Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Snap judgments can save your life.
CELINE
Working at the Fang has given me a lot of skills. One being the ability to read men.
Sullivan Buchanan, with his muscles, manscaping, dimple, and aw-shucks southern drawl, is a fuck boy and a flirt. He loves women—probably, too much—but I don’t get the idea that he loves hurting them.
Since I’d rather check out the gateway location without creating a blood feud with Sullivan’s pack, my gut instincts about his morals will have to be enough.
He’s handsome, but I have no interest in adding anyone else to my bed. I have all I’ll ever want already, even if I live another century or two. All I have to do is keep them safe, which is proving easier said than done.
More interesting than the naked wolf shifter or my complex relationship is how we ended up in pack lands to begin with. Ciprian’s contact said this area fell inside the southern enclave’s territory. That doesn’t make sense, except . . . I’m an idiot. It makes perfect sense.
This is Fringe territory. Their enclave must not have a concrete presence here.
They were scared to check the rumor out themselves because of the wolves, so they’re letting us do their dirty work for them.
Typical enclave bullshit. They want access to the Fringes without assuming risk or responsibility.
Different region, same shady tactics. I only wish I were surprised.
By the time we reach the gateway coordinates, my skin is tingling, and I shove supernatural politics to the back of my mind.
The clearing is dripping with celestial magic. Active celestial magic.
I glance at Riven and nod. This is a real gateway. We found one.
Ignoring my pounding heart, I circle the clearing and search for the activation rune. There, etched onto a lump of granite and partially embedded in the red dirt. I hold my hand over the stone, and it lights up, shining golden and bright.
“I’ll be damned,” Sully mutters. “Be careful, honey. I’ve never seen it do that before.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Riven says. “It only works for those with celestial blood.”
He doesn’t add that they could pass through the gateway if they were touching me, and I’m glad. I’m a stripper, not a tour guide. My trip home will be short, bloody, and no one’s idea of a field trip.
My fingers shake as I pull out my phone and call Ciprian.
He answers on the first ring. “Hot wings! Did you find it? Are you okay?”
“We’re fine.” I glance at the wolf pack and decide not to mention them. It will only stress everyone out, and they’re not a threat. “It’s real, Ciprian. I-I’m going to go through.”
“That’s great, baby.” Luca’s voice comes through the phone, slightly distorted but not enough to disguise his worry. “We’ll come with you. Give us a few hours, and we’ll be right there.”
I shake my head, even as my eyes burn. “I won’t risk you, Luca,” I tell him.
“But I won’t risk myself unnecessarily either.
I promise. I’ll get in, lie low, and figure out what’s going on with Malach before I do anything.
If . . .” I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“If he doesn’t love me anymore, I’ll come right back, but we both know I can blend in better without you. ”
It’s hard to say the words to him, even though they’re true. I rub my hand over my heart, but there’s no getting rid of this ache. The heavy breathing coming through the phone tells me I’m not the only one hurting.
“Angel.”
“Hey, Ali.”
“Take Riven with you,” he demands.
My head snaps up. “That wasn’t the deal—”
Riven takes the phone from me and twists out of my reach. “I’ll go with her,” he says. “I’ll protect her with my life; you have my word.”
The urge to tell them all to fuck off is strong, but I wall it off. This is hard for them. I know that. And if the roles were reversed, I’d be the same or worse. Alistair is trying. Luca and Ciprian are too, and part of me is relieved I won’t be going alone.
Riven hands the phone back to me.
“Are you sure you’re done?” I purr.
“All settled, darling.”
I give him my back and return the phone to my ear. “I’m here.”
“I love you, baby.” Luca’s voice is raspy.
My eyes well up, and I fight tears, wishing I didn’t have an audience. “I love you, too,” I whisper. “All of you.”
As soon as Ciprian and Alistair say it back, I hang up, unable to stand a painful, drawn-out conversation. It’s too much like goodbye, and I’ll never be ready for that.
