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 supersweatytoo, 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 correctshim 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.
