Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
You’re someone’s favorite food.
ALISTAIR
I grip the headboard to give my hands something to do.
Fire scalds my throat, and my fangs throb. I’m anxious and thirsty. So thirsty. My mouth is somehow too wet and too dry, and if I close my eyes, I can still taste Celine’s blood on my tongue. I almost dropped to my knees and licked the tile like a starving dog.
Because that’s exactly what I am, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The door closes, the snick of the latch bashing my eardrums. I shake my head to clear the ringing.
I want it. I need it. Her blood. It’s here—no, she’s here. But her blood calls to me; I can hear it pumping through her veins.
It would taste good.
Everything would stop hurting.
If I took a little . . . things couldn’t get any worse, right?
Luca is too weak to stop me right now, and Celine wouldn’t expect it—
Horror eclipses my hunger. My fingertips turn brittle and cold.
I’m losing it. Gods, I’m dangerous to them.
My heart throbs against my ribs, desperate to escape this cursed body. I don’t blame it. I’m a bloody monster. A starving, bloody monster. And I’m terrified.
“What’s wrong?” Luca asks.
His hand hovers over my back. I feel the heat and wait for the pressure of his touch, but it never comes. Loneliness and rejection join my thirst. Together, they gnaw me to the bone like a ravenous pack of wolves.
“Nothing,” I say.
Celine clears her throat. “Don’t lie to him, Alistair.”
“I didn’t—”
“Watch it,” she warns.
In this moment, I hate her magic with every fiber of my being. The truth isn’t always needed; some things should remain private. I don’t want to crack myself open for their inspection—especially while I’m trapped here by the sun, longing only to fuck, drink, fuck, repeat until none of us can stand.
“I don’t know,” I seethe, spinning to face them. “Is that what you want to hear? I’m fucked all the way up, and every swallow is agony. What I do know is that it doesn’t concern either of you!”
My mortifying explosion is met with complete silence.
Luca sits heavily on the bed, the box spring whining under his weight. “I can only speak for myself, Ali, but I’m concerned,” he says, running his fingers through his messy hair.
“I’m not trying to violate your privacy,” Celine whispers. Her face is free of expression, but her wingtips drag on the floor.
I’m pushing her further away.
Since the moment I cut holes in my T-shirt for her wings, I’ve done everything wrong. I might as well have cut those holes in myself—it hurts the same.
We’re out of sync, our trust is strained, yet I want her more than my next breath.
My curiosity and the mortifyingly consistent aloneness that drove me to pursue her and Luca might get me killed. And the joke will be on me, because I’m still fucking alone.
“We can talk about something else,” Luca says, dropping sideways against the mattress. He cuts his eyes to Celine and raises one eyebrow. “Like how you tossed the plan out the window—along with your whole body—and launched truth beams or something at those dicks. What the fuck was that, baby?”
Celine purses her lips. “I didn’t throw out the plan; I improvised.”
“I don’t care about that part anymore. I’ve come to terms.” He points at Celine. “You’ll keep putting yourself in danger, and I’ll keep aging at a premature rate until they bury me in ten to fifteen years from the long-term effects of some fatal stress syndrome.”
Celine smiles . . . genuinely, and a chill runs down my spine. She’s so beautiful it hurts. Crossing to the far side of the bed, she bends to smack a kiss on Luca’s grinning mouth.
“I love you,” she says. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Her words sink into my heart like barbs, and I avert my gaze, wishing I were anywhere else. I’m happy for Luca, but envy has me in a chokehold. Why can’t I have this too?
“I love you too,” Luca says, yawning audibly. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you skipping over the truth beams. I want to hear about them, then I want to sleep until Ciprian drags us out of bed.”
Celine winces and drops onto the bed, mirroring Luca’s position. Her pale neck is inches from my leg. I stare transfixed, at the tiny throbbing pulse below her jaw.
“I don’t use them often. The results are awful.
” She shudders. “In layman’s terms, my magic forces the collective pain of every lie they’ve ever told back on them, making them face the physical consequences of their lies.
If someone doesn’t lie often, they won’t hurt much.
But those angels worked for my dad, so I knew . . .”
“That they would go down like a ton of bricks,” Luca says.
Celine sighs. “Something like that.”
“I killed five people tonight.” Luca closes his eyes and fists the covers.
Neither of us responds. He needs to say it out loud to share the weight, but he’s not asking for absolution. Celine slides her hand over the mattress until she finds Luca’s fingers, prying them loose and lacing them with hers.
“You both need to rest,” I say.
Celine looks at me upside down, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. I fight the urge to squirm and barely win.
“Join us. For tonight,” she says softly.
My heart skips a beat. I’ve shared a bed with them before, but not since everything fell apart.
Celine isn’t a pushover. If she wanted to make me sleep in the bathroom with the door closed until sundown, she would.
This is an olive branch. It’s time-sensitive and fragile, but it’s movement.
I’m more than desperate enough to take it.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
We get ready for bed, moving around each other with a rhythm that’s almost as domestic as it is coordinated. I find myself anticipating when Luca will finish brushing his teeth and how long it will take Celine to massage moisturizer into her face.
No one says a word. Within ten minutes, Luca and I stand on opposite sides of the bed—me by the window, him by the bathroom.
“You’re on my side,” he grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
I roll my eyes and swap places with him, but part of me knows I did it on purpose. To see if he’d still insist on being nearest the window in case sunlight got through. For a minute, Luca’s loyalty drives the wolves back. It’s the exact reassurance I’ve always wanted and never had.
