Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
There’s no such thing as an apex supernatural.
LUCA
A switch flips in Malach.
He’s awake, alert, and normal-looking, but there’s an aloofness about him that I haven’t seen since the monster realm. It’s not the same as when he would tune out during his headaches. It is concerning, though.
Celine says his name, and he looks at her immediately. “You’re upset,” she whispers. “Tell me why.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
Celine stiffens and nods slowly. “Then we won’t train anymore today. You said it yourself: this magic is too dangerous to toss around while distracted.”
A muscle in Malach’s cheek twitches, but he doesn’t contradict her. Instead, he dips his chin and strides from the room, his gait choppy and stiff.
For a second, I think Celine will run after him. She picks up the sword instead.
“Are you still down to spar?” She looks at Riven, and he nods slowly before picking up the second sword.
His face and body warp. Red hair sprouts into a full beard on his chin before he reconsiders that and shifts his face back to the amber mask.
“That was unsettling.” Celine shudders.
Ciprian chuckles. “Yeah, but now his head is too small for that body. It’s creepy, Riv.”
Riven rolls his eyes. “I thought we would work up to the full thing,” he mutters.
“That’s sweet, but I duel him in three days. We don’t have time for gentle.”
To his credit, Riven takes her at her word and transforms fully into S’lach.
From his spot against the wall, Lyklan grunts. “If you find it acceptable, I can provide feedback,” he says.
Celine taps him carefully in the ankle with the flat of her blade. “You don’t work for me, Lyklan. If we’re going to be friends, which is what I’d prefer, then you’re going to have to stop being such a pussy and assert yourself.”
His answering grin makes him a little too handsome, but Celine doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’d like that, too,” he says. “But in the spirit of friendship, I should tell you I won’t go easy on you like the others.
They want to fuck you and that makes them weak—” He waits until Alistair stops snarling so his voice doesn’t get drowned out. “—when it comes to you, at least.”
“He’s not wrong.” I shrug, keeping a close eye on Ali in case Lyklan’s remark sends him over the edge. “In this room, I’m about as useful as that practice dummy, and I hate seeing you hurt, baby.”
Riven shrugs. “I won’t do any lasting damage, but I adore fighting with you, darling.” The ribbon of light flutters in my chest; Celine likes that a lot. Then, they’re saluting each other, swinging their blades in an intricate, coordinated arc that I wouldn’t have a prayer of copying.
The rest of us settle back against the wall, hip to hip.
“Is this how it feels to be a dance mom?” Ciprian grumbles. “I don’t know the protocol. Are we supposed to stay quiet, cheer, or do those silly little golf claps humans do?”
“You don’t have to be quiet,” Celine says, lunging deep and driving the tip of her blade toward Riven. He deflects it with his own and retreats two steps while maintaining constant focus on her. I don’t think he’s even blinking.
It goes on that way for half an hour.
Lyklan calls out observations from time to time, but I can tell he’s impressed.
Only when they’re both dripping sweat, chests heaving from exertion, does he hold up his hand.
“Halt. That’s enough for today.” He glances at Celine but doesn’t dip his chin like a regency servant in a period piece this time around.
“You are more than capable of defeating S’lach in this duel. ”
The compliment lands, and Celine’s shoulders relax as she lets her sword tip drop. “Thanks, Lyklan. I’m glad you think so.”
He inclines his head toward the door. “Malach agrees, but he fears the alternative too much to be rational.”
Celine sighs. “Can’t blame him there, I’m pretty afraid of the alternative myself.”
“Soon, you won’t have to be.”
Celine offers him her hand. “Nai khirith, mash n’tel, Lyklan.”
He blinks several times before locking their thumbs together and echoing her salute. I can’t be sure, because his expression doesn’t change, but I think he’s moved.
“I’ll clean and stow the weapons.” Lyklan retrieves Riven’s sword and strides over to the corpse of the slain practice dummy.
“And I’ll secure more dummies for tomorrow.
” There’s a wry vein of humor running through his voice, but it’s so subtle I may be imagining it.
The guardian takes stoicism to a whole new level.
I take one look at Celine, sagging with exhaustion, and Riven, bands of static rolling down his face, and forget all about Lyklan. “Come on,” I say, climbing to my feet. “You two need to rinse off and relax. I’ll make drinks.”
Ciprian visibly perks up and grins. “Something sweet?”
My lips twitch. “I’m not sure I can match ‘you feel like home’ levels of sweet, but I’ll do my best.”
