Even through the bruising around his eyes, I see him become cagey.
“I can’t promise to answer everything,” he wheezes. “There are people whose trust matters more to me than my life.”
“Lucky for them,” I seethe, the sting of his trickery slicing me again.
He sags against the couch, the skin at the corner of his eyes pulled tight by the swelling. But he doesn’t beg for the potion.
The air conditioning blows a cool, synthetic breeze from the overhead vent. The faint hum is deafening compared to the silence of our standoff.
In the end, my curiosity trumps his stubbornness.
“Start at the beginning,” I say. “Why did you come to the Fringes?”
Ciprian sighs. The noise is wetter than it should be.Is he bleeding internally?The cloying, primal smell of blood is so thick in the air of my living room it’s impossible to tell. I lean forward and take another whiff. My fangs graze my lower lip, and the scraping sensation snaps me away from the urge to steal a taste.
If he dies, all my efforts will be for nothing.
“Roscoe”—he coughs—“was one of my father’s guards. His favorite.”
I stiffen. That’s worse than we thought. Roscoe’s death was unavoidable, but none of us had any idea he was that connected. “You were sent to find out what happened to him?”
Ciprian nods, and I frown. Why would Dimitri Casanell sendhis son into the Fringes alone for a missing guard? It’s reckless and dangerous.
A wry look eclipses the pain on Ciprian’s face before it fades to a grimace. “Our family dynamic is”—another raspy cough—“pretty fucked-up.”
In that, I can empathize. I’m an only child, but if Mum had been fortunate enough to have another before she was turned, she would have liked them more. I’m sure of that.
“Not the favorite son?” I taunt him, but Ciprian isn’t bothered by my jab.
“Depends on w-who you ask.” He shifts on my couch, then goes rigid, holding his breath until I’m waiting anxiously for his next gasp. When it finally comes, it sounds less like a stream of oxygen and more like water being sucked down a storm drain.
My palms prickle, and I’m moving before I make the conscious decision. I shoot down the hall, retrieve the healing potion from the locked box in my bathroom, and return before I can change my mind.
Favorite son or not, if Ciprian Casanell dies on my couch, I’ll be held responsible. I’m not performing a kindness for a traitor; I’m saving my own skin.
Unstoppering the vial, I curse his shaking hands and bat them away. Once the glass touches his lips, I pour the liquid into his mouth. He chokes. Bubbles—stained a streaky pink from his blood—run down his chin, but he manages to swallow most of the tonic.
“Thanks,” he wheezes.
“I’m not doing it for you,” I snap. “I need to know what’s going on so I can protect her.”
“That’s cold, Ali.” Some of the pain leaves Ciprian’s body, and he raises one pale eyebrow as he meets my eyes. “I didn’t tell Dad what happened to Roscoe. I planned to take Celine’s secret to the grave; I just didn’t expect to find myself climbing in this soon.”
That surprises me, but I don’t show it. Instead, I search his face for any signs of deception. I’m not a lie detector like Celine, but I’m typically good at judging intent—at least I was until I met Ciprian.
“Why would you conceal it?” I ask.
He scoffs. The sound is raspy, but it’s livelier than his previous death rattles. “Really? Why would I protect Celine from the bullshit consequences of killing an asshole? You’re smarter than that, dude.”
“Please,” I drawl, rolling my eyes. “You think I believe you severed a lifetime of allegiance over one kiss? How do you expect me to swallow that?”
Ciprian sighs, his thick eyelashes fluttering against his bruised skin. When he looks at me again, there’s steel in his bottomless black stare. “I can be loyal to both.”
“No,” I hiss. “That’s where you’re wrong, Casanell. Here in the Fringes, we know the consequences of split loyalty. If you can’t make the choice, we’ll make it for you.”
Anger swirls in my belly, although my bloodlust has settled to a manageable level.
Anyone dumb enough to bring their executioner to bed with them deserves what they get, and my angel is far from dumb. She won’t forgive him for hiding his identity.
