Chapter 20
TWENTY
Never waste time.
CELINE
I feel like I’m floating on my back in a lazy river.
Gentle waves lap against my skin as the sun caresses my face. I glide along—not a care in the world—my ears dipping beneath the surface as I leave reality behind.
With Luca’s hand between my thighs and Malach’s heat at my back, I want to drown in the fantasy. It’s only a lazy river. And I’m only a girl.
But I can’t lie to myself.
I’m only a girl until someone demands I become something else. And this river is only lazy until the dam breaks and the floodwater rushes in.
There are rocks all around, rapids ahead, and a million different dangers. If I open my eyes, I’ll see them all in crisp, deadly detail.
We survived another day.
Tomorrow we might not be this lucky.
Then Luca kisses me, and the familiar scrape of his lip ring anchors me to the bed. No more floating. No more rapids. I’m right here, right now, and that’s all I need.
I kiss him back, burying my hands in his hair. It’s tangled—my fingers catch on a knot—and our lips are cracked from the cold. But the imperfections make this exactly what I need right now: a reminder of why I’m fighting.
Malach shifts against my back, and I shudder.
He’s so close to me.
So solid.
It’s been almost seven years since I fled the celestial realm and left him behind. And gods, I’ve never admitted it to anyone, not even myself, but I missed him.
As I struggled to learn English and fit in, I missed him. Every time I fell off the pole, bruising my limbs and my pride, I missed him. And when strangers leered at my body without once glancing at my face, I missed him. The way he saw me, even when I didn’t want to be seen.
The truth is lava inside me. Boiling. Pressurized. Desperate to erupt. Now that I’ve admitted it to myself, it needs to come out.
“Luca,” I gasp, pulling away from our kiss. “I need to . . .”
“I know.” His familiar hazel eyes caress my face, and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “You’ve got this, baby.”
He helps me roll, moaning as Ciprian and Alistair work him over as if they aren’t the least likely teammates on this realm. Then Malach’s green eyes capture my attention. They’re searching my face with an intensity that shakes me to my core.
I whisper his name.
His pupils widen.
I shiver. “I thought of you every day, Malach. For the first year, I saw your face in every crowd and imagined you were by my side. I missed you so much. Leaving you behind and breaking my vows is the worst thing I’ve ever done. Unforgivable.”
“Celine—”
“Let me finish, please.” My words come out strangled, but I push through. If I don’t tell him now, I might never get the chance.
“When you showed up again, I had to keep you at a distance. The way things used to be between us? That was dangerous for me because it meant I would lose you all over again, and I knew I wouldn’t survive it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you again, and I don’t know if I should even be saying all of this right now, but I needed you to know, in case you didn’t: I fucking missed you, Malach.”
His eyes are glassy—that beautiful green color I love so much that I painted my apartment to match. He doesn’t try to hide his emotions. Malach holds my stare and gives me a window into his heart, as if he never once considered an alternative.
A tear rolls down my nose, and he wraps his arms around me.
I sink into him until he’s all I see, hear, and smell. His heart pounds against my cheek, and I’m consumed with the need to close the loop on my senses and taste him. Ruthlessly, I quiet the scared voice inside my head. If I lose him, I will hurt. That remains true whether I kiss him or not.
“Malach?”
He tightens his arms around me. “Yes, my truth?”
“Can I kiss you?” The words hang between us, as fragile as butterfly wings, then Malach’s lips are on mine, rewriting our history with a single touch until all I can think about is giving him the best kiss of his life.
His lower lip is fuller than the top one. I nibble on it, then soothe the sting with the glide of my tongue. My hands get caught between us, and one of his thick thighs slides between mine.
For years, I’ve dreamed of getting lost in Malach’s kisses, but reality is better than the fantasy. He kisses with brutal sincerity, like he could spend months doing nothing else. There’s nothing practiced or rehearsed about it.
When I pull back for air, I’m panting.
“I missed you too.” Malach rumbles the words in our thatsha dialect, then switches to English and says, “We can talk about the vows later. Right now, I want to hold you while Luca touches you.”
Three groans sound from behind me.
