Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Always know your way out.
CELINE
“Do we even want to know what those noises were last night?”
“Absolutely not.” Ciprian glances at me and shudders. “People who question noises never survive horror movies.”
“A million screams from a thousand tortured souls,” I say, rolling my neck in loose circles.
“I never want to hear the real thing again, but I’m going to log it away for future nightmares.” Ciprian’s hair is messy, standing in chaotic blond spikes. The dark circles under his eyes add to the contrast.
I arch my back, switching between the cat and cow yoga poses. I need to keep my body moving. I’m worn out from fighting and healing, but if I stay still today, I’ll pay for it tomorrow.
“What does it feel like?” I ask. “Creating a nightmare.”
Ciprian hums low in his throat and considers my question. “It’s hard to explain because a lot is instinctual, but I guess it’s similar to painting a picture. I think about what I want to create, then I add details and layers, weaving them in with pieces of magic.”
I nod. “How does the fear come in?”
“The fear fuels the magic. If I’m running low, the picture won’t be convincing—too thin or with missing chunks. It’s like trying to write with a pen that’s almost out of ink.”
“Good thing there’s plenty of fear to eat here.” I roll into a standing pose and knock my shoulder against his to make sure he knows I’m joking.
Most of the time we’ve known each other, things have been heavy. Ciprian talks about weaving details into his nightmares, but if someone were to ask me to describe him, would I be able to do him justice? I don’t even know how he orders a burger. Maybe it’s not a big deal, but it bothers me.
His forehead wrinkles. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what you like,” I admit, forcing a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Condiments, for example.” I rock back on my heels. “Ketchup, mustard, mayo. Are you a salt and vinegar guy? What about horseradish?”
Ciprian raises his eyebrows, then grins as if I’m not acting crazy. “First of all, fuck mustard. Yes to ketchup and mayo. Horseradish tastes good, but I hate the smell, and salt and vinegar is awesome, but only if you’re home alone.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“It’s criminal to eat salt and vinegar chips if you’re going to be breathing on someone. And if you’re desperate to kiss them?” He steps into my space and drags his lips along the curve of my neck. “Then salt and vinegar should be banned.”
I chuckle. “You have strong opinions about chips. Anything else I should know?”
He hums against my throat, and my skin pebbles. “Nothing tastes as good as you, not even coffee. That should tell you how serious I am, because I might actually be the first person in recorded history to die of caffeine withdrawal.”
“It’s awful,” I groan. “And that liquor is coating my brain.”
He kisses my temple. “The questions. What’re you worried about, Celine?”
I take a beat to organize my thoughts. If I explain my worry, will he think I’m insane? There’s nowhere to run. No way to get space. It’s just Ciprian and me, locked in a birdcage with no distractions. But if I can’t be honest with him in here, there’s no hope for us outside these walls.
“Since we met, everything has been dialed up to eleven,” I say softly. “When we escape and everything settles, will there be enough between us to sustain this?”
I expect him to leave when he gets bored, but I’m not quite brave enough to admit it. I’m confident in what I bring to the table. We’re different, though. Ciprian grew up in a compound that’s more castle than house. I’m a stripper, and I like it.
Ciprian frowns, and his eyes dart away from mine. “I could give you a twenty-minute answer to that question, hot wings, but before I do, let me ask you something first: why did you pick me yesterday?”
“Everyone agreed,” I say. “They were all pointing at you, and—”
“You always do what other people suggest, then?”
I freeze. “You know I don’t.”
“Okay, leave the pointing out for a second. In fact, leave the others out, too. If it was only me in that tube and you in the sand, and Riven told you to fight to the death or I’d be killed, would you?”
“Of course.”
My heart bashes against my ribs with each beat.
I know I started this conversation, but it’s stressing me out.
We don’t make sense; can’t he see that? Except, I don’t want him to see that.
I want him to tell me I’m wrong. That he’ll never leave.
I want him to pin me to this mattress and whisper dirty things in my ear until he drowns out the doubt.
Ciprian watches me quietly, then throws his head back. “Fuck it,” he groans. “I can’t do this in a healthy, mature way. I’m trying, I swear, Celine, but it’s pissing me off.”
He sits on the bed and tugs me down beside him, dragging my hands to his cheeks. “Look at me. Really look at me.”
“I’m looking,” I whisper.
“Do you like me?” he demands.
I nod.
“Why though? What do you like about me?”
