Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Enclave memo (internal)
Leadership voids must be filled before they swallow everything in their vicinity. An agreement must be reached.
CIPRIAN
Surgeons have the decency to knock you out before cutting you open, but the Casanell family has always preferred brute force.
Take Mom and Callum, for example. They just punched through my chest and manually removed layers of years-old scar tissue from my beating heart—all while sobbing buckets on my nicest shirt.
Cathartic, sure, but I could have used an anesthetic first.
I leave the gardens in search of a drink. Whiskey maybe, or a basic gin and tonic in honor of the old man? Who am I kidding? I’m going to drink both. I have at least two or three more days of blind drunkenness left before someone stages an intervention.
My eyes drift to the peak behind the compound, and I freeze. Celine stands at the crest of the hill, her white wings blending in with the clouds, red hair glowing in the light of the sun. I’m not even drunk yet, and already I’m seeing things.
Before I make the decision to go to her, my feet are moving, through the gate, around the towering stone walls, up the hill. Faster and faster, I climb until my breath comes in pants. Then I’m standing in front of her, blinking slowly to ensure I’m not hallucinating.
“No ripples in sight.” I raise my eyebrows. “You must be real.”
Celine came. I don’t know what to think about that.
She runs a hand over her head. The gesture is uncharacteristically self-conscious.
I’ve never seen her this disheveled. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. Wisps have fallen loose to frame the sides of her face. Her cheeks are too pink—chapped, I think—but her brown eyes are bright, and they’re looking at me like I matter.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her gaze flickering around me to the compound below us.
A choked sound leaves my throat. “Good enough, I guess.”
“Ciprian . . .” Celine pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, a habit she picked up from Luca. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I nod, stop, then shake my head. “Are you really, though? How?” My father had flaws. I know that. Pretending he didn’t won’t change anything or make his death easier to accept.
Celine sighs. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I’m sorry that you lost someone who mattered to you. I’m fucking—”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Thanks for that.”
Tears well up in my eyes, and I brush them away angrily.
Celine takes one halting step forward, then another. She stops in front of me, and her body warms mine. We’re as close to physically touching as possible, so why do we still feel a million miles apart?
“Y-you’re here?” My question comes out pathetically jumbled, and I briefly consider tossing myself off the mountain and leaving Callum to carry on the family legacy alone.
Celine’s arms wrap around me, followed by her wings. I sag against her, burying my face in her neck. Her hold is strong and determined. Cocooned by her wings, I’m protected from everything.
“You don’t have to be okay, Ciprian,” she whispers. “Not now. Not with me.”
The words shred what’s left of my composure.
Tears race down my cheeks, each one falling faster than the last. I breathe through my nose desperately. Even the air smells like Celine, and I want more of it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral,” she says. “I was a little late; it’s been a long time since I flew that far and—”
“You flew here?” I pull back until I can see her face. “Is that safe?”
Celine groans. “Do you all have a secret group chat where you coordinate your reactions in advance?”
I roll my eyes. “Excuse us for being concerned that you flew from Nevada to Colorado. I didn’t know you were a human jet; I’ve never even seen you lift off.”
The corner of Celine’s mouth tilts into a crooked smile. Her appearance makes perfect sense now. Gods, she flew hundreds of miles, and the only signs are a few pieces of dangling hair and some windburn. She’s magnificent.
“You didn’t answer my texts,” she whispers, ducking her chin. It’s the second nervous gesture I’ve seen from her since she got here.
It throws me off balance.
“I didn’t know how,” I admit.
She stands up straighter, drops her wings from around me, and takes a step back. “That’s okay, I figured that. I only wanted to—fuck!” She groans, and I realize that Celine—the most self-assured person I’ve ever met and the only one without swollen, leaky eyes or a stuffy nose—is embarrassed.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen . . . and I have nightmare powers. Speechless and kind of fascinated, I watch her unravel.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she sputters.
“I didn’t like the idea that you were going through something horrible alone.
I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, so I flew out here to make sure you had someone in your corner.
I thought I would figure out what to say to you on the way, but I couldn’t—still can’t—find the right words. ”
She points wildly at the compound, wings trembling. “First, the big castle-prison loomed in the distance, and then I saw all of you grouped around the grave, and I panicked. I don’t belong here, Ciprian. And I don’t even know if you want me here, but I couldn’t leave without making sure you were—”
I cup her face and kiss her.
