ALISTAIR
“ . . . so I threatened him.”
In the storage room at the Fang, Luca and Celine stare at me, unblinking. Their silence grates, even as their heartbeats merge with the thumping bass coming through the flimsy door.
I can’t stop imagining what they would do if I sank my fangs into their necks.
“I don’t understand,” Luca finally says, scrubbing his palm over his face. “Ciprian said he had a plan, but you didn’t believe him, so you decided to threaten his friend?”
I blink at him and growl. “My source said this djinn was the key to destroying the Casanells.”
“Right,” Celine adds. “Because losing a friend is awful.”
My fingers twitch. They’re watching me like a dangerous animal that’s escaped its enclosure. It isn’t fair. I wasn’t even therewhen the street fight with the angels happened, and I’m putting all my energy and resources into helping.
“You’re the one who always thought he was hiding a girlfriend,” I remind her. “Think of this as insurance.”
“I’m not saying I trust him, Alistair, but even I think it’s reckless to threaten him when he’s literally on the way to do us a favor,” Celine says. “He could change his mind, come back here with an army, and kill us all.”
I scoff. “The enclave doesn’t maintain a fighting force large enough to meet anyone’s definition of an army.”
Celine sighs. “I’m not arguing semantics with you.”
“Then what are you arguing about, angel?”
“This reckless decision!” She throws her hands up, scowling at her cleavage as several moss green body jewels get dislodged. Luca bends to pick them up, making the curve of his neck vulnerable in the process. I gulp.
“You didn’t even talk it over with us before you called him, and after the way you stormed off...” Celine doesn’t finish the sentence, but we all know what she’s talking about.
My shame demands I lash out so that I won’t have to feel this way any longer. Stubbornly, I hold my tongue. Anger may be safer for me, but Celine doesn’t like it.
She drops her chin, and her fingers twitch. With a muffled curse, she removes the remaining jewels from her belly and chest. They’re too uneven for my angel.
Sighing, Luca grabs a bottle of whiskey from a crate, uncorks it, takes a healthy swig, then offers it to me. “What Celine is trying to say is, are you okay, Ali? You haven’t seemed like yourself recently.”
I’m tempted to ask him which out of character moment he’s referring to. The horrible scene I made the night I discovered who Ciprian was? Or nearly biting Celine without her consent before sprinting barefoot through the Fringes?
Ever since I surrendered to my hopeless fascination with her, everything about my life has spiraled out of control. My temper is erratic at best. My self-control is hanging on with slippery fingers, and my bloodlust... well, Celine’s heart has beaten one hundred fifty-seven times in the last three minutes, and I would kill anyone or anything to feel her pulse around my fangs.
I gulp the whiskey instead and taste nothing. The normal burn doesn’t even register because my throat is already on fire. My vision tinges red. I take another sip, then swallow.
As an experiment, I tried eating a rare steak last night. It ended the evening with a flush, as has every drop of blood I’ve attempted to consume for weeks.
I’m dying. There’s no denying it anymore.
Maybe I could accept death, but the monster inside me refuses to give up. It wants blood, and I’m becoming increasingly afraid of the lengths it will go to get it.
Will I lose myself to the bloodlust? Will I pierce every vein in the Fringes until I tap someone with blood I can keep down?
The idea is revolting. And it would destroy my business. My neighbors may trade information with a vampire who would tear their throat out if double-crossed, but they aren’t likely to get within striking distance of one who’s gone feral.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, forcing the words through my clenched teeth and praying to the gods that they’re true.
Before Celine or Luca can push harder, I use my vampire speed to leave.
Neither of them follows me. I tell myself it’s for the best.
“I’m responding to your blackmail,” Ciprian says, his voice angry, even through the phone.
