Ciprian’s slumped form floods my mind, his face swollen beyond recognition from the beating he took. A beating I saved him from. “Are we talking about Sheena or you?”
Instead of falling for the bait, he looks out the window again. I might think he didn’t care if it wasn’t for the bone-white gleam of his knuckles against the handle of the passenger door.
“This may be a foreign concept to you, Alistair, but one day you’ll have people whose pain hurts you more than your own.”
I’d rather he punch me in the face. Of all the sanctimonious, hypocritical things he could say to me... Wrenching the steering wheel to the right, I head toward the Mouth of Hell, fed up with his bullshit.
“You’re in love with Sheena. Admit it,” I hiss.
Ciprian glances at me and scoffs. “I pity you, honestly.”
“Don’t,” I snarl, incensed—why does it feel like I’m the one losing this argument?
“Have you ever had a real friend?” he demands. “Or would that be a waste of your valuable time?”
The scent of him. His blood pumping through his veins... Even well-fed, I’m teetering on the edge of my control. How could I add Ciprian to my blood circle? Why would the gods be so cruel? We aren’t compatible by any definition of the word.
I slam on the brakes and breathe through my mouth, the sleeklines of his expensive SUV glowing yellow from my headlights. Gritting my teeth, I unlock the doors, wishing he were miles away.
He won’t stay. Why did he bother coming back at all?
Ciprian climbs angrily from my car, his fingers curled around the metal edge of the door as he braces to slam it in my face. Like two pieces of flint colliding, our eyes lock, creating a spark that burns bright, then falls forgotten to the cracked pavement.
It’s pointless. There’s nothing left to burn. Our bridge is ash beneath our feet.
“I have friends, Casanell,” I say softly. “You’re just not one of them.”
He closes the door carefully—as if we didn’t say terrible things to each other.
My hands shake.
I got the last word and claimed the moral high ground, so why does it feel like I lost something I couldn’t afford to lose?
It’s funny how life doesn’t stop moving when nothing makes sense.
Weeks pass. I bury myself in research. Without the sun to hold me back, I’m limitless. My mind runs thousands of simulations and hypotheticals, but I’m strangely disconnected from it all.
I drink from Celine and Luca regularly. Their blood fuels me, even while I hide the reality of the blood circle from them. Every time I try to come clean, something holds me back. I’m at their mercy, and it’s bad enough that I know it. If they know it too... I couldn’t bear to drink from them if pity fueled the exchange.
After encountering Ciprian at the club twice, I stop going. Every time I see his smiling face, I hear the mazzikin’s voicewhispering in my ear and wonder if I made a mistake. My mind refuses to rest.
It gets worse every time I meet with Sheena. She’s nothing like I expected. With no experience in our worlds—enclave or Fringes—she sees everything as new.
As I show her the realities of the Fringes—playing a bleeding-heart Robin Hood archetype I’ve never aspired to be—I feel hope. Naïve, embarrassingly so, but she gave me the sun. Is it far-fetched to believe she could mend the cracks of our society that many supernaturals spend their entire lives crushed between?
I understand why Ciprian protects her.
Only a monster would have leveraged her safety against him. As the damned, blood-sucking, creature of darkness that I am, I fit the mold perfectly.
Damn me, I want to help her. Beyond the original scope of our deal. So I dig, researching night and day, deploying all my existing contacts, developing new ones, and lurking in the shadows of every seedy room within a hundred miles.
Until I find it. A smoking gun in the form of an invitation.
My chance to pay Sheena back for lifting my sun curse.
If I deliver this intel, maybe I can forget what I destroyed to secure this deal.
Except Sheena doesn’t answer her phone. My palms prickle as I dial again. No answer. Sunlight illuminates the motes of dust in the air as I glance at my open window. This can’t wait. Groaning in my empty apartment, I scroll to Ciprian’s contact.