“You’re smart and witty. I never know what you’re going to do, and that should drive me insane—I’ve never enjoyed surprises, but when you’re in the room, I don’t want to look away. I’m too scared to miss something.”
“Forever the entertainer,” Ciprian murmurs. He presses his right hand to my heart. “And how do I make you feel?”
My heart pounds against his palm. I blink at him, studying the angles of his face. I’m fucking terrified. Ciprian senses it even without his magic, and his face falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You’re not scaring me,” I whisper.
“Your face . . . Your heart is racing.”
“I am scared,” I admit. “Just not of you.”
“Why?”
Can I answer that question truthfully? Do I even know how?
My thumb grazes his bottom lip, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if I get this exactly right. I have to try for him, for us, but most importantly for me.
“You make me feel alive,” I tell him. “And that scares me because you could leave me. I didn’t pick you because everyone was pointing at you, Ciprian, I picked you because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“Celine—”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. Shit.” I drop my hands from his face and swipe at the tears running down my cheeks. When did I start crying?
“Let me talk, please.” Ciprian kisses the tracks of my tears. “I’m trying to wait my turn, but I’m the youngest child, and that’s hard for me on a normal day. Your tears make me want to kill everyone on this realm.”
“I’m listening,” I tell him.
“There’s no problem here, babe. I’m scared of losing you too.”
“You are?” My eyes blur, and I swipe at them, pissed that they’re choosing now to leak obnoxiously and block my view.
“Duh. I’m embarrassingly in love with you. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t let myself come until I could do it inside you, and that was a week after we met. I realize it sounds crazy and stalkerish to say out loud, but that’s not the point, hot wings.”
Ciprian drags his fingers through his hair, making an even bigger mess.
I’m itching to fix it, so I wedge my hands between my thighs to avoid temptation.
“Where was I?” he asks.
“The point,” I whisper.
“Right.” He nods. “The point is: I think I’ve always belonged with you, I just didn’t know it because I hadn’t met you yet.
You think I might leave you? Shit, Celine, someone would have to drag me away.
I would crawl inside your skin if I could.
I’m not trying to sound creepy—but I fucking love you. ”
Air catches in my throat, and I give up trying to get a handle on my tears.
“Your confidence, your shit-starting smile, the way you straighten the tassels on the kitchen mat with your toes while you’re doing the dishes.
I love how you pretend to be a hardass, but as soon as someone you care about needs help, you’ll tear yourself to pieces to make them whole again.
Your heart is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I want you to give it to me, because you already have mine. ”
I kiss him, unable to hold back any longer, then pull away, energy rushing through my veins. “More,” I demand. “Tell me more.”
Ciprian blinks at me, then his eyes sharpen and he grins. “I hate mustard, but I’d lick it off every inch of you if you asked.”
“I don’t see myself wanting that, but I’ll keep it in mind. What else?”
“Sometimes I can’t fall asleep because every time I close my eyes, I picture you and get hard.”
“How inconvenient,” I purr, reaching for the clasp of his jeans. “Prove it.”
Without hesitating, Ciprian closes his eyes.
I watch, eagerly, hand frozen above the waistband of his pants.
Barely eight seconds pass before the outline of his cock becomes visible. After another ten, his erection is straining against the fabric.
I lick my lips. “Ciprian . . .”
“Yeah, hot wings?”
“I’m about to give you the best blow job you’ve ever had”—he groans loudly, and his dick twitches—“but before I do that, I need you to know something, okay?”
He gulps. “Okay.”
“I’m in love with you too, and if you ever leave me, I’ll freak out.”
“Please,” he gasps. “Freak out. Lose your shit over me.”
“I’d come after you,” I say. “Drag you back.”
Ciprian moans. “That’s fucked up. It’s turning me on.”
Nipping at his hip bone, I pull his cock out of his pants. It’s huge and hard and I want to taste it. I run my tongue along the underside, then pop the tip into my mouth, hollowing out my cheeks and sucking lightly.
“Please don’t stop loving me.” Ciprian’s black eyes shoot open, and I feel like he can see right through me. “Because I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried.” His hand on my cheek is gentle. It twitches once, and I smile.
“I promise,” I tell him.
Outside the log walls, the midday eclipse rolls over the monster realm. The chill makes us both shiver, and I do my best to take Ciprian away from this place. Away from the constant near-death experiences, the caffeine deficit, the extreme cold, and the creepy noises.