“Stop calling me that,” I snap, too distracted by the title at first to realize the bigger issue: his declaration that he’s coming home with me.
I should put a stop to this. I should send him away. I should?—
“I will not stop,” Malach interrupts my train of thought, obstinate to a fault, even now, on turf where he couldn’t be more out of place if he tried. “And you won’t ask it of me unless you intend to formally rescind your vows.”
Fuck me; I forgot. About his sincerity. How the simplest of words from him always sounded like promises. Time made my memories hazy, and now they’re rushing in—sharper than ever—to hack through my defenses.
My stomach leaps to my throat, then dives. Physically, I’m standing in an alley, balancing on a broken heel. Mentally, I’m free-falling off a cliff and plunging into ice water, only to be dragged away by a current I’m not strong enough to escape. Emotionally... Fuck, I can’t even go there.
So I retreat, kicking myself for my cowardice even as I backaway on my wobbly, busted stiletto. Damn shoe—I feel just like it—ornamental and a godsdamned liability.
“I am here to prove that I, too, am worthy to stand at your side.” Malach’s eyes beg me to understand. “I seek your judgment, Celine, and yours alone.”
I want to stop him. It’s all I can do not to cover my ears. Doesn’t he know his whispered words are tearing me to pieces?
My skin pebbles, and my wings wrap around me protectively as I resign myself to the inevitable pain that having Malach in my life again will bring. Because he won’t stay. And I won’t go back.
He looks away, and a flicker of intuition brings my itch roaring back to life. “There’s more, isn’t there?” I whisper. “You still haven’t explained the kids.”
“I will tell you once we’re safe,” Malach murmurs, glancing at Luca while avoiding eye contact. “As your shifter said, we’re exposed.”
Sighing, I lead them back to the Fang, my heel dragging through grime until it’s as dirty as the other broken things in this alley. My mind races, each thought worse than the last: Malach is here. Ciprian is a fraud. Alistair is cruel. Luca is angry. And I don’t have a clue how I’m going to bring order to this mess.
TWO
Traditionalnish thatshabetrothal vow:
My word belongs to you as fully as it breathes life inside my soul. May the day I use it against you also be the day it carves my beating heart from my chest.
MALACH
Celine walks in front of me, her gait uneven. My eyes devour her, greedy for her attention after years without it. I would sooner gouge them from their sockets than look at another, yet I’ve led a monster to her door.
Not the monsters she invites to her bed, although I will undoubtedly have to get used to them, but the one who created her. The being who excised the full extent of his own twisted soul on those he should have died before hurting.
Killing Celine’s mother was the catalyst for S’lach. With Valenara dead and Celine gone without a trace—I made sure of that—S’lach turned his darkness on the realm. Fools that wewere, we let him dig in. Now there’s no one left to speak against him, no one who can manage it but her. My truth. My Celine.
She’s strong, powerful to the depths of her soul, and the only person who can stand in his way.
I would do anything to change that.
Celine’s wings are bladed. Moonlight reflects off the metallic feathers, each as biting as a freshly sharpened axe.
A muscle in my jaw ticks. She tries to appear cool and controlled, but her wings tell the truth. She’s upset. Stressed. My head aches, a tangled blur of desperate thoughts in half a dozen languages jockeying for position.
Her show of vulnerability destroys me.
Celine shouldn’t have to bear another moment of her father’s presence, yet that’s exactly what I must ask her to do. For our people; not only thethatsha... but all sevennish.
As her betrothed, I want to shield her from S’lach and the pain of her past, but I swore vows on her word and mine. I must tell her the truth.
She will hate me for it. And I will deserve it.
“You’re staring, Malach,” Celine says, not bothering to turn around.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m grateful for the dark. “Can you blame me for fixing my gaze on your beauty when ugliness presses in from all sides?”
The basilisk snorts, an uncouth sound he should try to avoid.