I glance at the curious wolves and widen my stance. “Stand back.”
Riven grabs my hand. “If you try to go through that gateway without me, I’ll hunt you to the ends of the universe, darling. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. Don’t make me a liar.”
My eyes widen at his intensity. I wasn’t planning to leave him behind, but I guess he can’t know that. I pat him on the cheek and shake my head. “Don’t worry. You’re about to get a new stamp on your passport.”
I press my hand to the rune, grinding my palm against the sharp point in the middle. It draws blood and hums to life. Golden light explodes in all directions, runes projecting in a circle twenty feet high.
One wolf yelps and runs away. I suck in a breath. This is definitely a gateway. It’s almost as big as the one I came through years ago.
Riven links our fingers, and we step into the light.
Except . . . I can’t get through.
It’s like stepping into the side of a bubble that won’t pop.
I try again, lowering my shoulder to shove. The lights flicker, then turn red, flashing half a dozen times before the runes contract into a tiny ball of light. A second later, it winks out completely.
I stumble backward, dry leaves crunching under my feet.
“What was that?” Riven sounds confused.
But I’m angry. Because I know what happened.
The gateway read my radiant signature and barred me from going home. The same technology is used to restrict travel between the echelons for angels without approved access, but I’m a fucking nish thatsha—nowhere should be inaccessible to me.
Someone locked me out, and there’s no chance it was an accident.
My wings shoot from my back and erupt in flames, bathing the clearing in the heat of my fury. The wolves back up. One yips at Sullivan, seeking his direction. He holds up his hand, and the wolves sit, giving me space. I’m too mad to be relieved.
Someone is trying to keep me from Malach.
And that someone just earned a death sentence.
One I’ll be more than happy to deliver as soon as I get my hands on them.
Riven and I check five more potential gateway locations over the next week. Three aren’t real, and the other two are locked.
My rage cools to something harder.
I was already set on this course, but barring my entry has only made me more determined.
Someone is specifically trying to keep me away.
The question is, who? It could be my father, but he wants me dead.
The easiest way for him to kill me is on his home turf, where his sycophants can do the dirty work for him.
The only other nish thatsha who knows I’m alive is Malach.
He has plenty of connections and resources. He could have locked the gateways, but why would he? Because he doesn’t love you anymore. The fear digs its claws in.
Sinking down on the end of the hotel bed, I stare at the cheap wall-mounted mirror.
I could be wrong about him. At this point, I have to consider it.
My first friend, my first love. Malach vowed to always stand between me and anything trying to hurt me.
Is that what he’s doing, or did he really change his mind about us?
Vows might be mostly symbolic to some, but Malach means what he says, and he always has. I’m missing something. Caught up in a web of truths, lies, and secrets, without the missing piece, I can’t see anything clearly.
Riven sits silently on the other bed. Usually, I’m grateful for his company, but right now I want to be alone so I can curl up on this bed, bury my face in the scratchy, ugly comforter, and cry until my head hurts.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” The question comes out without my permission. I don’t know why I asked. His answer won’t change anything, and I’m too vulnerable for hard truths. Except I’m desperate for a distraction—anything to keep the tears at bay.
“Do you want to fight?” Riven asks.
I look at him, unable to judge his mood from tone alone. He’s too good at masking.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m wrong about him, too.
The confidence I wear as armor . . . maybe it’s unearned.
Am I spoiling for a fight? No, because if I find one in my current state, I’ll lose.
Gods, I think what I’m searching for is a beating—one final blow to knock the lid off my composure. If Riven is mean to me, I’ll have an excuse to wallow and stop asking myself impossible questions.
I sniff and shake my head. It’s a pathetic response. I’m pathetic now, too.
Riven stands abruptly, a furious scowl spreading across his face. It warps and wobbles, bands of static tripping over each other as they roll through the thick amber. He crosses in front of me, pulls me to my feet, and moves in front of the mirror.
