The hum of a nearby generator drowns out the muffled bass from one of the more popular Fringe bars. A rat the size of a loaf of bread skitters behind a dented trash bin plastered with fading flyers for shows that long ago lost any hope of catching my attention.
The only thing I care about right now is finding Ciprian Casanell—nightmare demon, enclave heir, and lying son of a bitch. I used to think our interests aligned. Now I just want to make him pay.
He’s ruined everything. For me—for both of us, really—but fuck him and fuck how his involvement toppled everything I built withCeline.
Luca alone may survive the fallout from tonight, slithering clear of the rubble in the way of snakes. I know better than to expect his help; his loyalty lies with her. He won’t risk the cold now that he’s known her heat. I can’t blame him for it.
My anger burns, but it isn’t all reserved for Ciprian.
The things I said to Celine were unforgivable. The pathetic vitriol of a vampire so used to rejection that I cut her where I knew it would hurt most, desperate to wound her before she could wound me.
I want to blame it all on bloodlust, but that would be the coward’s way out.
I learned to lash out long before I had fangs. No one ever noticed how hurt I was if I hurt them first. As a child, it was understandable. As an adult, I have no excuse.
Stopping for a beat, I listen to the Vegas night. The crackling hum of streetlights. The uneven footsteps of a drunk shuffling home. Then a grunt, a thud, a curse. I move toward the fight, upping my pace when I smell blood.
I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s the same blood that saved my life. The blood that runs through Ciprian Casanell’s veins.
I snarl as my eyes confirm what my ears and nose already know: he’s under attack.
My arrival startles the three ragged shifters beating the shit out of him. They scatter.
I let them go, listening until their footsteps fade.
Ciprian’s face is covered with blood to the point that I barely recognize him. He’s curled in on himself, trying to protect his stomach. One arm is tilted at an unnatural angle. His breaths are slow and erratic, and I smell the sickly sweet bite of liquor beneath the coppery tang of his blood.
My fury cools. Moments ago, I wanted to see him brought low. Now, I just feel wired.
His face flashes through my mind—freeof bruises and swelling—as I remember the way he looked outside the club, begging me to let him explain.
I turned him down and told everyone in the Naked Fang who he was.
Why would his father blow his cover? Dimitri Casanell is hated on the Fringes—for good reason. Putting his own son in danger, though... What could his motive be? As for Ciprian, he had plenty of ammunition to bring us in. Why didn’t he?
All the lies, his deception. I thought I knew why he did it, but so many of Ciprian’s choices don’t align with the enclave’s methods.
Maybe he deserved this, maybe he didn’t, but I need to hear his side to be sure. Not having all the information is eating me alive.
Ciprian stirs, twitching twice before going still.
I shift my weight as a hot breeze ruffles my hair.
These streets appear empty, but we aren’t the only supernaturals on the prowl. I could leave him here and let the gods decide whether he lives or dies... except that doesn’t feel right.
When an angel drove a sword through my gut, Ciprian fought to keep me alive. The memory cuts me deep enough to scar, the phantom taste of my blood mixed with his on my tongue as he desperately tried to replace what I’d lost.
I can’t leave him this way.Gritting my teeth to ignore the lure of his blood, I slip his shattered phone into my pocket and hoist him over my shoulders.
Ciprian groans, the sound pitifully weak, and his ribs shift in an unnatural way.
He may not live through this beating even with my help. I find myself hoping he does. I have questions to ask him, and dead demons don’t talk.
Ciprian survives the night, his breathing labored. His obsidian eyes, swollen and bruised, crack open as dawn breaks, and a mix of feelings rush through me. He looks terrible.
“A-Ali?” he gasps.
“Only my friends are allowed to call me that,” I hiss, a muscle in my cheek ticking. “I have a witch’s healing potion I can give you, but only if you answer my questions.”
