“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.”
“It was only when I got older that I realized it wouldn’t have fixed him. That was when I started wanting a sibling for selfish reasons—so they could deflect his attention away from me. As it got worse, though... Gods, I prayed every night for no one new to be born into our home. Having someone else I couldn’t protect became my worst nightmare.”
Celine blinks, then forces a smile. “I’m sorry, Ciprian. You lost your dad, and here I am complaining about mine.”
“Don’t apologize,” I blurt. It sounds harsh, but I hate how small her voice is. Imagining Celine, young and without protection, fearing the imagined burden of protecting someone even more helpless... It guts me.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” she whispers. Her wings dip until the tips drag against the thick rug.