Her being here . . . Messy, vulnerable, and out of control: it means everything.
Our kiss tastes like summer and wind, with the faint chemical edge of her sunscreen mixing with the salt of my tears. Celine sighs into my mouth, her lips relaxing as my tongue slips in to tangle with hers.
Her hands wander up my neck and into my hair until her nails graze my scalp. Goosebumps explode along my arms and lower back. The wind blows, and her downy feathers flutter against my skin. I lose myself in the moment and hope I never find my way out.
When Celine pulls back, I have to stop myself from clinging to her.
She runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip and clears her throat. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were okay, which I’ve done, I guess. Umm, I’ve got a long flight back. I should probably get going.”
My eyes flick to the backpack on the ground a few feet away. “Aren’t you tired?”
“I’ll be fine.” She smiles, but I don’t miss the wince when she rolls her shoulders.
“Please stay,” I say. “Luca will kick my ass if I let you fly sleepy.”
“This is private time for your family; I don’t want to intrude.”
I laugh. “I’m good at sneaking around. You won’t have to see them.” Grabbing her bag, I back away slowly, prepared to hold her stuff hostage if I need to.
“Ciprian, I don’t know about this . . .”
“Which settles it,” I argue. “If you weren’t exhausted, you wouldn’t even consider it.”
“What if someone arrests me?”
“For what?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve been cleared of charges, and you’re my guest.”
When she frowns and sighs, I know I’ve got her and take off. She follows me a second later, and it’s all I can do not to sprint down the hill. With the sun crowding the horizon and Celine coming home with me, I’m reckless and painfully alive.
Since I’m not ready for her to see how creepy the Hall of Nightmares is, I head for the shifter wing. Joshua and Sarah keep a room for me there, and I’ve never been more grateful.
Wrapping a nightmare around us both, I tiptoe through the front door and down the hall to the Therion family’s personal apartment. Carefully, I ease the door open, my heart pounding with excitement when it creaks like I knew it would.
I’m almost disappointed when we make it to my room without running into anyone. Then I get nervous. Shutting the door behind us, I hand Celine her backpack.
She shakes her head. “Very impressive, Casanell.”
“Thanks.”
“I meant the house,” she jokes.
I clap my hand over my heart, glad that I decided to bring her here and not to the demon wing. Joshua and Sarah enjoy a cozy, lived-in space. Mom, on the other hand . . .
“Is this the room you grew up in?” Celine glances around, taking in the small sitting area, attached bathroom, and the big bed against the wall.
I run my fingers through my hair, suddenly nervous. “Actually, no. This is the shifter wing, but Sarah set this room up for me when I was little.”
“Too hard to walk next door to your own?” Celine raises one eyebrow.
“Something like that.” I stare at my feet, unsure if I want to get into all this.
Celine lifts my chin gently and says, “You don’t have to feel weird about it.” She gestures around the room. “I come from money too, and I promise you: if I’d had an escape hatch to a getaway room as a kid, I would’ve taken it most nights.”
Sighing, I lean into her touch. “Yeah. I guess that’s what we did—my brother and I.” She glances at a picture on the wall and raises one eyebrow. I nod. “The enclave heirs at their finest.”
It’s of Callum, Gideon, and me. Arms tossed around each other, we’re young and happy. My smile’s so big it looks like I’m advertising my missing front tooth. With curls poking out in all directions, Gideon towers over us, his long limbs awkward and gangly.
Callum’s body is angled partially in front of mine; his eyes focused on something behind the camera. I’ve wondered repeatedly over the years what he saw, because his stance is protective—my big brother putting himself between me and anything that might hurt me.
Sarah blew this picture up and hung it in here because she loves it. I’ve thought about taking it down a million times, but I can’t stand to disappoint her and . . . part of me loves it too.
The feathers of Celine’s wings quiver, and I rip my focus away from the past.
Jaw clenched, her eyes are glassy and far away. A trickle of fear hits me, and I frown. That night on the bathroom floor, Celine’s fear was the strongest I’d ever felt. She shouldn’t have to fight her memories alone.
“For a while I wished for a sibling,” she whispers. “At first, I thought adding a better offspring to the mix would make him happy. Make me less of a disappointment.”