Chapter 2
TWO
Traditional nish thatsha betrothal vow:
My word belongs to you as fully as it breathes life inside my soul. May the day I use it against you also be the day it carves my beating heart from my chest.
MALACH
Celine walks in front of me, her gait uneven. My eyes devour her, greedy for her attention after years without it. I would sooner gouge them from their sockets than look at another, yet I’ve led a monster to her door.
Not the monsters she invites to her bed, although I will undoubtedly have to get used to them, but the one who created her. The being who excised the full extent of his own twisted soul on those he should have died before hurting.
Killing Celine’s mother was the catalyst for S’lach.
With Valenara dead and Celine gone without a trace—I made sure of that—S’lach turned his darkness on the realm.
Fools that we were, we let him dig in. Now there’s no one left to speak against him, no one who can manage it but her. My truth. My Celine.
She’s strong, powerful to the depths of her soul, and the only person who can stand in his way.
I would do anything to change that.
Celine’s wings are bladed. Moonlight reflects off the metallic feathers, each as biting as a freshly sharpened axe.
A muscle in my jaw ticks. She tries to appear cool and controlled, but her wings tell the truth. She’s upset. Stressed. My head aches, a tangled blur of desperate thoughts in half a dozen languages jockeying for position.
Her show of vulnerability destroys me.
Celine shouldn’t have to bear another moment of her father’s presence, yet that’s exactly what I must ask her to do. For our people; not only the thatsha . . . but all seven nish.
As her betrothed, I want to shield her from S’lach and the pain of her past, but I swore vows on her word and mine. I must tell her the truth.
She will hate me for it. And I will deserve it.
“You’re staring, Malach,” Celine says, not bothering to turn around.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m grateful for the dark. “Can you blame me for fixing my gaze on your beauty when ugliness presses in from all sides?”
The basilisk snorts, an uncouth sound he should try to avoid.
“Luca,” Celine warns.
“What?” He shoots me an angry look, as if it’s my fault he got scolded. “It was corny.”
I smile at him, enjoying his obvious jealousy, then replay his words and frown. “Corny?” I ask. “How can my compliment be compared to mere starch?”
“Corn is a vegetable, dude.”
“I believe you’re mistaken,” I say kindly. “My research indicated that corn was a starch consumed by many Earth-dwelling cultures.”
“Your research was wrong,” Luca snaps, wiping a drop of blood away from his nostril. “I’m not a fucking scientist, but I know for a fact it’s a vegetable. It grows on stalks.”
“It’s a starchy vegetable.” Celine sighs. “Both of you shut up about it. Please. We have more important things to worry about.”
“Of course,” I soothe her. “But in the interest of my continued erudition, perhaps you could explain . . . I remain unsure how my remark can be seen as food-related.”
Celine groans. “It’s slang. He’s saying it wasn’t original. Think . . . umm, banal or something.”
“Ah, that word I understand.” I glare at Luca and imagine plunging my sword into his belly. “He sought to insult me.”
Luca scoffs. “Where did you learn English that you picked up banal and skipped right over corny? William Shakespeare’s greatest hits?”
“I don’t think they call books greatest hits,” Celine mutters.
“I can’t take your word for that, baby.” Luca nudges her with his shoulder, carefully avoiding her jagged wing. “Anika says you aren’t smart.”
“That’s not fair!” Celine’s lips fall open in outrage. “To Anika, no one is smart.”
As they tease each other, strains of music and muffled voices spill into the alley. A door opens with a high-pitched whine. Someone laughs loudly. We’re approaching the Naked Fang. After lurking outside their workplace for weeks, the sounds are easy to recognize.
I’ve never been inside, though.
My stomach flips. I ignore it, taking the opportunity to observe Luca. His mouth and mind keep up with Celine while his eyes scan our surroundings as if someone might jump out and snap his neck at any moment.
I hum under my breath, satisfied. My training is working.
