Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
Enclave Memo (internal)
This territory will change for the better; we’ll make sure of it.
Every supernatural species must feel heard.
CIPRIAN
I’m beginning to think I’m well-traveled. First the monster realm, now the celestial one . . . I’ve seen more expressions of magic since meeting Celine than I did in the previous two and a half decades combined.
Watching her practice radiant attacks with Malach is strangely beautiful. It’s different from when she dances, yet similar, too—strong, confident, and sexy all at once. She performs the steps with the same determined grace.
Celine is magnificent.
And she loves me.
I’m a lucky motherfucker. I only wish this battle was over and we could start our lives together. We’re committed, but no one’s had the balls or the bandwidth to discuss what the future will look like.
“Your gears are turning.” Luca keeps his voice low, not wanting to disrupt their training.
“Just thinking,” I say.
He hums under his breath. “Anything you need to get off your chest?”
I glance around the white training room.
It’s stark, and the variations in tone are so minor it gets trippy fast. If I stare long enough, I can’t tell where the floor ends and the walls begin.
The four of us are sitting out of the way watching Celine and Malach murder training dummies.
Celine told us to stay put, and after watching her first blast twist the straw figure into something unrecognizable, I have no intention of moving.
I glance at Luca. “Do you ever wonder how to find home?”
“I think home is relative,” Luca says. He’s watching Celine and Malach, but his eyes are far away. “Technically, the monster realm is my home, but I hate that place.”
I grunt. I’m not much of a philosopher. I’m thinking about this in practical terms because I don’t want to be separated from them.
But now, the concept is fucking with my head.
Is home where you come from? Is it where you feel safe?
Or is home a mirage, waffling over boiling pavement in the desert, something you could spend a lifetime trying and failing to reach?
I swallow. I’m uncomfortable with this train of thought, but I don’t want it to fester. “I was at home in the monster realm,” I say quietly.
Riven, Alistair, and Luca all turn to stare. Luca releases his lip ring so quickly his mouth drops open, and I shake my head. I’m not trying to be outrageous, honest to gods, but they’re looking at me like I’m one weird remark away from being told to go lie down.
“Ciprian . . .” Luca puts his hand on my forehead.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sick.”
“It could be a mental break,” Alistair murmurs. “Do you have a family history of psychosis?”
I blink. “Probably, maybe, I don’t know, but that’s not what this is.”
“The monster realm sucks, Casanell,” Riven says bluntly. “No one is at home there.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that. If you all would give me a minute to explain, it wouldn’t sound unhinged.”
They shut up but continue watching me closely.
It’s almost funny, and okay, maybe I let the suspense build for longer than I need to because it’s hilarious to see the same expression on three different faces. I love to be entertained, and last I checked that’s no crime.
“I also felt at home in the Fringes,” I add.
Alistair raises his eyebrows.
I snort a laugh. “Except for when I was getting the shit kicked out of me for being a Casanell. In the Fang, though . . .”
“You felt at home in a strip club?” Luca sighs. “That’s sad as fuck, Ciprian.”
“Clueless. You’re all clueless!” Malach’s booming voice startles us all. “It’s not about the locations. He’s saying you made him feel like he was home.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “As I have said from the beginning, the demon is worthy.”
I grin. “And that’s exactly why I love you, Malach.” I tap my temple with my index finger. “You’re built like you asked the gods to trade your brains for muscles, but you fucking pay attention. Body like a red herring.”
Malach tilts his head. “I’m unfamiliar with that expression. Is a herring a bird?”
I shake my head. “A fish, actually, but I was talking about the rhetorical device, not the animal. A red herring implies misdirection.” I gesture to him. “You’re so jacked that no one notices you’re also smart.”
“Rhetorical device, really?” Alistair sighs. “That’s merely a harmful stereotype.”
“Shut up.” Luca smacks Ali in the arm, and his grin becomes impossibly wide. “We’re not going to skip over the fact that Ciprian said we’re his home, are we? Because that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
My cheeks heat. “Oh, fuck off, I didn’t say it like that.”
“But that’s how you meant it.” Celine leaves the singed practice dummy on the floor and walks over to me, hinging at the waist to press a kiss to my lips. “Didn’t you, babe?”
I groan. “I meant whatever you want me to have meant, hot wings.”
