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.
THIRTY-THREE
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #74:
Silence often speaks loudest. Don’t forget to listen.
ALISTAIR
I glance at the passenger seat from the corner of my eye as my fingers squeeze the life out of my steering wheel. Luca’s blood lingers on my tongue, spicy and electric, but the uncomfortable silence in the car suffocates my lingering pleasure.
Casanell is angry. It’s clear from the tight angle of his jaw and the focused way he watches the neighborhood careen past his window. This part of town is nothing special, just brick and mortar in various states of decay. Since I’ve experienced what he’s capable of creating with his own imagination and magic, I know these buildings have nothing new to offer him.
His silence doesn’t sit right with me. It’s out of place, belonging to someone far less... everything than Ciprian Casanell. His anger with me feels wrong too.
“Pushing you down was uncalled for,” I say, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Ciprian scoffs. “I’m not mad about that, asshole.”
I consider that uncomfortable statement and decide to ignore it and change the subject instead. “The dossier is coming along,” I tell him. “I’ve compiled more than a thousand pages of data so far.”
A grunt is the only response I get.
He’s refusing to play along. From a consummate pretender, it’s especially annoying.
To punish him or myself or the bloody both of us at once, I slow the car to a crawl. Fifteen miles per hour. Twelve. Eight. How slowly can I go before he mentions it?
I drum my fingers against the wheel, my agitation growing.
Ciprian talks to everyone else, making jokes and saying any number of things he doesn’t mean. He’ll say anything to smooth a conversation along, yet ten minutes in the car with me isn’t worth the effort it takes to be civil?
He reaches for the handle. “I can fucking walk.”
Hissing, I lock the doors, punch the gas, and take the next left. Unfortunately for Ciprian, it’s in the opposite direction of where he left his car.
Turning his head slowly, he looks at me. “What is this, Alistair?”
I open my mouth only to close it again, because I don’t know why I’m fucking doing this. It’s pointless and petty, but I can’t stop. “I’ve gathered a lot of information for Sheena?—”
“Shut up,” Ciprian snarls. “You don’t get to talk about her. Sheena nearly died for that stupid tan you’re sporting. She may consider you a friend now, but I haven’t forgotten that you were willing to use her safety as a bargaining chip. I won’t. Not ever.”
There it is—the loyalty I once suspected he didn’t have. A curious craving stirs in me, the same way itdid when I first observed Luca and Celine’s obvious care for one another. Why can’t I have it? Is it cursed fate or my own missteps?
I clear my throat, the burn I lived with for weeks nonexistent after my Luca-flavored cocktails. “I did that for Celine,” I bite back. “But I never would have hurt Sheena.”
“You wouldn’t hurt her yourself, that would be too honest.” Ciprian laughs. Like pellets of ice bombarding my skin, there’s no humor in it. “You would just out heras a djinnto someone who would do the job for you. You never have to get your hands dirty that way... right, Ali?”
