Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Sometimes you’re wrong.
ALISTAIR
Ciprian stumbles through the portal and doesn’t look back, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his pain.
My heart twists, and for one heart-stopping second, I almost follow him.
Tonight went nothing like I had hoped. I now carry a burden I never asked for: the knowledge of how Ciprian looks while broken. His face crumpling as he dropped the mask, consumed by terror for his brother, worry about Sheena, then anguish when he learned of his father’s death.
I couldn’t stop those things from happening, I know that, but if I had kept my intel secret, would his father still be alive?
I hated Dimitri Casanell, but Ciprian loved him. And now he’s broken. I saw it happen, felt his fingers tremble against mine . . . I won’t be able to go back to the way things were.
Turning my back on the fading lavender sparks, I study the crowd in the makeshift cell.
Ciprian and I combined our magic to make them comply.
Thanks in part to my compulsion, dozens of the worst supernaturals in the world are sleeping like babies as enclave personnel collect them for transportation to the compound in Colorado.
One of the demons processing the prisoners glances at me with suspicion. With Ciprian gone, I don’t belong here anymore, and he knows it. I melt into the shadows and duck out the back before he can decide to confront me.
Outside the venue, the hot summer night rolls over me.
My skin is too tight. Prickly. But it’s not the heat. Someone is watching.
Ordering myself to remain calm, I study my surroundings.
It’s bitterly dark. This part of town has more bankrupt event venues than streetlights.
Ambitious humans once hoped to turn this block into a gold mine, but they cut costs, and it shows.
The leftover buildings—most abandoned—are like shiny coins made of plastic and spray-painted gold.
Scrape them with your fingernail and it won’t take long to uncover the shit beneath the surface.
A flash of red catches my eye. My heart flips. I step closer—it looks like Celine’s hair—then grind to a stop.
This redhead isn’t Celine; it’s a man, and there’s enough moonlight shining on him to show me he’s huge.
The stranger grins and winks at me before wiping something from his cheek.
A gust of wind kicks up, and I smell blood. His or someone else’s? Gods, what am I thinking? The stairs of the venue are slick with blood, and I’m certain I’ve never seen this guy before. He can’t be familiar; I’m imagining things. I’m rattled by what happened with Ciprian.
We’re in the Fringes, though. I can’t let anyone get away with staring at me this way.
I advance on the stranger. He retreats into the dark alley as my phone vibrates.
Sighing, I stop and pull it from my pocket.
There are a handful of missed calls from Luca and a confusing text telling me not to trust my eyes.
With one final glance at the empty alley, I shake my head and leave the strange man to the shadows.
I drive to Celine’s place on autopilot, my mind a mess of thoughts and memories I’d rather not have.
The despair on Ciprian’s face . . . I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to leave Vegas behind forever.
He’s an enclave heir, for fuck’s sake . .
. and with his father dead, there will be a power vacuum to fill.
He doesn’t belong here anyway.
I may never see him again.
Groaning, I push Ciprian from my mind, park my car, and get out. Immediately, the scent of fresh blood sinks into my nose. Malach. I’ve smelled his blood before—on the apartment windowsill and after he was burned during the angel attack—but this is worse. Much worse.
I’m running before I can consider the risk, taking the stairs three at a time. If Malach is hurt—the giant war machine that he is—then Celine and Luca . . .
No, don’t go there, Ali.
The door is streaked with blood. It looks solid enough, but they came in through the window last time. Did I even glance at it as I was driving up? Would I have noticed if something was wrong? My distraction is a problem. I used to notice everything.
Heart racing a million miles an hour, I snarl and brace myself to break the door down.
“Who’s there?” Luca demands, and I hear scuffling.
I groan, planting my hands on my knees as I catch my breath. “It’s me. Let me in.”
I wait for the door to open, but it doesn’t. Instead, I hear only whispers.
“Tell me what you’re allergic to,” Luca says. His voice is wary.
“Tomatoes . . . Are you okay?”
