He studies my face, those fathomless eyes roving over every ridge and dip. I’m confident in my ability to remain unreadable, but Ciprian looks at me so intently that I wonder if he sees something in the curve of my mouth or the rhythm of my pulse.
“You’re going to tell me I’m being dramatic again,” he finally says, the molten interest in his stare cooling a few degrees. Without moving or saying a word, I’ve disappointed him.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I purr.
I drink my own glass of scotch slowly, letting the flavors seepinto my taste buds and chase away the lingering haze of my earlier sickness. Like a slap to the face, the liquor makes my heart race.
“But why?” Ciprian asks. His voice is soft and... vulnerable?
That can’t be right. Gods, his reactions never make sense.
“Because it pisses you off,” I say, holding his gaze and licking my lips.“You don’t like to be called dramatic, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Ciprian places his glass on the counter and steps toward me. “Don’t fuck with me, Alistair. You can’t choke me out one night, then invite me to your place and flirt with me like you forgive me the next. Unless you mean it... Get your revenge some other way.”
His sincerity guts me. Rips me open so thoroughly, I expect to see my intestines spilling onto the kitchen tile between us. Damn him. Gods-fucking-damn-him. I have Ciprian exactly where I want him, and I can’t close the distance and seal the deal. Not this way.
“I don’t forgive you.” He visibly retreats at my words. The life drains first from his eyes, then from the rest of his expression, eventually spreading to his posture too. He loses an inch of height as he slumps, and I steel myself to continue. “But I do want your help.”
“Okay. I’ll help you, but you have to promise me you’ll be careful. Asking the wrong questions could get not only us killed, but Celine and Luca too.”
It’s dangerous. I know that, but the invisible demon has me cornered. For a second, I consider telling Ciprian the enclave has a rat. He might be grateful. He might deal with the problem and owe me another debt—but I’ve never revealed a source before, and his betrayal is too fresh. Godsdammit, there’s no clean way out.
“They’re not involved in this,” I say, choosing to sound like a naïve idiot instead of an overconfidentasshole.
“They’re known associates of yours—don’t be absurd. Everyone’s seen you hanging onto her at the club.”
“No one touches her,” I snarl as boiling blood pounds the backs of my retinas. The idea of someone going after Celine ignites an irrational rage inside me. Gods above. This is why I needed to feed earlier. When I get like this, it’s impossible to reason.
“Don’t forget this anger,” Ciprian says calmly, looking at my face with no sign of fear on his own. “You’ll need it if this goes south.”
I nod, and a ghostly presence stirs against my lower back. Is the demon reminding me they’re here? In my apartment, with me at their mercy and Celine in their crosshairs? If they’re trying to give me a sign, they need to work on their nonverbal communication because touching me while I’m this amped is a recipe for disaster.
“I won’t tell you anything that could get someone hurt,” Ciprian says, his eyes unfocused as he thinks my proposal over. “Only basic stuff I’ve noticed and the things you would have learned if you’d gone to Starfall Academy.”
Bitterness chokes me. Mum thought supernatural learning was a waste of time. Once the deed was done, she said I had damned myself. To her, there’s no point in educating a monster. She told me bits and pieces about the supernatural world. Immigrants in a realm native only to humans and witches, born vampires share Earth with all the creatures who decided to leave their home realms behind. Since no one else around the Fringes ever mentions attending an academy, I’m confident I’m not the only one stumbling around in the dark.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” I tell Ciprian, irritated by his insinuation. These are my people. The Fringes are my home. And I never hurt anyone unless theycross me first.
“Sure,” Ciprian mutters. “But do you have complete control over everyone you sell information to?”
“Do you have complete control over the information you provide the enclave?” I hiss.
Ciprian releases a puff of air. “Obviously not, dude. Why do you think I keep half of what I hear to myself?” He shakes his head and tucks the wild strands of hair behind his ears. “I’ll put some information together and bring it to you soon.”
I imagine Ciprian compiling data haphazardly in his apartment and then dropping a stack of loose-leaf papers in an alley on his way here, and I grimace.
“I’d rather you worked on it here.”
Ciprian holds my stare. “Am I a slow-burn captive?”
I raise one eyebrow, annoyed yet again by how often he takes me off guard.
I hate asking for clarification, but with Ciprian it’s almost always necessary. He loves to make obscure references and pretend they’re part of everyone’s lexicon. Although, if I stay quiet long enough, he might explain without?—
“It’s like getting a wild animal used to a cage. You let them come and go at will. Until one day—bam!” He claps his hands. “You close the door, and they’re stuck.”
“If that was my plan, I wouldn’t admit it to you,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m more concerned about you getting too comfortable and refusing to leave.”
