Epilogue
An entry from the journal i used twice before deciding that journaling was not for me:
I don’t think I want to live by Fringe rules, or radiant tradition, or enclave edicts anymore—no matter how many times they update the damn things to be more inclusive. In fact, I don’t want to be on the enclave’s communication thread at all.
PS: Ciprian, if you dug this out of the trash to read it, tell your brother to take me off that damn text thread. I want to unsubscribe.
CELINE
I toss the journal at the trash can, pumping my fist when I nail the shot on the first try. Putting my thoughts on paper is a waste of time when I could just say them out loud.
“Are you bored, baby?” Luca asks.
I glance at him. His hair is messy, curling around his ears and blocking my view of his new piercing—a tiny pair of flaming titanium wings on his right lobe.
“Come here,” I beg. “I want a closer look at your wings.”
Hazel eyes rolling, he scoots toward me on the couch. “You’ve seen them a hundred times; this is a trap.”
Grinning, I yank my shirt off. “It’s so hot in here,” I complain, stretching my arms over my head and arching my back. “I’m burning up.”
Luca covers his eyes and groans. “Please, put the perfect tits away. We don’t have time, and you know it. If I mess up Alistair’s surprise, he’ll drain me dry.”
“And you’d love every minute of it,” I grumble.
The door to my apartment opens.
“Why is she topless?” Ciprian demands. “Luca, we talked about this.”
Their argument escalates.
I rise from the couch and walk over to join Riven, not bothering to put my shirt back on.
He closes the door and pinches the bridge of his nose, concealing my favorite patch of freckles. “You’re trouble, darling.”
I nod agreeably. I’m doing it on purpose, so there’s no point denying it.
My nervous energy settles as I study the angles of his face. Being apart for any length of time has been difficult. When any of them are out of my sight, I get sweaty and combative, but things are slowly improving for all of us.
It’s been two months since I killed my father.
Recovering from the poison took a while, even with the help of Alistair’s healing potion and the spine’s magic. We all suspect Luca’s bond was the real reason I survived as long as I did. The connection with the basilisk, a highly venomous monster, made me less vulnerable to toxins.
Combined with everything else, I had exactly what I needed to defeat my father and live.
Riven came just as close to death, and a part of me still feels guilty for being unconscious when he needed me most. My truth blast did major damage, but at least it also destroyed what was left of his binding.
Every time he sees himself, he smiles.
It’s given me a mirror kink, and I’m not mad about it.
“I love you,” I tell him, rolling onto my tiptoes for a kiss.
He groans and his arms band around my waist. “Darling, you can’t say that to me while you’re half dressed. I must have you now.”
“Absolutely not.” Malach’s wings tickle my back as he squeezes in behind me, sandwiching me between the two of them.
Sheena granted my wish and grew him a new pair.
They aren’t quite the same, and he’s still working to condition them for long-distance flights, but the last visible reminder of my father’s brutality is gone, erased, like the rest of his cruel legacy.
“Ali has been working on this nonstop,” Malach reminds me, burying his face in my neck. “If we’re late, it will hurt his feelings.”
It’s the only thing he could have said to make me change my mind, and he knows it.
I glance over my shoulder at the empty apartment. All the art is gone, and the green walls are too pale without it. I’ll miss this place, but there’s not enough room here for all of us.
You might think surviving countless near-death experiences would make figuring out where to live easier. It didn’t. We’ve compromised by agreeing to a time-share situation.
Alistair and Ciprian pooled their money to buy us a house in the Fringes. The neighborhood is rough enough to keep us all on our toes, and the house is awesome.
I can’t wait to spend roughly one-third of our time there.
The rest will be spent rotating between the apartment Sheena gifted us at the Colorado compound and my estate in the celestial realm. Ciprian can see his family, and Riven will be in a more central location to check on Hyacinth.
We’re planning to move the orphaned angels into the new home Sheena is creating for displaced young supernaturals. If they ever decide to return to the celestial realm, I’ll help them do it, but as of right now, they’re adjusting to life on Earth.
I’m least excited about the time we’ll spend at my estate, but it’s necessary.
I don’t trust the thatsha not to fuck things up while fixing what my father broke.
They’re all claiming coercion to justify their inaction, but I’ll be keeping my eye on them in case anyone decides to follow in S’lach’s footsteps.
My father’s blood has been cleaned from the courtyard, and the staff’s contracts died with him.
Most of them chose to stay on, but as long as they’re working for me, they’ll be well paid and free to go whenever they want.
It’s going to take time to get over everything that happened.
I’ve forgiven Gavin for his part in the duel.
He was trying to save his only son, but Malach is having a harder time moving past it.
Hopefully, we’ll both be able to heal, but until that happens, I’ll be doing my best to let the good memories breathe alongside the bad.
I’m most excited for my slice of normal here in the Fringes.
I’m going to keep dancing at the Fang, but on my own schedule. I still enjoy the rush, and until the day I don’t, I’ll be climbing the pole to my heart’s content.
My stiff nipple brushes against Riven’s shirt, and I sigh. “Where’s my top?”
Someone tosses it to me, and I slide it over my head reluctantly. “I’m riding my bike over.” I bend down to grab the trash can with the journal inside. “Let’s go.”
We make our way outside and down the stairs, piling into an assortment of vehicles loaded with boxes.
Ciprian’s fancy SUV, Luca’s rusty sedan, and my gorgeous bike.
I shove the trash can in the top case and put my helmet on.
The motorcycle still makes me feel like I’m flying when I open her up on the back roads.
“Can I hitch a ride?”
I toss Ciprian his helmet and shake my head at his wide grin. “I won’t go slow for you,” I warn him. “You’ll be scared again.”
He shrugs. “I know, but I’m into it, and it’s good for me to get scared occasionally. Keeps me humble.”
I roll my eyes. Ciprian is many things but humble isn’t one of them.
We head for the house, and my excitement builds.
Alistair has been overseeing the renovations, transforming the old home into something that works for all of us.
I haven’t seen it in weeks because Ali remains obsessed with keeping secrets, and he’s figured out the best way to get his fix without pissing anyone off is to call everything a surprise.
Crafty vampire.
I park my bike in the circular gravel driveway and plant the kickstand. My stomach flutters. What if I hate it? I can’t lie to him, and I’ll feel like shit if he’s disappointed.
Climbing the stairs to the porch, I inhale deeply.
The door flies open, and I’m whisked up like a bride in a black-and-white movie. It could be romantic, but Ali is moving too fast for it to be anything but an abduction.
Everything blurs around me.
The bedroom door slams, and Ali locks it with a definitive click. Yep, that confirms it—I’ve definitely been abducted. “This is not going to be a popular choice,” I say.
My lips twitch as he wrenches my helmet off and drops it on the wooden side table.
His eyes are red, and his fangs are hanging over his bottom lip. “I don’t care,” he snaps. “I need you. What took so long?”
I crash into him, tossing him on the bed and crawling up to straddle his waist. “You’ve got me now, what are you going to do with me?” I kiss him, letting myself get carried away by his endless intensity.
Voices rumble in the stairwell, and a key slides into the lock. The door swings open, and everyone files in. The trash can is tucked under Ciprian’s arm, and he’s already reading my journal. He glances up briefly to say, “This is bullshit, Ali.”
Malach crosses his arms. “You made us promise to follow this plan—”
“A tour of the fucking house, followed by fucking in the house,” Luca adds.
“Who cares if he lied?” Riven shuts the door behind them and nudges Luca with his shoulder. “We can be flexible about the order of the fucking, can’t we?”
Well, when he puts it that way . . . there’s no further argument.