“I don’t want to rule,” I say quietly, the tiniest hint of fervor infecting my tone.
Father’s head tilts, an odd light in his gaze. “Wait for me in the training room, Celine. If you can defeat me, I’ll forgive your childish act of rebellion. If not...” He lets the consequences hang in the air between us along with a flimsy strand of hope. It’s a false hope. I’m twelve years old. There’s no reality in which I defeat him in combat.
Determination sinks its teeth into me anyway, and I swear to the gods alive and dead that I’ll try my hardest. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to give him a taste of the pain he loves to inflict on others.
Luca touches my back. It’s enough, thank the gods—who I’m now convinced were never alive to begin with—to pull me out of the memory. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks.
Smile, I order my face.Reassure him. But like my wings all those years ago, my face has a mind of its own. It crumples, and Luca is ready—his strong arms curling around me, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges of my wings.
“I want it to be over,” I whisper. “Seeing his face again... I hate him, Luca.”
He’s silent as he considers what I said, then hums under his breath. “If you want him gone and for this to be over; we’ll have to stop playing defense.”
I frown. Is that what we’re doing?
Alistair is keeping watch in the living room while we rest. Bracing for the next attack. Hiding, no, cowering in this apartment. Damn me, he’s right—everything I’ve done is defense. I spent two decades reacting to my father’s attacks, and here I am doing it all over again.
This isn’t the independence I wanted; it’s a cheap copy.
“He won’t come here,” I say, sitting up in bed. “In order to kill him, I would have to take the fight to the celestial realm.”
“So, we hunt his ass down,” Luca says. “Then we come home and live life on our own terms. No more looking over our shoulders.”
He kisses my cheek, and I study his face. The stubble, the dark circles beneath his eyes—even exhausted, he’s stunning. My stomach twists. It isn’t fair of me to ask this of him. He’s been through too much because of me already.
“I swore I’d never go back.”
“Technically, you aren’t.” Luca shrugs, and I raise my eyebrows. “No, think about it, Celine. You aren’t going back; you’re just poking your head in for long enough to deal with your dad. It’s a necessary evil.”Or a false equivalence.
“That’s bullshit logic,” I tell him. “And it sounds like a good way to get someone killed.”
“Exactly.” Luca grins. “Your dad. It’s way past time for someone to kill him.”
“But the veydra?—”
“Sucks too, we can kill him while we’re at it.” Luca’s pupils twitch, the shift barely visible in the dim light of my room.
“Malach will get his hopes up,” I say.
“Malach is a big boy—huge, actually. He’ll be okay, baby. All I’m hearing are excuses.”
I shove him into the pillows. “I don’t make excuses; I’m making you face the facts.”
“I’d rather you faced your fears,” Luca says. “They’re as important as the facts.”
Is he right?Am I focusing on the wrong things?
“I’ll think about it,” I whisper, pushing the covers off and climbing out of bed. I duck into my closet to grab a sweatshirt to ward off my chill.
Luca grunts. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep,” I admit. “I’ll take over the watch and send Alistair in to rest.”
“Let me?—”
“No,” I insist. “You need to get some sleep, and I’m losing my mind. If I get tired, I’ll wake you.” I leave before he can find a better argument, stepping into the living room and rubbing the grit from my eyes.
Malach sleeps fitfully on the couch. His massive body makes the piece of furniture look small. Alistair’s eyes flit from the door to me. I feel them on my body, seeing... fuck, who knows what Alistair sees. Too much. Always too much.