I sag with relief as the door opens to Luca’s grim face. I step inside, and he closes the door behind me quickly, locking it in jerky, efficient movements. Celine is slumped on the arm of the couch, a sword clasped in her fingers. She’s guarding an unconscious Malach.
“Tell me what happened,” I say as gently as I can.
“Dad sent a new assassin.” She scrubs her free hand through her hair, wincing when her nails catch on her disheveled braids. It’s one of the few times I’ve ever seen her with a hair out of place. Her beautiful, striking, red—
My stomach churns. “Angel, I wouldn’t ask you this if it weren’t important, but can you tell me what your father looks like?”
“Godsdammit!” Celine’s fingers clench around the hilt of the sword as she snaps to attention. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
I nod slowly. “I think so.” That’s why he seemed familiar.
Luca frowns. “I don’t get it. How would you know?”
“Because I look just like him,” Celine snarls. “Hair, eyes, even my fucking nose.” She thumps the bridge angrily, a furious scowl contorting her pretty face.
“He was watching me,” I tell her. “From the shadows outside the auction . . .”
She pushes off the arm of the couch, dropping the sword to reach for me. “Did he try to hurt you?”
I shake my head. “He smiled. And winked.”
“Creepy shuck,” Luca mutters.
I tilt my head as they exchange glances. “What aren’t you saying?”
“I don’t think you saw my actual father,” Celine admits. “I think you saw the veydra he hired to come after me. It wore his face earlier . . . after we fought at the Mouth of Hell.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I hold up a hand. “Your father’s new assassin is a face shifter who signed up to fight you in the cage?”
She grinds her teeth. “He got a kick out of fucking with me too.”
I look at Luca. “That’s why you asked about my allergy. You were worried he was pretending to be me.”
He bobs his head. “We’ll need to verify identity every time we’ve been apart. It’s annoying, but it’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t sneak into Celine’s bed and kill us all when we least expect it.”
On the couch, Malach groans.
“What happened to him?” I push the infuriating image of an assassin sneaking into Celine’s bed from my mind.
“We don’t know—” Celine’s voice cracks. “He collapsed by the door an hour ago.”
“I’m out of healing potions,” I say. “But I can contact the witch who sells them to me. She guarantees delivery within twenty-four hours.”
“Thanks, but he’ll be mostly healed by then.” Sighing, Celine pushes the hair out of Malach’s eyes, then faces me. “Where’s Ciprian?”
My mum thinks nothing remains of me but the monster. She’s wrong. I’m sure of that because I’ve been dreading this question with every drop of humanity left in my body.
“He took a portal back to the compound,” I say. The sentence comes out flat, like it means nothing to me, even as the truth tears me apart.
“What?” Luca takes two steps toward me. “Why? Is he okay?”
I loosen the knot of my tie, yanking at it until I can catch my breath. “No. No, he isn’t. Dimitri Casanell was killed tonight.”
Stunned silence greets the announcement.
Thanks to Ciprian, they know about my agreement with Sheena. It’s a silver lining. I have no idea how I would explain if I had to keep everything a secret.
Celine’s wings droop. “Is Sheena okay?”
I nod, relieved to deliver some good news.
Luca strides to the kitchen, drags a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and offers it to me silently. I unscrew the lid and let the liquor blaze a burning path down my throat.
Celine holds out her hand, and I pass her the bottle. She takes a sip. Her brown eyes are glassy with unshed tears when she hands the whiskey off to Luca. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
She could mean the veydra, but I know she doesn’t. My angel, the woman who carved her name into every inch of my heart, is far too strong to cry over an enemy. And Ciprian Casanell is not our enemy. I fear he never was.
Regret burns me, twice as hot as the liquor. I’ve been too angry and confused to accept what was happening in front of me. I pushed Ciprian away, forced his hand, then stood silently to the side as he lost someone he couldn’t replace.
If he doesn’t come back, it won’t be Celine’s fault, it will be mine.