Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
A stubborn pessimist is every bit as annoying as a relentless optimist.
LUCA
Celine and Ciprian slink into the apartment an hour and a half behind us, windblown, frazzled, and reeking of sex.
It’s all I can do to hide my grin.
Alistair’s head snaps to the entryway, his eyes flash red, and the arm of Celine’s couch groans from the brutal press of his fingers.
I know that possessive expression intimately, but he may as well forget it.
The way I see it, we’ve reached a critical fork in the road.
By treating this relationship like a race, we’ve played it all wrong. The sabotage and the lies—they’re all bullshit. The only thing we’ve done by creating a demolition derby out of reaching Celine’s heart is ensure no one reaches the finish line unbruised.
She needs us all. We’re far better off working together. And the sooner Alistair accepts that, the better it will be for everyone.
I don’t expect it to be easy, but the dazed, dreamy look on Ciprian’s face tells me it’s worth the effort.
On paper, we have almost nothing in common.
He’s a rich, powerful demon from a connected family, and I’m a scruffy bartender from the worst realm in existence.
But at our core, we’re both hers; I’m sure of that.
I am curious where—on a motorcycle in a crowded city famous for its nightlife—they managed to find a place to fuck.
“I need to rinse off,” Celine says, her voice forcefully breezy. She hangs her keys on the hook by the door and refuses to look at the rest of us. I snort. She spins to face me, planting her hands on her hips. “Because of the sweaty fight.”
“If you say so,” I joke, enjoying making the two of them squirm for a change.
“Do you have something to say to me, Luca Saratelli?”
“No,” Ciprian cuts in. “No, he doesn’t. Do you?”
“I guess not.” I shrug. “Better take Casanell with you, though. He looks super sweaty too, and I’m tired of waiting to start the damn movie.”
“Great idea,” Celine purrs, grabbing Ciprian’s hand and towing him after her.
I wait for the door to close behind them before addressing the seething vampire in the room. “Chill out, Ali.”
“I’m fine,” he grunts.
“Mmhmm. Is that why you’re about to tear the arm off the couch, or did it do something to you when I wasn’t paying attention?”
“How can you be so calm?” he hisses, looking first at me, then at the chair where Malach is sitting. “And you, her bloody fiancé—”
“Betrothed,” Malach corrects him calmly.
“Whatever!” Alistair narrows his red eyes.
“You weren’t jealous before.” I scratch the stubble on my chin. “Why now? What’s different?” I know the answer, but Alistair needs to get there himself before he can get a grip.
“Nothing,” he spits. “Absolutely nothing, except the fact that I want to tear his throat out and drain him dry for touching her.”
“Okay, that’s graphic but honest—I can work with that. Let’s run through some hypotheticals. What if it were me in the shower with Ciprian?”
Alistair growls ferociously, and the sound wakes my basilisk. Once it recognizes who issued the potential threat, it coils contentedly in my chest.
“What if it was Celine and me in the shower, and Ciprian was six feet under or fucking around in Colorado or something?” I ask. Alistair’s fingers twitch against the arm of the couch, and I chuckle. “Still sucks, doesn’t it? Sounds like you can’t blame this on Ciprian, can you?”
“Get to the point,” Alistair snarls.
Malach mutters something that’s clearly angel speak, then looks directly at Ali.
“You are a possessive individual,” he says patiently, as if he’s explaining something obvious to a child who won’t listen.
“The common factor is not who lays with whom; it’s merely that none of the ones you consider yours are currently laying with you. ”
He pushes to his feet and strolls to the kitchen like he didn’t blow Alistair’s entire mind.
I choke on my laugh, then watch Malach suspiciously as he opens the fridge.
The big guy is deadly with a blade, and he’s even more dangerous in the kitchen.
I don’t trust him near a bowl of chips, much less an actual meal.
“What are you doing?” I call out, getting up from the couch and patting Alistair on the shoulder as I pass. He’s blinking at the TV in shock, like he never once considered that he was the source of his own rampant jealousy. Poor guy.