As we approach the back entrance of the club, Celine levels me with a serious look. “Stay here. I’m grabbing my bag and keys, and then I’ll be right out. Also, stow the wings. I don’t want to have to explain . . .” She waves her hand at me as if I’m a problem she doesn’t have the words to describe.
Gritting my teeth, I absorb my wings. Her frustration with me stings. “Anything you need,” I tell her.
I’m sincere, but my words trouble Celine. She pushes through the door stiffly, leaving me behind. Again.
I’m here to win her back, yet it seems My Truth has no interest in being won.
By the time Celine unlocks her apartment, my nerves are buzzing. Riding on the back of her bike was almost as exhilarating as flying. The humming engine, her warm curves pressed against mine . . . I never wanted it to end.
“Get comfortable, baby. I’ll make a snack.” Luca hangs his car keys on the hook as Celine stows her helmet. His pet name for her sets my teeth on edge. It’s infantilizing. Celine is powerful, not a toddler stumbling over her own feet.
Celine glances between us as if she’s weighing the odds of us coming to blows while she changes clothes, then nods and heads down the hall. The bedroom door closes behind her.
Luca studies me until the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “Should I worry about vengeance?” I ask, returning his gaze steadily, determined to remain calm.
“She’s been through a lot—”
“You think I don’t know that?” I hiss, losing my temper even though I vowed to myself I wouldn’t. He speaks of her with such familiarity; it makes my insides churn. All the time I’ve lost with her has been his gain, and he’s grinding my face in the sacrifice.
“I don’t have a fucking clue what you know, but tonight was bad. She’s hurting. She’ll hide it; she always does. If you stomp on her feelings, though, I’ll have no choice but to—”
“Kill me?” I scoff. “How corny.”
“That doesn’t work for that,” Luca mutters, yanking on the door of the coolant box. Refrigerator, fool. “If you’re done cutting me off . . .”
I nod stiffly.
“Until I know whether your death would hurt her, you’re safe from me. I won’t do anything to cause Celine pain.”
“She won’t thank you for interfering.” I cock my head as I study him. His knuckles are bone-white from his unforgiving grip on the refrigerator handle. With the other hand, he methodically removes an assortment of jars and boxes from inside and places them on the counter.
“I don’t need her thanks, asshole.” Luca slams the appliance door, and the contents rattle noisily. A strand of brown hair falls in his face, and he shoves it back. “I need her to be safe. And as happy as I can make her.”
I grind my teeth. Luca speaks as though his place by her side is guaranteed. Where does he get his confidence? “You didn’t pass my judgment,” I remind him.
“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” He grins, but there’s no friendliness or humor in the expression. “Your goons can’t say the same.”
“Celine helped you.” I cross my arms and wait for him to show the proper amount of shame for that weakness.
Luca only shrugs, smearing something bright yellow and pungent on a crusty piece of bread. “That’s the part that’s pissing you off, isn’t it? Even sprinting in six-inch heels, she had my back without question. Would she do the same for you?”
My wings burst free, knocking one of his glass jars off the counter. His hand darts out—faster than lightning—catching it before it hits the floor and returning it to the counter.
“We made vows,” I snarl.
“Words mean nothing,” Luca hisses. “I’ve watched out for her for years.”
My fingers curl. “You know nothing of our words. Our traditions are sacred.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” He places meat and cheese between the bread, then returns to the refrigerator, his head disappearing inside. “Do you want a glass of wine, baby?”
“Red, please.” My head whips around at the sound of her voice. Silently, I curse myself for allowing the basilisk to infuriate me. He wants to erode her trust in me. I can’t allow that to happen.
“Okay, Malach,” Celine murmurs. I shudder with pleasure at the sound of my name on her lips. “Tell me what’s going on—don’t leave anything out.”
I glance at Luca, but he’s focused on the plate in front of him.
“If you’re sure you’re ready . . .”
“Don’t insult me.” Never, My Truth.
“S’lach has risen in power. He controls the nish thatsha with an iron fist, and through them, the entire realm. None stand against him. They fear—”
“His word.” Celine scrapes a hand over her face and begins to pace. “How did the other leaders let this happen? He was powerful when I left, but plenty of the other thatsha hate him.”
