Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Traditional nish thatsha betrothal vow:
You’ll never be alone, not in this life or the next, I swear it.
MALACH
Am I dead? My body is wrong, but I don’t hurt. I can’t remember the last time I woke pain free or managed to sleep without twinges invading my dreams.
I wiggle my fingers as a test. They brush against soft bedding, and my thumb grazes my hip.
This isn’t S’lach’s cell. I’m no longer suspended.
But how? The last thing I remember—panic floods me.
My wings. No, no, no. I try to wiggle them like my fingers.
Nothing happens. I can imagine the sensation, but there’s nothing to move. They’re gone.
It wasn’t a horrible nightmare. He mutilated me.
I examine the memory carefully.
S’lach slicing my wings off and leaving me to bleed out. Why didn’t I? The device used a laser to cut, so maybe it cauterized the wounds. My stomach rolls. If I keep my eyes closed, maybe I can pretend for a while longer . . . except, I’ve never had a good imagination.
My wings are gone. S’lach took them from me, and I survived it. I try to move them again, and this time, a dull ache throbs beneath my skin.
“Easy, buddy.” Luca? How is Luca here?
A hand grabs mine and squeezes. Not alone.
You’re not alone. Which can only mean one thing: Lyklan disobeyed my orders.
I need to open my eyes to confirm it, but there’s a scream building in my throat, and I fear any movement, deliberate or incidental, will release it. Face this head-on. You aren’t alone.
My eyes open, stinging from the sudden light exposure. I blink as they adjust, focusing on the familiar face. Luca stares down at me. His brow is pinched, and the metal hoop through his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth. The sight is reassuring, and I relax into the bedding.
Luca won’t hurt me. He’s my friend.
Air leaves his mouth in a rush. “Damn straight,” he says. “I am your friend, Malach, and you scared the shit out of me.”
Am I processing out loud? Before I can figure it out, Luca bends at the waist and slowly wraps his arms around me. My skin crawls, and I flinch before frowning. He’s hugging me. That’s fine. Why do I hate it?
Luca sighs. “We thought after what happened to you, it might be hard to be touched. I figured the sooner the better . . . Get back on the horse, you know?”
No, I don’t know. That’s an idiom I haven’t learned yet, but I think I understand what he’s getting at. If I can’t let anyone touch me now, it will only get harder with time. I’ll have to rewire my body if I want to get past this.
A door opens and closes, then Ciprian’s head appears over Luca’s shoulder, his pale hair in disarray. “Oh, good. You’re awake. Do you want the good or bad news first?”
“Tell me,” I say, needing a distraction from the hug. “Tell me everything.”
“The good news is, you’re safe, your injuries have been healed—except for your wings—but don’t panic, we kept them and we’ve got a plan.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “They’re in the closet right now, because . . . Shit, Malach, they’re creepy as hell.”
I frown. “My wings are glorious.”
“Sure, when they’re attached to you, they are, but damn, dude, I’ll be honest: right now, they look like something a feral cat dragged in.”
Luca groans and pulls back from the hug. “He’s sorry for saying that out loud.”
“You said you have a plan?” I try to keep the hope from my voice and fail miserably.
Ciprian smiles and pats my ankle over the covers. “Yeah, my friend Sheena thinks she can regrow them for you. She tried to reattach them, but she was too weak from healing you. You looked—” He cuts himself off and winces.
“Like something a feral cat dragged in?” I attempt a joke.
But Ciprian isn’t amused; he seems haunted. He squeezes my ankle again and gulps. “Worse. You looked worse than that.”
“Re-growing my wings.” My breath hitches. “Is it possible?”
Ciprian nods. “We think so. Sheena lifted Alistair’s sun curse.”
I glance around the room. Luca is here. Ciprian too. Where is Celine? Is she too angry to see me? My heart thumps unsteadily in my chest. I-I need her. Even if she hates me. If I can see her, maybe I can explain. Maybe she’ll forgive me.
I meet Luca’s hazel stare, and his gaze softens. “She’s here,” he says. “She’s trying to get the house to lock S’lach out. Something about family magic.”
Ciprian nods. “Honestly, I’m glad you’re awake, man. We need more than context clues. With the way Celine was talking, I got the impression she was on her way to feed a house-sized sourdough starter.”
What? My brow wrinkles. Luca shakes his head. “Ignore him; he’s trying to distract you.”
And I’m grateful for that. Thinking about anything else is a lifeline. “Family magic is a big deal for thatsha angels, although it’s considered impolite to discuss,” I explain. “It inhabits all living descendants, but there’s a collective source too. Most thatsha families build estates around it.”
