Chapter 4
FOUR
Timing is everything. Know when to run and when to fight.
CELINE
Emotions suck. Caught in the middle of the storm, I lay in my bed, feeling like someone tied me to a stake so the wind could peel the skin from my bones.
I’m strong, but I’m not strong enough to let this go.
I don’t even know how.
My apartment feels crowded and empty at the same time. Alistair, Ciprian . . . I don’t want them here, but every time I think about the fact that they’re gone, I want to cry. Both hurt me in different ways, but Malach’s revelations must be my priority.
Father will come for me. The attacks we went through before weren’t even assassination attempts; they were Malach’s stupid testosterone-fueled schemes to test his competition.
He shouldn’t have bothered. They showed their true colors, eventually. Only Luca put his money where his mouth was . . . and only the gods know if that will last.
I roll my head to the side. His handsome face is slack with sleep except for the furrow in his forehead. How long will Luca stick around under the weight of Dad’s wrath? He could leave or be taken from me at any time.
His features blur, and my tears fall silently. Tomorrow, I’ll put on a brave face and come up with a plan, but tonight, I let myself cry.
For Ciprian, who made me laugh, fed on my deepest fears, and hid his truth from me.
For Alistair, who made me feel like the only person in every room but saw me as an object all along.
And for Malach, the boy who knew all my secrets. He’s become a man I don’t recognize.
Father’s angry face flashes through my mind, pink and mottled with rage. The vein on his temple pulses as he screams, a jagged lightning bolt of boiling blood.
Now that he knows where I am, he won’t rest until I’m gone.
I couldn’t beat him before; what makes me think I have what it takes now?
Independence? This life I’ve created? They mean everything to me but are laughable in the face of his power.
Puny, insignificant. Na?ve even. Deep down, S’lach and I both know I’m destined to be gobbled up and spat out by life. Just like Mom.
Mostly, I cry for the little girl who was never strong enough. I can only pray that the woman she’s become has what it takes to defeat a monster.
Crying is cathartic, but it’s hell on the eyes.
I wince at my reflection as I brush my teeth and wash my face, applying a dab of witch cream to the puffy skin around my eyes. If Ciprian were here—no, don’t think about him.
He’s not my friend; he’s enclave. And I told him I killed Roscoe.
They could come for me at any time.
With this many variables, I only know two things for sure: one, now is not the time for romance; and two, I’ve got to get back in fighting shape.
Even though Malach’s goons weren’t trying to hurt me, my stance with the sword felt unfamiliar. And my run with Luca a few weeks ago proved I’m not at the top of my game. Dancing has made me strong and agile, but I need to harden up. It’s been years since I took a punch. That’s got to change.
Luca stumbles into the bathroom. He yawns and kisses my neck, then drops his underwear and steps into the shower. I glance at his sculpted ass in the mirror and mentally smack myself. No more distractions, no matter how delicious.
“Do you know how to contact the owners of the Mouth of Hell?” I ask.
Luca pokes his head around the curtain, and I meet his narrowed hazel eyes in the mirror.
“Why?” he asks, his voice suspicious.
“Someone needs to tell them their beer is subpar,” I deadpan, propping my hip on the lip of the sink then rolling my eyes. “Because I want to fight. Why else?”
His head disappears behind the curtain again, and he sighs so loudly I hear it over the running water.
“Do you have something to say, Luca?”
The quiet is getting to me. He took Malach’s arrival in stride .
. . hasn’t mentioned Alistair once . . .
and reacted to Ciprian’s identity reveal as if it was the least interesting thing he’s ever heard.
At first, I thought he was trying to give me space to process my feelings without adding his own to the mix. Now I’m not sure.
“I don’t know the owners of the Mouth of Hell.” Luca finally answers my original question. I wait for him to say something else, but the silence is thick.
That’s it. Storming through the steam, I brew a cup of coffee, pour it into a silver, insulated tumbler, then stomp back to the bathroom. I shove the tumbler into the shower, avoiding the pounding spray, and wait until he takes it from my hand.
“Thanks,” Luca grunts, “but you forgot to detach the strings, baby.”
“Don’t fuck with me,” I snap. “I need you caffeinated.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re tiptoeing around me like I’m fragile or tyrannical, and I don’t know which is worse. Knock it off or I’m going to overreact.”
Luca snorts a laugh. “Okay, we can talk.”
