Celine shifts in the passenger seat, and from the corner of my eye, I watch her press her flushed cheek against the window. I squeeze her knee and turn the air conditioner on.
We’ll get through this one day at a time. Together.
Our shift at the Fang starts normal, a standard weekday afternoon. Not dead, but certainly not busy. I’m fine with that. An easy day at work is exactly what we need.
As ordered, Malach camps out at the bar with me. Most people hunch or sprawl when they sit on a barstool, but not Malach. He perches like someone shoved one end of a flagpole up his ass and drove the other into the concrete floor.
“Yo,” I huff, rapping my knuckles on the counter in front of him. “Do you know how to slouch?”
“Of course.” He sits up even straighter, and I wonder briefly if he traded his spine for a yardstick. “Am I drawing unwanted attention?”
Malach glances around, looking so concerned I feel bad for the guy. Yes, he did try to have me killed, but he did it for Celine. In a twisted way, I get it. My basilisk rattles. It doesn’t think we should forgive the new angel.
“You’re fine. Try to sit less...” I scratch my chin, trying to figure out the right word. “...militantly. You’re giving super soldier, even without your wings.”
He considers that, his green eyes searching my face, then nods.
After glancing around, he drops his elbows to the bar and goes rag-doll limp.
I blink at the change. Malach transformed from killer-for-hireto the saddest man in the world. If I put a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand, it will be the perfect look.
I scoop some ice and pull one of the top-shelf liquors down. Malach is far from home; the least I can do is show the guy how good the booze is here. I pour him a few fingers and press the glass into his hand. “This is for sipping,” I warn him. “And when a tall, black-haired vampire shows up later, don’t even think about mentioning?—”
“Mentioning what?” Alistair appears directly beside Malach, and I swallow a curse. There’s a pink tinge to his blue eyes that isn’t usually there. From the heavy dark circles he’s rocking, I know he didn’t spend the afternoon sleeping.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Blood Tide?”
“Cut the bullshit, Luca. I need to see her.”
“Her next set is in fifteen.”
Alistair’s low growl makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
I sigh and look him dead in the face. “I won’t make her talk to you until she’s ready. She’s dealing with a lot, and, frankly, you royally fucked up. Give her time, Ali.”
He hangs his head, shoulders drooping pathetically. I glance at Malach’s similar pose and shake my head. They’re different sides of the same coin. While Malach is all golden, shiny excellence, Alistair is the kind of trouble you beg for until the moment it kills you.
With clientele hooting and hollering under the neon lights all around us, there’s not much I can do to comfort him. But I lean across the bar and put my hand on his shoulder anyway, grazing my thumb over his neck.
Alistair meets my gaze, and the devastation on his face is brutal. “Don’t think I forgot what you were saying when I arrived,” he says.
I snort a laugh and drop my hand. “It’s not important right now.” I see Celine approaching and lower my voice. “Just knowthat if you ever want her back, you can’t kill him.” I tilt my head toward Malach.
Alistair gives the burly angel a ferocious once-over, confusion erasing some of his sadness. “Why would I bother killing him?”
“Storage room. Now,” Celine interrupts before I can answer. “You get five minutes, Alistair, then I have to take my clothes off for a bunch of people who aren’t you.”
Ali surges to his feet. He stares at Celine like a roaring flame scopes out a pile of dry brush. She stares back at him blankly—as if he’s nothing—and I wince. Celine looking at me that way is my worst nightmare. If Alistair is smart, he won’t push her, but his control is slipping.
“Angel, please,” he begs.
Celine pivots, leaving without a word. Alistair’s hands curl to fists at his side.
“You better go,” I say gently. “And tread lightly while you’re at it.”
The look he tosses at me is red-rimmed and desperate. “What choice do I have?”
None. Alistair is out of options, and I’m not going to help him. If he wants to make things right with Celine, he’s going to have to figure it out himself. For all our sakes, I hope he does.