“Fuck, I’m close,” Luca says. “I didn’t want to come and ruin your talk.” His fingers trail down my back. “Can I play with your pussy while Malach talks dirty to you in that language?”
I gasp, hear myself say yes, and then I’m tossed headfirst back into the river. Except there’s nothing lazy about it now. Luca buries two fingers inside me, curling them.
“I don’t know how to talk dirty,” Malach says, a hint of panic in his voice.
“Ali and I will help you,” Luca says, his breath catching. “Ciprian’s mouth is busy.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Malach kisses me again. “Okay.”
I arch my back as Luca strokes my inner thigh and glides his fingers over the globes of my ass. “You’re so soft, Celine. I could touch you all day.”
Malach strokes his fingertips over my cheek and rasps the thatsha equivalent.
I shiver. There’s something about the contrast of their voices and Malach’s willingness to play along. I’m immediately soaked.
Luca grazes my clit but doesn’t give me the pressure I want.
I choke on a groan.
“The sounds you make,” Alistair says. “They’re delicious. When you gasp and moan and scream, we burn for you.”
Malach translates, his voice curling around each syllable like a caress as he strokes my face and neck. I want his hands everywhere.
Luca dips his fingers back inside me. “So wet,” he gasps. “Soak my hand.”
As if I have a choice. I’m dripping down my thighs, each word turning me inside out. After all the stress and fear, the victory of getting them back is enough to make my toes curl. Hearing them work together . . .
Malach kisses me again, and I taste his growing confidence as he catalogs every shift of pleasure on my face.
“Your lips are a dream, my truth,” Malach purrs, deepening the kiss.
“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” Luca growls.
He slips a third finger inside me. The angle isn’t quite right. Gasping, I drag my leg over Malach’s hip, opening myself up wider. His eyes coast down my body, pupils dominating the green of his eyes.
Luca stiffens as he comes in Ciprian’s mouth.
Ciprian licks his lips and stares directly at me. “Split yourself open and beg for it, Celine. Make the view worth his wait.”
I bury my face in Malach’s neck, panting loudly. The corded muscle there is begging for me to sink my teeth into it. When Luca pinches my clit, I can’t resist, biting Malach as the orgasm crashes over me.
He rumbles low in his throat, and I tremble from the aftershocks.
“I’m sorry I bit—”
“No,” Malach says in our language. “Never apologize for marking me. I’m yours, and I’ll wear your claim with pride and honor. When it fades, I’ll ask for another.”
I relax into the bed, my mind clear for the first time in days.
“We’re going to get out of here,” I say. “I’ll figure it out, I promise you.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Alistair says, his tone firm. “Together.”
No one comes to our birdcage prison except to drop off food.
Not the day after the fight, or the next.
On the third day, we’re all losing it.
“Let’s play a game,” Ciprian says.
From his spot brooding against the wall, Alistair rolls his eyes. “I’ll pass.”
“Because you have something better to do?”
Alistair smirks at me. “I can think of many better things to do.”
“Celine and Luca don’t count as things to do,” Ciprian snaps.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. The tension has been building since the night Luca woke up. With no outside stimulus to focus on, I can’t keep my mind from imagining what could have happened if we’d taken it further.
Luca pauses in his daily pacing and glances at Ciprian. “Why do I feel like you’re about to suggest truth or dare?”
Ciprian frowns. “I wasn’t.”
“Liar.”
“What game do you want to play?” Malach asks.
I hide a shiver. Ever since Luca’s dirty talk idea, his voice has been doing things to me.
Ciprian shrugs. “I don’t know. Anything really. Two truths and a lie, would you rather, never have I ever.”
“With all magic blocked, it would even the playing field,” Luca says.
“I don’t need magic to win.” I smirk, then look at my nails and wince. The paint is flaking off in big chunks, leaving irregularly shaped maroon islands behind. “I wish we’d bargained for a nail kit.”
Ciprian grins. “That’s a great start. Would you rather have a hot shower or a manicure?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh boy, how is a girl to choose? The shower, obviously.”
“Malach,” Luca says. “Would you rather fight three hundred bees or five angry tigers?”
“Do I have a weapon?”
“A sword.”
Malach winces. “Better go with the tigers, then. Not sure what good my sword would do against flying insects.”
