“Guardians are stationed around the perimeter,” Malach says. “There’s no reason for us to maintain a watch.” We all already know this, but I appreciate his attempt to change the subject.
Crawling into bed, I settle in the center and leave them to sort themselves out.
Malach doesn’t hesitate before curling up beside me, his thick thigh grazing mine. Ciprian trips Alistair and dives into the spot on my other side, grinning widely as Ali hisses. He and Luca shuffle in behind Ciprian and Riven carefully lays down next to Malach. He’s so close to the edge, he’s at risk of falling off. It’s not my business. If he wants to cling to the bed like a dying vine, that’s his choice.
When Malach leans over Riven to turn off thelights, a band of static rolls over his face, disrupting the smooth amber lines. Malach pretends not to notice, finding the raised strip on the wall and dragging his finger down under we’re bathed in darkness.
“I can’t figure out how that works,” Ciprian mutters. “There are no light fixtures or bulbs. Where does the glow even come from? Wait—” He yawns, burying his face in the curve of my neck and planting a feather-light kiss below my ear. “I’m too tired to learn. Someone, explain it to me tomorrow.”
Ali curls around him, and his hand lands possessively on my hip.
I let his touch ground me, pushing away all the awful things and focusing instead on how nice it is to be surrounded by the people I love most. Tomorrow won’t be easy, but I’m not by myself.
For some reason, I need whatever remains of her to know that.
I’m not alone, Mom. Not anymore, at least.I’m drifting off. I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it or if it’s just that strange space between being awake and asleep, where anything seems possible, but I’m almost positive she hears me.
It’s the first time her memory has brought me comfort in years.
FORTY
Unspoken Rule of the Fringes #44:
No experience, no matter how unique, belongs to you alone.
ALISTAIR
I wake to the scent of blood.
For a heartbeat, I hover in a state of confusion. The smell is oddly familiar but wrong somehow, too.
“S’lach,keth va thessa. Irak vaen!” The woman’s voice is frantic. I don’t need to understand her words to recognize the pleading tone.
Bloody hell, is he here?My eyes snap open. The others are still asleep, their measured breathing reassuring in the stillness of the unfamiliar room. There’s no one else here, but we aren’t alone either. This is another echo—one of the ones Celine doesn’t want us to see.
The ghostly figures are on my side of the bed, a younger version of Celine and her mother cowering in the corner as S’lach advances on them. His apparition is different from theirs.Less silver, it’s a dingy gray, almost charcoal, and difficult to make out in the dark.
I’m glad for that.
As he takes his anger out on them, I force myself to stare at the ceiling. We promised Celine we wouldn’t watch these echoes, but I’m not sure what to do. I can’t stop him; this happened years ago, but lying here helpless is torture.
He’s hurting my angel, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Rolling to face Ciprian, I turn my back on the scene and squeeze my eyes shut.
Valenara’s echoes are vivid. In a way, they remind me of Ciprian’s nightmares, with sounds and smells coming through in addition to the visuals. Ciprian’s illusions are clearer, but something about the haziness of the echoes makes them worse to witness.
Plus, Ciprian’s nightmares aren’t real; they’re products of his imagination. This abuse really happened to Celine and her mother. We’ve stumbled upon the records of S’lach’s cruelty that murder and time couldn’t destroy.
Someone whimpers, and the smell of blood gets stronger.
My eyes snap open. I can’t keep them shut any longer. It goes against every vampire instinct to ignore such an obvious threat. The hair on my arms is standing on end, and my fangs are throbbing, eager to tear S’lach’s head off.
I’m also afraid. It’s that emotion that wakes Ciprian up.
His eyes focus on me before bulging as they spot the echo in the corner. He opens his mouth, and I shake my head. I don’t want Celine to wake up and be forced to relive this.
Ciprian’s jaw clenches, and his cheekbones sharpen. His magic rolls over my mind like a soft blanket tucking me in. The smell of blood fades, replaced by the coconut scent of the shampooCeline loves. It’s not real. Celine left that shampoo in the Fringes, but Ciprian recreated a smell that comforts us both and doused the bed with it.
