside without exchanging another word. There’s no one in the courtyard besides the gurgling marble fountain. Once inside the maze, we take a few turns until we reach the small bench Mom installed a few years back. Cal points at it and grunts. I grunt back.
Then we’re sitting, and I know I can’t be quiet any longer. Words are piling up in my head, but none of them make sense. I try to run my fingers through my hair but bump the brim of the hat instead. Idiot.
Callum waits, oddly patient while I try and fail to wrangle my thoughts.
“Do you ever feel like . . . shit, like you aren’t actually you?” Wow, that may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said out loud. Callum’s going to roast me for that. It didn’t even make sense to me. I brace for the teasing, but he surprises me.
“Do you mean that you don’t exist or you’re scared to admit that you do?”
I blink down at my feet. One of my shoes is untied, the white strings dragging in the gravel and dirt. “I don’t know,” I admit.
Cal takes a sip of his coffee and shifts his weight on the bench. “Growing up, there was a lot of focus on who we should be, and not enough focus on who we were. It’s—” He sighs. “It’s disorienting.”
“They loved us,” I mutter. “I know that.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Callum nod. “They did. They also loved their legacy.” Gods. There it is. The reality that tore the Casanell family apart, not all at once, but via a million tiny tears spread over years.
I gulp, and the truth tumbles out, rocks rolling downhill. “I thought if I could be what he wanted, that you wouldn’t leave. That if I worked hard and my nightmares were strong enough; he’d be excited to have sons who manifested differently.”
Callum makes a wounded sound. “You were a kid, Ciprian.”
“So were you.”