Chapter 28 #2
“Celine can hear you,” I groan and crack my eyes open. They’re gritty, my skin is tight, and if I hear Luca’s self-sacrificing bullshit one more time, I’m going to lose my temper.
“Don’t set the bed on fire, hot wings,” Ciprian warns. “I’m not the kind of guy who can sleep on the floor.”
“We need to do some research,” Ali says. “Problems rarely have only one solution.”
“Great fucking idea, professor. Lead the way to the library—oh wait, there isn’t one. Because we’re in the fucking monster realm surrounding by fucking monsters!”
“His favorite word is back,” Malach mutters.
Ciprian yawns and narrows his eyes at Luca. “You can freak out all you want, but you’ve got to stop pretending you’re expendable. It pisses me off and makes me want to fuck you through the mattress.” He looks Luca up and down. “And trust me—we don’t have time for that.”
Luca’s eyes glaze over; his lip ring trapped between his teeth. He blinks like an owl, then glances at me when I shiver. “Good morning, baby.”
I squeeze his thigh. “We aren’t leaving without you. Please stop bringing it up.”
He nods slowly. “If that’s what you all want.” A chorus of affirmative grunts sound, and Luca rolls his eyes. “Fine. I hear you.”
“Do you think the bat keeps his cave stocked with food?” Ciprian asks.
I push the covers off and head for the bathroom. “This isn’t a cave, and he isn’t a bat.”
“The view is pretty bat-like.” Alistair passes me the jar of toothpaste.
“Bats sleep upside down.”
“We can’t prove that he doesn’t. You’ve seen the cape.”
Yeah, I’ve seen the cape. I’ve felt it wrapped around me too, and it’s oddly cozy. I ignore their jokes and wash my face, gasping as the cold water from the tap steals my breath.
My toes are popsicles. This realm is in serious need of fuzzy socks, but at least I’m fully awake now. Dressing quickly, I leave the borrowed bedroom, and my stomach growls. All jokes aside, I’m hoping Riven keeps emergency rations in his safe house.
I find him in the kitchen, standing in front of several familiar appliances. He gave us a tour last night, but I didn’t notice many details. Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, and the only thing I could focus on was fight or flight.
Now . . . well, there’s no denying it: I’m impressed.
The ceiling is polished rock. It’s slanted at a jagged diagonal, but the lowest point is still high enough for Malach or Alistair to stand without risking their heads.
The glass wall from the living room continues into the kitchen, and since the sun is up, the view is breathtaking.
Riven grunts at me. I nod, not sure what either of us just communicated. Good morning? Go fuck yourself? It could go either way, and it’s not as if I understand him when he speaks English either.
We may be embedded in the side of the mountain, but I need to find safer ground.
I look out the window, taking in the ice-capped forest and sprawling valley below. The frozen pellets—horrible to walk through or be hit with—shine like diamonds from this altitude, glittering majestically from the loaded boughs of the trees to the mountain shelves.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Most deadly things are.” Riven stirs the contents of a large bowl, drawing my attention to the vein in his forearm. Like his face, it’s trapped beneath amber. I stare at it, then shift my weight and avert my eyes.
“What are you making?” I ask, even though I’m more interested in finding out what his skin feels like. I know he’s warm, but is he soft too? If I ran my finger over that vein, would it throb? Gods, Celine. Snap out of it.
“Pancakes,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows and can’t resist stealing a closer look.
“What?” Riven asks. “Do I strike you as too incompetent to make breakfast?”
I shake my head. “I’m surprised you know what pancakes are.”
He pauses, then attacks the remaining lumps in the batter viciously. “I travel for work a lot.” There’s a playful lilt to his voice that I’m not used to. Is he teasing? I guess there is something ironic about an assassin describing his travel as if he’s an accountant at a convention.
The others trail into the kitchen, and I smile at them in warning. “Riven’s making pancakes,” I say, my lips twitching at the assortment of dumbfounded looks I get in response.
Luca’s eyes sharpen, and he nudges Ciprian. “Pancakes . . . you don’t think?”
“Oh my gods. Maybe!”
Riven stares at them, then at me. A warped band rolls over his face.
“You should know you’re housing a pair of addicts,” I say. “They want coffee.”
I can’t be sure, but I think his lips curl before he turns away. He points at an oscillating pitcher to his right. “It’s not a perfect match, but it’s not bad either.”
Luca doesn’t ask for permission or details.
He jostles Ciprian out of the way, grabs a cup from the open-faced shelves, then pours the dark liquid with shaky hands.
Steam curls up from his cup, filling the air with a rich, bitter scent.
It’s not the same as coffee, but it’s close enough that I feel a flicker of hope that I’ll be able to get rid of the headache I’ve had for weeks.
“Is it caffeinated?” I ask. The taste of coffee isn’t something I crave, but I’m a big fan of its active ingredient.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Riven says. “It comes from the forest, and it provides an energy boost. I wouldn’t drink too—”
Luca moans. The sound is filthy. With both hands wrapped around his mug, he drinks in slow, deep gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.
“Indecent,” Ali says, taking the pitcher from Luca and pouring three more cups before turning to Malach. “Any for you?”
He shakes his head. “Not unless it tastes like Frosted Flakes.”
Ciprian grins. “That’s milk, man.”
Malach frowns. “Milk is the vehicle. The magic is in the—”
“Sugar.” I bump my hip against his. “Malach’s always had a sweet tooth.”
He wraps one wing around me, and I lean my head against his shoulder. He’s been quiet, almost out of it since last night. I need to check on him, but I know Malach would rather talk without an audience. Privacy has become a luxury we can’t afford.
I’ll have to get creative.
A small, scaly bird flies in front of the window. It lands on an even smaller rock shelf, balancing on long, twig-thin legs. A yellow stripe runs down its back. The color is as vivid as a ripe banana and balloons into an orange starburst on the sides.
I smile as the bird lifts one leg and rubs it against the other, then wince when the sound of a woman screaming pierces the thick glass wall. “How did something so small make a sound that loud?”
Riven glances out the window. “That’s a reesh. Their legs are covered in hair-thin spikes.” He points at the bird, and now that he’s mentioned it, I notice light passing through the wispy spikes. “They rub their legs together to scare predators away.”
A louder roar echoes off the mountain’s face. It’s deep and hollow, and my hair stands on end. The reesh flies away, and Malach’s wing quivers against my upper arm.
“They’re searching for you,” Riven says quietly.
“Where?” I roll my shoulders back, determined to stay calm no matter what.
River returns his attention to the bowl of batter and sighs. “Everywhere.”