Alistair’s shoulders sag. His blue-black hair is tangled from my fingers. And he looks... He looks like I hurt him.
My fingers twitch. I curl them into a fist.
Lifting my chin, I stretch to my full height and wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. The silence crawls along my skin, more pervasive than his talented fingers. I hate it. I’d rather he yelled at me again... Call me a whore for stripping. Anything but this quiet defeat.
My wings shoot from my back, only to droop and betray me. I stumble out of the storage room and slam the door before they can tell him what I refuse to say out loud: that I miss him, and I hate myself for it.
TWENTY
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #106:
Know which rules can be broken and which are set in stone.
LUCA
I never thought I would have this.
Celine curled on the couch, her head on my shoulder. Every time she exhales, the hair behind my ear sways and tickles my neck. My basilisk is content. It’s pleased to have her safe and close where it can keep an eye on her.
The TV casts vivid, saturated colors around the living room, bringing the tropical island vibe to our midnight desert hideaway. On the screen, palm trees sway in the breeze as the cast members smile and flirt their way into one dramatic situation after another.
Malach is fucking engrossed.
And it’s killing me. I may not survive the effort it takes to keep from laughing my ass off. Brow furrowed, he watches the dating show with the gravity that human political correspondents reserve for a fucking congressional hearing.
Whenever one of the contestants says something illogical or ridiculous—which is almost always—he frowns, and I watch in real time as he puzzles out their possible meaning. More than once, I’ve caught his lips moving as he repeats a phrase.
Fuck me, I think he’s trying to memorize them. I swear, if Malach wakes up talking like a reality-star diva tomorrow, I’m going to lose it.
“His intentions aren’t honorable,” Malach mutters, jerking his thumb toward the roided-up gym bro Celine and I love to hate. His name is Wolfe, something Celine and I always botch, which is laughable considering how weird it is.
“Agreed,” I whisper. “And there’s no way he’s good in bed—in another episode he said he doesn’t even eat.” Which, incidentally, is the most heinous crime a bisexual can commit. Wolfe should be locked up for sheer audacity.
Malach drags his focus away from the screen and looks at me. “Eat? He must eat something to maintain that musculature.”
I blink at him and wait for his poker face to crack, but it never does. His green eyes are impossibly earnest. Swallowing a groan, I brace myself. I have no choice but to explain. I can’t allow Malach to keep wandering through life—in any realm—knowing nothing about head.
Do it for the greater good, Luca.
“Not food.” I clear my throat. “I mean pussy. Or ass. Or pussy and ass.”
Malach’s eyes flicker to Celine. “I see,” he says. “Eating is slang, andthe act is pleasurable?”
I nod. “If it’s done right. What do you call it in your realm?”
He frowns, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “We don’t discuss intimacy casually or around others.” Okay, that makes sense, but— A crazy suspicion enters my mind.
“Have you ever?” I ask, keeping my face as neutral as possible.Malach and Celine were betrothed young. Neither of them has explained what that means, but he’s rigid about rules...
“I have maintained my vows,” Malach says simply and without shame. “However, I do not begrudge Celine the life lived while we were apart. She believed our paths would never cross again; I could not accept that.”
My respect for him grows. To have waited for Celine all this time... gods, he must love her nearly as much as I do. I wonder if she knows he’s a virgin. It’s not my place to tell her. Malach is confiding in me. I won’t betray his trust by spilling his personal business.
“Did she forgive the vampire?”
His subject change surprises me as much as his actual question. Malach skipped the club tonight, saying he needed to check in with his guards, so I’m not sure how he knows Alistair showed up at the Fang. Did he pop in and I missed him, or does he have his guys spying on us?
“Forgive isn’t the word I would use,” I mutter, remembering the fury on Celine’s face when she stumbled from the storage room earlier.