“Making a drink,” Malach says.
I clap him on the back. “I don’t mind doing that.”
He grins. “I hoped you would say that.”
I gather my mixers as an ugly suspicion grows in my head. “Hey, Malach. In your study of English, did you ever run across the expression ‘weaponized incompetence?’”
He considers that, laughs out loud, then winks at me. “Never.”
That son of a bitch! Shaking my head, I focus on the drinks and hide my smile.
I have to get creative with Alistair’s Blood Tide, since Celine doesn’t keep all the ingredients I stock at the Fang, but I get close.
Glancing at the back of Ali’s head, I drag a knife across the top of my forearm, then twist to let the blood drip into his drink.
The first drop has barely fallen when he pins me against the cabinets.
“What happened?” he demands. “Did you cut yourself?” I was expecting the sting of fangs in my neck or arm, but his frantic concern takes me off guard.
“Yeah”—I clear my throat—“on purpose, and you’re wasting it.”
Gently, I reach around him to continue transferring blood from my vein to his drink. Once it’s the color I want, I hold my arm over a spare glass and add a few shots of blood to it. If we’re watching a movie, he’ll want a refill.
Satisfied, I present the faintly throbbing cut to him. “Do you mind?”
Without taking his eyes off me, Alistair licks my arm to close the wound. I shiver and open my mouth to tell him to quit hovering. I don’t get the chance.
Ali drops his head to kiss me, groaning against my lips.
I can taste his bewilderment. He licks into my mouth, then drops his lips to my neck, devouring the spot beneath my ear like he’s never tasted anything better. The possessive glide of his tongue is sexy, and I’m obsessed with the way it feels to be the focus of his intensity.
Running my thumb over his throat, I pull back and grin. “Better?”
He nods, still sullen as fuck, so I kiss him again before pushing him out of my way to finish the drinks. A glass of merlot for Celine, a fruity vodka-based monstrosity for Ciprian, Alistair’s freshly sourced Blood Tide, and two domestic beers for Malach and I.
The overgrown angel adores beer, and I’ve grown used to ending the day with the twin clinks of our bottle caps hitting the kitchen counter.
“You’re wonderful, Luca.” Celine breezes into the kitchen with swollen lips, her skin pink from the hot shower. Even scrubbed clean, she smells amazing.
I kiss her, then hand Ciprian his drink.
He takes one sip, glances at me, snorts, and leans in to poke the side of my neck, eyes dancing with mischief. “He did it again.”
Groaning, I roll my eyes. “Godsdammit, Ali—I told you before, no hickeys.”
“What if I said it was an accident?” Alistair’s answering grin is confident and unapologetic. Seeing the tips of his fangs hanging over his lower lip makes me shiver.
Celine snorts. “Then I’d be forced to call you a liar.” She picks my arm up to examine the healing cut and raises her eyebrows. “Although I’m not surprised.”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you saying you’ll be tempted to give me a hickey every time I hurt myself? Should I start wearing turtlenecks around you all?” I fake a dramatic shudder.
“If you sliced yourself up to make me my favorite drink, I’d want to leave my mark on you too.” Celine winks at me, then takes a deep sip of her wine and heads for the couch.
Ciprian follows her, but Alistair doesn’t take his eyes off me. He’s standing between the fridge and the counter, blocking my exit. To get past, I’ll have to move him.
Excitement rolls through me. Alistair’s attention hangs like a drunken dare between us, the kind of reckless enthusiasm you eventually outgrow, until one day it’s so far beyond reach you can barely remember the feeling.
“You’re standing in my way,” I say, my voice coming out raspier than intended.
“Am I?” Alistair pulls the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth. I’ve never seen him do that before—Wait . . . He’s mirroring me. I release my lip ring and grin. Bring it on, Ali.
I shift to the right. He does too.
Then the left.
Finally, I approach him head-on, crowding him until our chests bump.
“Do I have to make you move?” I ask.
