Chapter 8
EIGHT
Sleep with all eyes open.
CELINE
Numb. Numb. Please gods, give me numb.
I grit my teeth to keep from screaming. My thighs are in a world of pain, but I’m more concerned about the burned parts I can’t feel.
The gate rolls shut, then a slab of metal slides between the lattice, taking most of the light with it.
Ciprian’s on me in a flash. “Hang in there. It’s going to be okay. Don’t rub your legs together. Gods, you were amazing, Celine.” His hands and lips are everywhere, gently scattering kisses and caresses along my filthy, exposed skin.
My breath hitches. I hate his concern. He should be smiling and teasing or belligerent and crass, but this version of Ciprian makes my back itch.
“It’s hot wings to you,” I say.
His black eyes focus on my face. “Shit, are you dying? You hate that nickname.”
“Maybe it’s growing on me.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face now. “Sure, okay. Let me see your ass then, babe.”
I wince. “I’d rather you not have the memory of it like this.” Yeah, I’m being shallow, but there are some things you can’t unsee. And if it looks half as bad as it feels . . .
Ciprian rolls his eyes and crouches in front of me. Then the color drains from his face.
“How bad is it?” I whisper.
“Umm.”
“Rip it off,” I suggest.
“You already did that,” he mutters. “It was a badass move, don’t get me wrong, but did you have to straddle that thing? It seared you from cheek to crease.”
“I’m aware,” I groan.
“Do you think this shitstain of a realm has Neosporin?”
I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a sob. “I’d rather have a fifth of tequila.”
“That can be arranged, darling.”
I whip my head up as Riven steps through the door, his cloak fluttering behind him.
It drags against the sand, erasing several of the footprints I left here before the fight.
I squint, realizing for the first time that the bottom of the cloak is made up of hundreds of thread-like fibers.
They sweep the ground behind him as he walks. To cover his tracks?
The odd hem is torn from my field of vision when Ciprian slams Riven into the rolling door and wraps his hands around his throat.
Terror overrides my pain, and I stumble toward them on shaky legs. “Stop,” I beg, grabbing Ciprian’s shoulder.
He turns his head and surveys the holding room in confusion. “Why are you scared? I can sense it.”
“I just got you back.” Shallow breaths chase the words out of my mouth. “He could take you away from me.” My voice sounds small. I hate it, but I can’t lose him.
Ciprian’s knuckles, white with tension, flex before he releases Riven reluctantly. “You won me fair and square, hot wings.”
Riven straightens the neckline of the cloak. “I didn’t expect you to pick the blond.”
“Jealous of blonds. How original.” Ciprian sneers at Riven, every inch the spoiled, rich enclave heir I assumed he was before I got to know him.
Riven cocks his head. Bands warp the amber mask on his face until an older, harder version of Ciprian stands in front of us. My throat locks up. I never met him, but if this is an accurate likeness, then Ciprian is a dead ringer for his father.
“I hear condolences are in order,” Riven drawls.
Ciprian stumbles back a step, his eyes wide with shock.
My stomach churns. To wear Dimitri Casanell’s face . . . Is there no level the veydra won’t stoop to? Before I can consider the consequences, I lunge forward and slap Riven with all my strength. The pale skin he’s wearing blooms red in the shape of my hand.
“You’re evil,” I hiss.
“It’s okay, Celine,” Ciprian says shakily. He wraps his fingers around my wrist and kisses my knuckles. “If you’d met the original, you’d have wanted to slap him too.”
He turns to Riven and narrows his eyes. “We want spoils. For her win.”
“You’re confused, demon,” Riven drawls. His face warps again before returning to the amber mask. “You are her spoils.”
“Mmhmm. And I’ll be sure to do plenty of spoiling. On my knees, on my back—whatever she wants. But Celine needs medical treatment. And tequila. Top-shelf shit.” His lips curl in disgust. “Do you even have agave here?”
“No.” Riven sounds confused, and I hide my smile.
“That’s too bad. Bring a selection of your best alternatives.”
“You can’t make demands—”
Ciprian scoffs. “Yes, I can. You made a killing off that fight. She picked me. I read the odds. That decision alone doubled the profits for the house.”
“This is a penal institution, not a casino.”
“Yeah? Godsdamn, I never noticed.” Ciprian widens his eyes before locking them on Riven like a shark. “I know you can make it happen.”
Riven ignores Ciprian and turns to me. His stare crawls up my bloody thighs, and I hold my head high. I won’t show him how badly it hurts.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Wait what? I can’t believe that worked.