Stop it. You’re nothing to him. Nothing to her either. Wanting something doesn’t mean you get to have it. I swallow the bitter reminder—one I learned long before I had fangs—wishing I could spit it out like the last ten bags of blood I’ve failed to drink.
We settle in the same as we did weeks ago with Celine in the middle, but none of us are touching this time. After their breathing evens out, I let myself drift off, my throat stuffed with sizzling embers.
I wake to the most delicious smell. Warm, spicy, and sweet, I want to drown in it.
Inhaling deeply, I frown as someone shouts in the distance.
The words are unclear. I don’t try to make sense of them.
It’s pointless . . . a complete waste of time.
I’m on the edge of ecstasy, about to sink my fangs into something delicious.
Earthy heat teases me, and I lick the throbbing pulse.
It beats faster beneath my tongue, and I smile, savoring the moment.
Anticipation makes the bite sweeter for both of us.
“Don’t startle him. I don’t think he’s awake.”
These words are clear, but they make no sense. Of course I’m awake. Who could sleep through this temptation?
“Alistair.” The throat beneath my lips moves. “Ali, come on, wake up.”
The voice is familiar and beautiful, but it’s trembling. Who has frightened my angel?
“I think he’s waking up.” Luca sounds relieved. Wait. Why is Luca relieved?
I yank my head up, blinking to adjust my eyes to the darkness. “Alistair, it’s okay,” Celine says. “Everything’s okay.”
The lamp turns on, and I flinch away from the bright light, hissing as my body registers the boiling agony in my eyes and throat. “W-what?” I demand.
“Easy, Ali,” Luca whispers. “Deep breaths.”
“Not sure that’s a great idea,” Celine mutters.
“What happened?” I demand. The scorch in my throat hits a new, devastating level.
“You jumped Celine and started gnawing on her neck.”
Revulsion consumes me as I see exactly what he means. Celine’s skin is red and chafed, with the shadow of a bruise forming. I hear a choking sound and realize it’s coming from me.
“You didn’t break the skin,” Celine says. Her voice is soft and gentle. She’s trying to avoid spooking a wild animal. Caged by the sun, I’m the wild animal—a danger to her, exactly as I feared.
Leaning over Celine, his body tense, Luca positions himself as a shield between us.
He doesn’t trust me anymore.
My eyes dart to the clock, then to the window. It’s almost seven-thirty—the sun is setting. Twilight is painful, but I have no choice. I’ve got to get out of here.
Blindly, I sprint from the room.
Ciprian jumps up from the couch, his black eyes sharp as he gets between me and my way out. I snarl and shove past him, slamming the door in his startled face.
Then I’m running. Down the stairs, across the parking lot, into the nearest alley.
I run without thought. Each step takes me deeper into the seedier parts of the Fringes.
Heat from the fading sun presses against me, but I ignore it, running at random until the smell of freshly spilled blood yanks me in the opposite direction.
I follow it blindly, greedily sucking in the scent of wet copper.
It doesn’t smell as good as Celine’s neck, but there’s a lot of it. As I get closer, I hear the unmistakable sound of fists pounding against flesh. Someone is taking a beating. I should turn around and head to my apartment, but . . . I can’t.
For the first time since I was turned, my starving body overrules my brain.
Internally, I scream, but I can’t stop. Then I spot the source of the blood: three grimy supernaturals.
I recognize two of them as members of the local shifter gang; a gang I’ve refused to work with in the past. They’re despicable. Predators.
But my fangs are bigger.
I tear through the tallest one’s neck before any of them see me.
He dies easily and tastes terrible. I toss him aside and turn on the second.
This one struggles. My fangs do more damage because of it.
His blood tastes metallic—better than his friend’s—but far from good.
When he goes limp, I drop him to the pavement, glancing at the guy he was beating up.
Eyes glassy and unseeing, a knife protrudes from his chest. I cock my head to listen, but the only heart beating in this alley belongs to me. I growl softly. Their deaths weren’t enough—I need more. I’m so thirsty. But . . . why? How?
Between the two gang members, I drank a gallon of blood, yet I’m thirstier than ever, and . . . My stomach roils. A brutal cramp folds me in half, and I fall to my knees.
Then I vomit fountains of blood.
Again and again and again and again. My body purges until the only thing left is bile. Fear and shock clear my bloodlust quicker than a slap to the face.
With one arm wrapped around my middle, I stumble to my feet, trying and failing to quiet my growing terror.
I’m starving. Dying of thirst. Slowly and painfully. I told myself the bagged blood was tainted. A bad batch. But this was fresh—straight from the vein, and I just painted the street with it. Why can’t I drink blood anymore? Am I damned like Mum thinks?
Questions roll around my head a mile a minute as I stumble to my apartment.
I manage to text a cleaner to take care of the bodies. It will cost me, but I’m in no condition to deal with them myself.
I can’t pretend any longer. Something is terribly wrong with me. Something I’ve never heard about happening to any vampire, turned or born.
Until I know what it is, I need to stay the fuck away from Celine and Luca.
The realization guts me. How can it be that now—when I need to fight by their sides the most—I’m a liability?
As soon as I lock my apartment behind me, I run to the toilet and throw up again.
My organs twist and writhe, and no matter what I do, I can’t get any relief. The smell is nauseating. Stumbling to my feet, I splash water on my face, rinse my mouth out, and sag against the sink.
I need to keep them safe, but how? Information. It’s always been my greatest weapon. There’s nothing I can do about Celine’s father, but the enclave . . .
The djinn. I can use her against them. For the first time since I woke with my fangs pressed to Celine’s neck, I see the situation clearly.
Ciprian will hate me forever.
But for Celine, I’m willing to pay the price.