Ciprian shudders. “The roaches in my apartment are going to be out of control when we get back. They’ll drag me to their hive and sacrifice me to their queen as soon as I open the door.”
Malach raises one eyebrow and looks at Alistair. “Would you rather remain hungry or ask someone here to share their blood with you?”
Silence falls on the room.
Alistair shoves off the wall, and his eyes flash red. The rest of his face is pale and lined with exhaustion. He looks tired, but we all do, so I didn’t think anything of it. When was the last time he fed? Maybe I should have noticed, but Malach is right: Alistair should have said something.
“Godsdammit, Ali,” Luca mutters.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he insists.
“Are you thirsty?”
“Why do you automatically assume he’s right?” Alistair crosses his arms. “It’s a game, Malach could be trying to—”
“Push you to admit you’ve got a problem,” I say, mirroring his position.
Alistair narrows his eyes. “Because the rest of you love asking for help.”
“You’re deflecting.”
Luca crowds Alistair against the wall, advancing on him until their chests bump. “Are you thirsty?”
“Of course I am,” Alistair snaps. “I’m ravenous, but we don’t know what tomorrow might bring. I refuse to weaken one of you when I’m perfectly fine as I am. I’ve had far worse.”
I shuffle over to him. “So, your weakness doesn’t matter?”
“I bring the least to a fight.” Alistair braces his hand on Luca’s stomach, keeping him at arm’s length. “It’s the logical conclusion.”
“You’re not the least,” I argue. “No one here is more or less important than anyone else.”
Alistair’s eyes flash red. “That’s a nice sentiment, angel, but ultimately untrue. If I fall in a fight, what would be lost?”
“Everything,” I whisper, my voice cracking in the middle. “Everything would be lost.”
“You’re wrong,” Alistair says stubbornly.
Blood ripples through my veins. Boiling hot.
I make an involuntary noise, and Luca’s jaw drops.
Even Ciprian’s brow wrinkles. I try my hardest to wall off my temper, but I’m too slow.
My feet move on their own, and then I’m shaking him—hands fisted in his shirt—shouting, “It’s true to me, godsdammit. ”
“Angel—”
“Don’t angel me.” I sneer at him even as my fingers tremble. “Self-sacrificial isn’t a good look on you, Ali.” What’s gotten into him? Doesn’t he know what he means to me? To Luca?
I tilt my head and expose my neck. It could be a submissive pose, except there’s no part of me that’s in the mood to submit right now. My pulse throbs, heat roaring through my veins. I don’t care if we have an audience, but Alistair’s silence is infuriating.
After everything we’ve been through, it tastes like betrayal.
He gulps, then runs his thumb over my neck, caressing my fragile skin. “I don’t deserve to bite you.”
“If you keep tally forever, you cannot hope for happiness,” Malach says firmly.
Alistair hisses, primal and pained. I could give him space. Instead, I stand on my toes and press my neck to his lips. Instead of sinking his fangs in, he kisses me instead, dragging his lips over my skin.
“Bite me, Ali,” I say. “I’m ordering you to.”
He laughs. “Do you plan to make me?”
“If that’s what it takes.” I shove him against the wall and pin him there, reminding us both that while he may be faster, I’m still stronger.
“Would you rather bite me or explain why the blood bags made you sick?” He never explained his illness, but I know him.
There’s no way he doesn’t have a theory by now.
“Celine,” he groans, scraping his fangs against my throat. “I-I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I pull away and try to hide my hurt.
This is my fault. Alistair loves his secrets too much to be fully honest with me, yet I keep letting him in and expecting things to be different. I can’t change him and I don’t want to, but I’m done being on the outside. He can either let me in, or I’ll see myself out.
“You don’t understand,” he says, agony overriding the bloodlust and returning his eyes to crystal blue.
I shake my head. “You don’t know that, because you never give me a chance. You have a choice, Ali: make yourself vulnerable and trust that I won’t betray you, or choose to be alone.”
He frowns. “That’s it? Spill my guts or fuck off? That’s not fair!”
“Maybe not.” I drag my fingers through the tangles in my hair. “But I can’t let you break my heart again.”