Ciprian bends to pick me up, carefully avoiding the worst of the burns. “Don’t put your legs together, hot wings. I’m scared you’ll lose more skin.”
I glance at my thighs and flinch. My pants are shredded, and my upper legs are a gory, singed mess—a reflection of the skinless monster who did this. I’ve never been this exposed.
Warm fabric drapes over me, covering me from the base of my neck to the balls of my feet. A tattered piece of fur grazes my inner arm, and I suck in a breath, filling my nose with a clean, spicy scent.
I look up, but Riven has his back to us, unlocking the door with stiff, jerky movements. Ciprian narrows his eyes. A muscle in his cheek flexes, but he takes off after our veydra warden without a word.
I forget everything but the pain. Each step is excruciating. Ciprian tries not to jostle me, but my jaw is soon throbbing from the effort it takes to keep from crying out.
Crossing the rope bridge is horrifying, but Ciprian doesn’t miss a beat. He carefully navigates the wobbly path, and I can only tell he’s nervous from the slight tightening of his grip.
When he steps onto the narrow balcony of the birdcage, the last of my adrenaline abandons me. I cradle his face and pull his lips down to meet mine. The kiss grounds me even as my body trembles. Am I in shock?
If I’d lost the fight, how could I have chosen one of them to die? I didn’t let myself think about it before—losing wasn’t an option, but the question haunts me now. I cling to Ciprian, gasping into his mouth.
He’s real. He’s here. He demanded medicine and booze on my behalf. I know that, but—
“Get inside,” Riven snaps.
Ciprian steps into the circular cell—the guard I knocked out with the pitcher is gone—and places me on the narrow cot. He pokes the thin mattress with one finger, then says, “Get a better bed too. Champions don’t sleep on glorified yoga mats.”
The door slams behind him, followed by the buzz of magic.
The remaining glow of my magic wilts inside me. It’s been fading since I left the arena, dampened by the holding room, then completely snuffed out by this cell.
Ciprian tosses the veydran cloak on the floor and reaches for the button of my pants.
“I don’t want you seeing this,” I protest, covering the angry burns with my arm.
He frowns. “I know Luca would be better, but I’m all you’ve got right now.”
“That’s not—” I hiss as I accidentally rub the back of my thigh against the scratchy bedding. “It’s not about you. It’s about me.”
Ciprian studies me silently, his blond hair standing on end from the biting wind, then shakes his head. “Nope. You’re going to have to unpack this for me. I don’t get it.”
My cheeks heat. I’d rather not talk about this, but he leaves me no choice. “This is gross,” I say, pointing to my injuries. “I don’t want you to see me this way.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. For him to say something sweet or deny that it’s nasty, but when he throws his head back and laughs, I’m shocked. Then pissed.
I hurl the thin pillow at him, and he catches it. “You’re so fucking vain, Celine. I love it.”
“Taking pride in one’s appearance isn’t vanity,” I snap.
“Not always, it isn’t, but when you do it, it definitely is.”
“T-that’s not—stop laughing,” I demand.
Ciprian leans over me, bracing his hands against the cot on either side of my hips. “Look, you’re fried right now, but you could be as skinless as that freakish horse-man and I’d still want you.”
“Really?” My lips twist as I picture the shifter’s exposed veins and muscles. I can still smell his poisonous breath in my hair.
Ciprian winces. “Okay, maybe not, but I would try. Maybe if I closed my eyes.”
I giggle, and a piece of my stress falls away. “You’re crazy,” I whisper.
“Crazy about—”
“Don’t say it,” I groan.
“What?” He kisses my cheek. “I was going to say Luca.”
My face falls. “Is he okay?”
Ciprian nods. “He told us about his parents.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, I’m surprised.”
Ciprian tears a corner off the blanket and dips it in the basin of water—someone’s been in to restock since I left—and drags it over my face. I reach out to take it from him, and he grunts. “Can you—shit, Celine, can I take care of you? Just this once?”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. Your brother, Sheena, they’re going to hate me for this.”
He kisses my palm. “Don’t be absurd. I chose to come with you, and it’s not your fault someone fucked with the gateway.
I left Sheena a voicemail before we left.
As far as she’s concerned, we’re taking care of some things in the celestial realm.
If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll sound the alarm eventually, but we’ll be home long before that happens. ”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yeah, I do.” He grins. “What can I say? I’m cocky, you’re vain—we’re the perfect match!”
The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Riven fills the frame entirely until he steps to the side and reveals . . . a teenager?