“Good.” I pat the side of my head and wince when my hand comes away damp. “The steam is ruining my hair—I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”
I get dressed, yanking on some stretchy clothes to work out in, and pile my hair on top of my head in a high, tight ponytail.
It’ll give me a headache if I leave it this way all day, but it’s perfect for what I have in mind.
By the time Luca strolls into the bedroom with a towel slung low around his hips, I’m more than ready to have this out.
He puts the tumbler down on my bedside table and eyes me warily. “You look like you want to fight.”
“And you look like you’re scared of that,” I retort, getting straight to the point. If Luca is afraid to be honest with me . . . We can call it now. A fun, sexy romp and nothing more.
“I won’t let you push me away, Celine.” Luca plants his hands on his hips, and a bead of water runs down the side of his neck. “I want to give you everything you want, but I won’t be your opponent.”
“I want you to say what you’re thinking,” I say. “Alistair and Ciprian do the calculating, but you—”
“Are too stupid to be strategic?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” I insist, sinking down on the bed. “But I do count on you to tell it to me straight. Whenever you go silent, I get worried.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You want to know everything I’m thinking? About the last twenty-four hours?”
“Yes,” I say. “I need your opinions; I’m sick of mine.”
“Okay, baby, remember that you asked for this.” Luca begins to pace. “First, I think you should talk to Alistair. Give him a chance to apologize.”
I grit my teeth. “What else?”
“We also need to hear Ciprian out. You and Ali exploded on him at the Fang, which was understandable and also dumb. He knows about Roscoe, and now we’re in the dark about where he stands.”
My shoulders sag. “It was an ugly fight.”
He glances at me, and his face softens. “It was an ugly fight, but they’re both gone . . .” Luca snaps his fingers. “Just like that. Then, some dude from your past shows up with all the answers, calls himself your husband, and manages to worm his way into your spare room? I don’t like it, Celine.”
I blink as he rakes his fingers through his wet hair. Dammit, I asked for this, but I hate it. Even hearing him say Ciprian and Alistair’s names out loud is upsetting.
Shooting to my feet, I block his path with my body. “Stop,” I whisper. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to talk about either of them.”
Luca grabs my shoulders, his grip painfully gentle. “You’ve got to, baby. Pretending last night didn’t happen—shit, that the last few weeks didn’t happen—that’s not healthy. You’re hurt, and that’s okay. Anyone would be.”
“Do you want to hear me say I’m an idiot?” I whisper, a telltale burn searing the back of my nose. “I couldn’t even tell Ciprian was a phony.”
“That sounds like someone else talking.” Luca’s voice is too soft and understanding. I have to look away. “Alistair was mad because he fell for it too, baby. He exploded. There’s no excusing it, but you can’t take what he said to heart.”
I pull free of his hold and wrap my arms around myself. “I’ve known who I am all along,” I insist. “Alistair is the one who couldn’t handle what he saw when he got a closer look.”
Hissing, Luca yanks me fully into his arms. His hug is tight, and I know I’ll feel it long after he lets go. “I don’t think that’s true,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the skin below my ear. “Can you let him make it up to you if he tries?”
I consider that, and my wings twitch as annoyance overtakes my hurt. “Do you see him beating down my door?” I demand. “Alistair knows where I live.”
“The sun is out,” Luca says calmly.
“He has my phone number, smartass.”
“Don’t forget, I’m on your side.”
“Doesn’t sound that way,” I grumble, knowing full well I’m being petty.
Luca isn’t bothered. He rolls his eyes and kisses me, his tongue slipping through the seam of my lips. I kiss him back, wishing—not for the first time in my life—that my emotions weren’t rigid. I feel everything too hard. It makes forgiveness difficult and forgetting impossible.
I dodged Luca’s question earlier, but the truth is I don’t know how to let Alistair make it up to me. Not when his hateful words and angry red eyes are burned in my brain and playing on repeat.
Determined to put it out of my mind, I slide my fingers under Luca’s towel and—someone knocks. Luca groans and glowers at the door. His hazel eyes flicker yellow, and I wonder if he’s trying to turn Malach to stone through the flimsy wooden barrier.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
“I require nourishment and am unable to identify the items in your food closet.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t know if it’s Luca’s hard dick in my hand, Malach sounding all grown up, or the fact that he almost certainly wrecked my carefully organized pantry.
I uncurl my fingers reluctantly and reach for the door, but Luca reels me back in, licking into my mouth with another heated kiss. “To hold me over,” he says, “while you babysit your hubby.”
I groan. “Not you too.”