Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Habits can be deadly; make life-saving ones instead.
CELINE
I spit blood into the bowl of the ceramic toilet and flush, watching the pink swirls disappear down the pipe. Brushing his teeth, Luca watches me from the corner of his eye.
“Spit it out,” I sigh, knowing he’s got something to say.
He shrugs and turns his charming grin my way, toothpaste bubbling from the corners of his lips. “Looks like you already did, baby.”
I secure my hair in a loose bun on top of my head and turn the shower on. “It’s only a bruised lung, Luca. Minor. The kind of injuries most nish thatsha wouldn’t notice.”
“Metal,” he says, spitting into the sink, then rinsing his mouth out.
As I strip, my annoyance simmers. Since I’ve already stowed my wings in preparation for my shower, the itch between my shoulder blades is impossible to ignore.
Biting my lip to keep from picking a fight with Luca, I step into the shower. Steaming water rolls down my back. Rotating slowly, I keep the spray off my hair and let it crash against my chest instead.
Even the tiny drops of water hurt.
I took a blow last night that sent me crashing into the cage wall. My wings helped me get away before my opponent could snap me in half with his follow-up attack, but my entire body feels bruised.
Under the stream, I sag, breathing deeply through the pain. Every rise and fall of my chest squeezes another ache out of my body. Be positive, Celine.
I am getting better; I know that. I’ve won every fight so far, although there have been some close calls. Good for business, according to Resker—except I can’t stop worrying that one of these days, I won’t be fast enough . . .
The worst of it all is the anticipation. Peeking around every corner. Tossing and turning every night—haunted by memories of the past and fears for the future.
What is my father waiting for? Will his assassins strike once they see me hobbling around, bent over with pain? I’m sure he would love to prove all my efforts are futile before killing me. A double victory for him. A hopeless death for me.
The shower curtain rustles, and a rush of cold air hits my ass as Luca steps in behind me. I don’t turn around, letting the water do its work and relax my tight muscles. With my eyes squeezed shut, I hear Luca lathering his hands before placing them on my shoulders.
He massages them, slowly increasing the pressure until I want to cry and scream with agony and relief.
By the time Luca turns me to face him, I’m more string-limbed marionette than ferocious fighting angel.
He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the left corner of my mouth, and the swell of my right breast where the worst of the bruising is.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I refuse to let them fall.
“Would it be so bad to let yourself hurt, baby?” Luca asks. His lips move against my skin, softer than butterfly wings. “You’re the toughest person I know; you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him why that’s dangerous, but a hiccup comes out instead of my carefully workshopped argument.
Oh gods, I think I’m going to cry.
I cover my mouth and stare into Luca’s warm hazel eyes in horror.
His expression doesn’t change: compassion—without a whisper of judgment—and a sturdy support that makes me feel as if he would take care of me for as long as I need him to and never complain.
It’s terrible.
“Some things are too heavy to carry alone,” Luca whispers.
He kisses my forehead and leaves his mouth there. Tiny rivulets of water divert at every point where our bodies touch, their downward progress distorted by our connection.
Will my fate be like this water—changed because of Luca’s support—or will his future be wrecked because of my love? It’s the truth that plagues me most; one my magic is useless in uncovering.
A sob rips free from somewhere deep inside me, careening up my throat, then ricocheting out of my mouth violently.
It’s guttural.
My shoulders shake.
This pain doesn’t have a godsdamned thing to do with my bruised lung.
My wings shoot from my back. They wrap around me and Luca, creating their own tears.
Chilly drips run along the edges of the feathers and drop to the shower floor to mix with the hot water.
The drain can’t keep up with the influx of liquid, and tepid water swirls around our toes before it’s sucked through the grate and carried away.
Gods, I’m crying hard enough to give Imani a submersion panic attack. Where did all these tears even come from?
“It hurts,” I admit, the sound of my voice thick and unfamiliar to me.
“I know, baby,” Luca says. “Let it out. Tell me what hurts.”
Can I? This burden is mine to carry. I’ve held it alone for as long as I can remember. Even when Mom was alive, I couldn’t unload on her. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, leave him, and there was no point begging for something I couldn’t have.
“The fights hurt,” I say, starting in the shallow end to test things out.
“Of course they do. Your opponents are brutal.”
“And Alistair.” I hiccup. “He thinks I’m a slut.” And I miss him. I’m not brave enough to say that part out loud, but Luca isn’t dumb. He knew about my feelings for Alistair before I did.
I can still picture the feral expression on Alistair’s face as he tore into me for stripping. I’ve been on guard against guys like him for years, but he acted different. I’m still having a hard time believing the things he said.
“You have to take your power back,” Luca says. “Later, though. Keep venting, Celine. I’m here.” His words trigger a flashback to Ciprian’s rampage ramble, and the next sob out of my mouth is so ragged it hurts my bruised chest.
“C-Ciprian,” I sputter, lifting my head to meet Luca’s eyes through my blurry vision. “He was a liar. I gave him my trust and my fear, but he was part of the enclave all along.”
Luca holds me tighter. “You feel betrayed.”
I pause. Do I feel betrayed? I’m mad. Ciprian stomped all over my sense of justice, but for someone to betray you, they must first be a part of you—someone you’ve allowed to weave themselves into the fabric of who you are.
If I allowed Ciprian that far beneath my skin .
. . I’ll have no choice but to cut him out and make myself bleed in the process.
Which is exactly what this feels like.
I heave in air. “Yeah, that seems right.” It’s a relief to admit it. As if I’m naming the dark cloud over my head for what it is and not what I’d prefer it to be. “Malach being here makes everything harder.”
“Why?” Luca asks. His voice is curious but not demanding.
I consider the question. Malach hasn’t given me a minute of trouble. His ambushes of the guys were diabolical, but now that he’s stopped attempting impromptu ‘judgment’ attacks, there have been no issues.
The root of my unease goes deeper. It runs through me like a vine growing from my bones.
Malach’s presence hurts because of everything he reminds me of.
My painful past. The realm I left behind.
He deserves someone who will live in the celestial realm with him and give him a good life. And I will never go back.
Two truths, diametrically opposed and sharp as knives. They cut.
“He makes me remember the life I should have had,” I say. “The life I don’t want anymore. I see him making plans in his head that he has no idea how to hide, and I know I’ll hurt him. And I hate that.”
I broke my betrothal vows when I ran away from home, but that story isn’t for Luca to hear. That pain belongs to Malach and me alone. Because on that day, I made myself a liar—and my magic nearly killed me for it. “When I see him, I remember it all.”
Luca kisses my cheek and holds me until the water runs cold. My tears are all dried up, the ones from my eyes and my wings. Like a wrung-out dishrag, I’m limp and exhausted, but I feel lighter too.
I turn the water off, scared to face Luca, and stare at my feet.
As always, my toes are painted—emerald green with a glittery topcoat—but one is chipped. Fuck me, I’m just like my middle toe.
But if I can cry all over him, I should be able to look at him afterward, right? Even if he judges me for it. Don’t be a coward, Celine.
Bracing myself, I lift my chin and meet his hazel eyes.
His expression nearly knocks me on my ass . . . because the only thing I see there is love.