Her lips curl, and she sighs against my mouth.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods. “I don’t use these spells often because they’re exhausting. I haven’t been able to cast them consistently since I left home, but my magic is much stronger here. I’m not sure what my limits are anymore.”
She clenches her jaw. Before I can ask why that bothers her, she stands upright, crosses her arms, and blinks as if she’s clearing her thoughts.
Her face is too pale, and the sweat in her hairline has turned her roots a darker red. The attacks don’t require much physical movement, but not all exercise resembles burpees. I should know. My nightmares drain me, and I don’t move at all to create them.
“Don’t overdo it, baby,” Luca says.
“No more radiant attacks for you today,” Malach adds.
Celine whips her head around and narrows her eyes at him. “Says who?”
Unmoved by her tone, Malach holds her gaze calmly. “We’re not finished with training, but it’s your turn to dodge, my truth.”
“You’re going to attack me?” She grins, looking way too excited about the prospect of having magic hurled at her.
“Of course.” The door to the room—white as fuck, like everything else in here—swings open with an audible whine.
Lyklan steps in, two swords tucked under his arm.
“I’ll toss a few things at you to start. If you dodge as well as I expect you to, we’ll add Lyklan to the mix.”
“No need.” Riven pushes to his feet and cracks his knuckles. “I’m trained in sword fighting, and I can replicate S’lach’s build.”
Lyklan bristles. “Exactly which types of swords are you trained to fight with?”
Riven sneers. “Longsword, broadsword, rapier, saber, épée, foil, dagger—”
“I get it.” Lyklan holds up his hands.
“No swords yet,” Malach says. “Only dodging.”
Celine nods. Striding back to the center of the room, she drives her heel into the mangled practice dummy and sends it crashing into the wall. Necessary? Maybe not, but the massive scuff on the white wall gives me enough depth perception to know where the damn thing is now.
Malach doesn’t comment on the broken dummy or the gouge. He lifts his hands to chest-level and raises his eyebrows. “Ready?”
Celine’s eyes flash, and she makes a come-get-me gesture that sends blood rushing straight to my cock. “I was born ready.”
Malach flicks his wrist, and a small, golden ball of magic flies at Celine.
She steps aside and lets it crash into the wall, planting her hands on her hips as it explodes behind her. “That was small and slow, Malach, don’t fucking baby me—”
The next spell is twice as big and three times as fast. She rolls on the floor, doing a somersault to avoid it, before coming up grinning. “That’s more like it,” she says, shoving a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Malach hurls half a dozen blasts at Celine, one after the other. She leaps over them, treating the attacks like balls she’s dodging in gym class. One second, she’s avoiding with ease, and the next, she stops trying.
The blast hits her in the stomach. She groans, wrapping one arm around her waist and dodging the next one.
I’m on my feet a heartbeat later, but Alistair is quicker. Moving so fast he blurs; he scoops Celine up and carries her to the far side of the room before I can blink.
“What the fuck, Malach?” Luca presses his hand to his stomach.
“Enough,” Celine snaps. “That was a test, for me and the rest of you.” Ignoring the enraged red gleam in Ali’s eyes, she taps the side of his neck until he reluctantly puts her down.
“I needed to remember how it feels to take a radiant hit and stay on my feet. And I have to be able to trust you all to stay put when it happens.”
Luca groans. “Baby, we’ve seen you get hurt too many times. You’re asking us to ignore our instincts.”
Celine nods, but her expression softens. “I am. And you’ve got to do it, or you’ll get us all killed. Traditional dueling rules are clear: outside interference means death for the one who steps in and the person they tried to help.”
“You could have explained that first,” Alistair hisses. “We’re capable of adapting if you give us the chance.”
Celine considers that and tosses a glance at Malach. “I know that, Ali, but I thought if I warned you, Malach wouldn’t throw it.”
The sound of his name unlocks Malach from where he’s been frozen since the blast hit Celine.
Slowly and silently, he walks over to her and raises her shirt, revealing a bruise the size of a softball.
Deep crimson streaks, shaped like a rune I’ve never seen before, wind through the mottled purple splotches.
Malach examines the mark and drops her shirt.
“Well?” Celine nudges his shoulder. “Will I live?”
All emotion leeches from his expression. He turns his back on her and returns to his original spot. “You’re up, Riven.”
I taste fear, but it’s not coming from Celine.