Ciprian groans. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Certainly not.” Alistair tugs Ciprian to his feet and pins him to the wall. “Because we all adored hearing it, and we don’t want to forget.”
Groaning, Ciprian lets his head thump against the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Weird kinks. You’re all giving me weird kinks.
Celine throws Malach across the room? I get hard.
Alistair staring like he wants to literally eat me?
Hard again. What’s next? Will Riven’s jittery face while he watches Celine drink water start turning me on, too? ”
Celine wipes fake tears from her cheeks. “You live such a difficult life. I’m sorry everything is hard for you.”
Ciprian slips free from Alistair’s grip and tosses his arm over Celine’s shoulder. “That’s what I’m saying.”
We leave the training room, and I keep a close eye on Celine and Riven as we navigate the halls.
A glitching face could be a sign that Riven’s binding is wearing thin; it could also mean something is wrong with him.
Twitching usually means a shifter is struggling.
Strong emotions, fatigue, or lack of control can cause it—so which is it for Riven?
By the time we get to Celine’s room, I still haven’t made up my mind whether to bring it up or not.
She slips into the bathroom to shower, and Alistair and Ciprian decide to search for Malach. I’m about to follow them out to ask about dinner—and, if I’m lucky, find some ingredients to make drinks—when Riven clears his throat.
“I think we’d better have this out now,” he says.
I glance over my shoulder and raise one eyebrow. His feet are planted wide and squared off. He’s expecting a fight.
Sighing, I close the bedroom door and face him. “What’s up?” If I play dumb, maybe we can both avoid a confrontation. I can share Celine. We can coexist. I meet his eyes, hoping he’ll take the out I’m giving him and table this conversation until never.
But in typical Riven fashion, he does the exact opposite of what I want him to do and scowls. “Don’t pretend, Luca. I know you hate me, okay? It didn’t matter before.” He glances at the closed bathroom door and swallows. “But it matters now.”
Do I hate Riven? I haven’t thought about it in a while.
There’s been too much going on. I’ve removed him from our active enemy list. I trust him to keep Celine safe—he’s a deadly fucking bastard.
If I hated him, I don’t think I’d be able to stomach it, but he’s a veydra and I’m a basilisk. We were never supposed to be friends.
“What do you want?” I ask. “To clear the air? Hug it out?” I sound like a dick, but I’m genuinely curious how he wants to resolve this.
Celine takes long showers, but the hot water will certainly run out before we can work through the societal issues of our home realm.
We’re dealing with generations of complicated shifter dynamics here.
“I regret my part in your return to the monster realm,” Riven says. I watch a single band of static roll over the bridge of his nose. A nose that never quite takes shape, no matter how hard I stare at it.
Sighing, I sit my ass down on the couch. I can hear him out. That costs me nothing. “I’m past that,” I tell him. And it’s true.
He was working a job. I get that. Morals aren’t black-and-white to me; I’ve lived in the Fringes for too long to entertain absolutes. When it mattered most, Riven changed his mind, and we wouldn’t be alive without his help.
What bothers me goes deeper. It’s buried beneath layers of generational scarring, and I’m scared to confront it because I’m not sure it paints me in a very good light.
I was raised to hate veydran. I now understand that shifters like Riven were tools in the same fucked-up system that abuses monsters like me, but some things are hard to forget . . . My parents blank stares. The arena. Cages disguised as cabins. Impossible choices.
Shifter history is riddled with pain and fury, but I’m tired of being hurt and pissed off.
“Your binding . . .” I scrub my hand through my hair. “And I’m not trying to be an asshole here, so please don’t think that’s my intention if I fuck up the delivery, okay?”
Riven nods and sinks stiffly into the chair across from me.
Our knees are only a few inches apart. Mine bounce up and down.
I could make them stop, but it’s not worth the effort.
Riven’s clearly struggling, too. His bands are out of control now, rolling over his forehead and cheeks constantly.
He doesn’t give a fuck about my bouncing knees because he understands. Fuck me. I can’t hate him, can I?
“Do you remember before?” I ask.
“Before they bound me?”
I nod.
He shakes his head and glances away, steeling himself before meeting my eyes. “Veydran are bound one week after birth. I’ve never been anything but this. There’s nothing for me to miss because I’ve always been nothing. No one.”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “What they did to you made it so you couldn’t access your face, but you’re still Riven. They can’t take that from you if you don’t let them.”