“He silenced some. The others didn’t notice until his web was too tight to escape. He’s become fixated with balance, enacting a birth application mandate over the lower echelons. Any angels born without permission are terminated.”
“The orphans?” Her brown eyes swim with emotion.
I nod. “Many in the lower nish hide their offspring, but he has them hunted. The parents are punished, and the children . . . Many of them go missing as well.”
“So, you take them first?” Celine raises her eyebrows.
“I tried to help as many as I could. S’lach must have been watching me more closely than I thought. I’m a wanted fugitive now.”
A headache prods at the base of my skull. I ignore it.
“What about the plague that killed Anika’s parents?” Luca asks me, handing Celine a wine glass filled to the brim and nudging the plate closer to her.
“It started as a simple sickness, nothing the healers couldn’t handle, but S’lach forbade the salum from treating patients in the lower echelons. Thousands died in the name of—”
“Balance,” Celine breathes. “He always was obsessed with things being exactly how he thought they should be. Control is everything to him.”
“He cannot control you.”
I mean it as a compliment, an acknowledgment of her strength, but her brown eyes flash with rage. “And I’ve paid for it a thousand times over.” She gulps the wine, consuming half the glass at once. “I know why you’re here, Malach.”
“For you, My Truth.”
“Maybe,” she whispers. “But the timing, your calculated scheming; it’s too exact. You want me to go back. I won’t do it.”
My stomach flips. I glance away from her and focus on the counter. There’s a single crumb on the surface. Luca wiped it down after making the food, but this piece escaped him, hiding among the faux stone patterns.
A million responses come to mind. I hold them all in. Instead of speaking, I incline my head in acceptance, feeling both awkward and anxious in her space. Our separation has made us strangers. The lone crumb and I are the same—the only two things out of place in Celine’s home.
“You’re disappointed in me,” she says. “I see it on your face.”
“Never,” I insist, sweeping the crumb into the trash and facing her again. “No matter how much I burn to bring our people justice, you are my priority. You always have been.”
Celine breaks our eye contact this time and examines her plate. “That’s not easier to hear,” she says. My insides tremble as her wingtips drag against the tile.
“Things will look better in the morning,” Luca says, putting his hand on her shoulder.
Celine huffs a laugh, but it’s angry and strained, a wire pulled too tight. “Do you believe that?”
“Sure.” He smiles softly. “Because you’ll be well-rested and we’ll have coffee.”
She tries to return his smile. Her lips twist instead. Celine covers her eyes, but not before I see how glassy and bloodshot they are. Luca pulls her into his chest. Jealousy burns inside me.
Celine clears her throat and drops her hand from her face. “I’ll show you to the spare room, Malach.”
“I know where it is,” I admit.
“Right.” She shakes her head. “Of course you do, because you broke into my apartment and made a huge mess. How could I forget? Once I’ve had some sleep, we’re going to talk more about that. You painted my fucking walls, Malach—that’s over the line.”
I hide a smile, relieved to see her angry instead of sad. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“And knocking on the front door wasn’t an option?”
“Anonymity ran its course, but it was the optimal move at the time.”
She gestures for me to follow her into the small guest room, stiffening as she looks at the strange bed-like contraption. The covers are neatly tucked, and it smells strongly of demon. An unzipped suitcase sits open in the corner.
“I’ll get clean sheets.” Celine brushes past me and marches down the hall.
Luca glances through the door. His eyes land on the suitcase, and he bites his lip. “She’s bruised.”
“I see that,” I admit, keeping my tone neutral. “I’ll tread lightly.”
He takes in my thick leather boots, raises his eyebrows, then trails his dangerous gaze up my body before shaking his head. “Something tells me that’ll be tough for you.”
He leaves before I can tell him to keep his opinions to himself. I’ve not found him worthy of my Celine yet. Until I do, this uneasy truce between us is the best I can do.