Pink stains the blue of his eyes—he likes that idea as much as I do.
Alistair dips his head until his lips hover directly over the mark he left on my neck. “I’ll move on one condition,” he purrs. “You promise not to deliberately spill your blood for me unless it’s dripping down my fangs.”
Every word is possessive.
I should hate it. He’s basically claiming me as a source, but it’s hot.
I’m getting off on challenging the monster behind his eyes.
The blood-sucking creature inside Alistair is exactly the kind of danger I’m into.
The opposite of a cold beer at the end of a long day, but just as dependable in its own way.
Alistair wants me and my blood badly, and I like knowing that. I like it a whole lot. Surging forward, I bite his neck and suck. Not hard enough to break his skin, but hard enough to leave behind the angry, pink indent of my teeth.
“Sounds good,” I say, flipping the charged conversation on its head and brushing past while he’s still reeling. His erection grazes my thigh, and I swallow my grin.
Movie night was a great fucking idea.
It takes only twenty minutes for me to change my mind.
Every breath I take is dripping with sexual tension. From the way Celine curls into my side—looking relaxed but feeling anything but—to how Alistair spreads his long legs wide and manages to crowd everyone’s personal space.
“I don’t understand,” Malach mutters. “This is supposed to be comedic, yes?”
I drop my head against the back of the couch. “Yeah. It’s funny.”
“You’re not laughing,” he says. That’s because there’s nothing amusing about having a neglected erection.
“It’s not that funny,” Ciprian says.
I sigh. “We can pick a different movie.”
Celine yawns. “It’s too late for that. I’m tired.”
I grab the remote and press pause, cutting the laugh track off mid-chuckle. Alistair stands, stretches to his full height, and heads for the door with barely a grunt, stopping at the last minute to remind me to lock up after him.
I grumble under my breath. As if I would forget something that important.
Ciprian stands and curses. “My car isn’t here.”
“I can give you a ride.” Alistair’s offer surprises us all. Whether he’s trying to be helpful or doesn’t want Celine to let Ciprian stay over is anyone’s guess, but the angry tension between the two of them is so real, I think I could reach out and grab it.
A muscle in Ciprian’s jaw ticks. “I guess that’s better than a rideshare.” He walks to the door, stops, and pivots. Two steps bring him back to the couch, and he bends directly over me to put his face level with Celine’s. “Thank you for inviting me to the fight.”
He kisses her gently, using both hands to cradle her face. With Celine tucked under my arm, I feel her sharp inhale as his lips move against hers. The last drop of blood faithfully circulating my body makes a frantic beeline for my cock, and I stifle a groan as Celine slumps against me, boneless.
“Let’s go, Casanell,” Alistair snaps.
Celine pulls back and glares at Ali. “Don’t kill him.”
Alistair raises his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”
I laugh at him, shaking my head. “I don’t know why you’re mad, Ali. I’m the one who made the drinks and picked the movie no one liked, and I haven’t had a goodnight kiss.”
With absolute chaos dancing in his black eyes, Ciprian bends over again, aiming for me.
I lift my chin. Before Ciprian’s lips can touch mine, Alistair darts across the room and shoves him bodily onto the floor.
“Holy shit, Ali—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought before he’s kissing me instead.
Angry and demanding, my bottom lip splits from the force, and I groan.
As soon as Alistair tastes my blood, the kiss turns feral, ending as abruptly as it started when he backs away and drags the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Now you have,” he tells me. “Be in the car in thirty seconds, Casanell, or walk home.”
Then he’s gone, moving so fast the air blurs.
I adjust myself as discreetly as possible while Ciprian gets up from the floor. “Next time,” he tells me with a wink, clapping Malach on the shoulder as he follows Alistair out the door.
Celine shakes her head and yawns, securing the deadbolts behind them.
Malach looks at me, then at the TV, then back at me again and smiles. “That was a lot funnier than the movie you picked.”
I chuckle, because he’s fucking right.