His touch is gentle, but I’m letting him tug me around like a rag doll. It doesn’t even occur to me to push back until I’m exactly where he wants me.
“Riven—”
“No,” he says. “I’ve got something to say, and you’re going to listen.” I blink at him slowly, shoulders sagging, and he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Look at yourself,” he demands.
Reluctantly, I meet my own eyes in the mirror.
They’re dull and bloodshot, and there’s a patch of dry skin on the right side of my nose where I haven’t bothered to moisturize in a while.
The messy bun I put my hair in a few days ago has become a permanent fixture on my head.
If I take the ponytail holder out, it probably won’t move.
I barely recognize myself.
I try to look away, but Riven’s intense stare pins me in place, forcing me to confront the reality I’ve been desperate to avoid.
“I get it,” I whisper.
His scowl gets darker. “I don’t think you do.”
“I’m delusional. An idiot. I’ve let myself go—”
“Don’t talk about yourself that way.” His voice is ice cold.
It cracks against me like a whip, and a chill rolls down my spine.
This isn’t Riven, my ally, or Riven, my friend; this is Riven, the veydra assassin—the one who burst into the Mouth of Hell to torment me all those months ago and introduced himself as Second Coming.
“You are strong.”
My shoulders tremble.
“You are loyal.”
But my heart . . . It hurts.
“You are smart.”
No. He’s wrong. Can’t he see how stupid I am?
“You are beautiful.”
I narrow my eyes, and he rolls his own.
“Even when your hair resembles a nest.” He sets his chin on top of my bun.
“Especially when your hair resembles a nest.” My lips part, and I reach for the bun, the urge to rip it down consuming me.
Riven curls around me, pinning my arms at my sides and surrounding me with his warmth.
“What I don’t know is if you’re a liar.”
What the actual fuck? It’s my turn to frown, because why would he say that to the literal angel of truth?
He puts his finger over my lips, and I consider biting him.
“You’re dying to tell me all the reasons I’m wrong,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll have an ironclad comeback for everything I said about you.
“You’ll think it’s impossible for me to disagree, but I will. Vehemently. I won’t care how tight your rebuttal is—I’ll make room to disagree with it no matter what, because I see you, Celine, and I see you a lot more clearly than you see yourself right now.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. You have no reason to be ashamed of your pain or your confusion. Malach didn’t or couldn’t tell you his plans, and that’s not your fault. And if you’re wrong about him, that won’t be your fault either. You must know that.”
Riven’s voice is soft, but his expression is harsh. I’m captivated by his fury.
He looks strong. Strong enough to lean on.
I spin in his arms, putting the mirror behind me, and bury my face in his chest. “Don’t put me on a pedestal,” I whisper.
He makes a sound low in his throat. “It’s you who’ve put yourself on a pedestal, darling. Climb down, and I’ll stand by your side and kill anyone who tries to make you move.”
My lips collide with his. Our kiss is raw and rough; there’s no finesse. I taste my own desperation on his tongue, and his groan echoes through my entire body.
His arms, already wrapped around me, turn to steel bands.
There’s nothing soft about Riven. His kisses are demanding, ripping me away from the cloud of negative emotions I’ve been trapped under for the past week.
I nip at the tendon below his ear. “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m too upset for this?”
“What?” His voice is a mix of annoyance and confusion.
I hide my grin in the curve of his neck. “You know, a gentleman would turn me down nicely. Tell me he’d never take advantage of my vulnerability.”
Riven scoffs. “You’re not vulnerable yet, and I’m never a gentleman.
If you wanted one of those, you wouldn’t be climbing me.
I’m the villain, darling. A villain who lives and breathes to satisfy your every whim, but a villain nonetheless.
Since you’ve turned me into a walking, talking vulnerability; it’s only fair I return the favor. ”
My skin pebbles. I drag his hand to my neck and swallow, letting him feel it against his palm. “Return the favor, then . . . Please.”