“It inhabits you?” Ciprian shudders. “You’re making it sound like a parasite. Wait. Is Celine literally talking to it?” He glances at the closed door. “Do you think it will talk back?”
I shrug, then wince. My shoulders are too light without my wings. “There’s an intimate connection, but it’s not usually verbal. My family calls ours the heart. Everyone visits once a year to ensure the connection remains strong.”
The door opens and Celine appears, stopping inside, her expression unreadable.
My heart pumps unsteadily behind my ribs. It wants to get closer to her, but I’m afraid. I broke my promise and lied to her; told her I blamed her for leaving. I’d rather have my wings cut off a dozen times than hear her say it’s over.
Luca pats my shoulder. “We’ll give you two a minute to catch up.”
“Catch up?” Ciprian scoffs. “Understatement of the—” An aborted oof leaves his mouth, Luca’s elbow slamming into his belly with impressive accuracy.
They leave the room, and then we’re alone. I stand on shaky legs, grabbing the bedpost to steady myself, unwilling to face her as a weakling.
“Be careful,” she hisses, taking a step closer before grinding to a halt. Her hesitation is worse than S’lach’s torture.
I gulp, drinking in the sight of her. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Her eyes flash. “I would have been here sooner if someone hadn’t locked me out.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” I say.
“That wasn’t your choice to make, Malach.” There’s anger in her voice, but it’s the warble that guts me. This was never supposed to upset her. I did it to keep her safe.
“I vowed to protect you,” I explain. “It was my responsibility. You’d endured too much already.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she whispers. “We vowed to protect each other. I held your hands and looked into your eyes, and we vowed to be a team. I loved you, Malach, and you saw me as a responsibility.”
The past tense is too much. I’m moving before I can stop myself, erasing the distance between us.
I press against her. Her scent floods my nose.
“Don’t say that, my truth.” I grip her chin between my fingers.
“Don’t say ‘loved’ as if you no longer have use for my heart.
It’s yours. It’s always been yours, and it always will be. ”
Celine shudders, and her eyes flicker closed. “You scared me, Malach. I’ll always love you, but I’m mad at you, too.”
“Then be mad at me.” I bury my face in her neck. “I can take it.”
Her fingers curl in my hair, and she yanks my lips to hers, kissing me with a desperation I’ve never felt from her before.
“You locked me out of our home realm.” She bites my bottom lip.
“Lied to my fucking face.” With one hand, she tugs on my hair, even while the other wraps around my lower back to support me.
“And you made me think you didn’t love me. ”
I groan. “I was shocked when you believed that. I thought you might be relieved to be rid of me.”
She growls, and I shiver. I’m making her angrier—I can taste her fury, and I want more of it. My legs wobble, and she spins us, shoving me down onto a small table. It evens our heights, and I widen my legs to allow her to get closer to me.
Her tongue wrestles with mine, and I let her win. If she needs my air, she can have that, too. All I need is her alive and well so she can keep kissing me like she’s starving.
“I wasn’t relieved, Malach,” she snarls. “I was empty. Part of me was missing.”
Gods alive and dead, I’m glad. With shaking hands, I stroke her downy feathers with my fingertips. My wings may be stuffed in some closet because they remind the others of dead birds, but if she has hers, I’m happy with the trade.
Celine arches into my touch, then freezes and meets my eyes. “I’ll find a way to get your wings back.” Her skin lights up, covered with golden truth runes. “I swear it.”
I kiss the symbol on her forehead. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about what happened in that room.”
She nods, and her next kiss is softer. Her hands land on the hem of my shirt. “I-I need to confirm that you’re okay. It was bad, Malach. I need to know . . .”
Her eyes well up, and I rip my shirt off, tearing it in my hurry to reassure her.
I grab her hands and put them on my bare chest. “I’m healed, see?
” Goosebumps spread across my skin as her nails skim over my ribs.
“Not a scratch on me.” Ciprian would ask her to replace the scrapes with marks of her own, but I’m too afraid of messing up to attempt flirting.
I’m not the only one traumatized by my time in S’lach’s basement.
“I hate him,” she sobs, brushing angrily at her tears. “For what he did to you, to Mom, to me. I went to the spine and asked it to keep him out.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How did it react?”
She lifts my right arm to examine the underside. “Understanding, I think. I sensed connection and approval, maybe? Then I heard Mom.”
“Valenara spoke to you?”
She nods. “Through echoes, she’s obviously gone, but it was her voice.”