ALISTAIR
Staying away while Celine hunts for a celestial gateway is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Her texts and calls have gotten shorter, and her mood has gotten lower—the details she shares sparser by the day.
She’s discouraged. But part of me fears I’m losing her.
I fall asleep each night with aching fangs, the phantom taste of her blood dancing on my tongue. It’s a biological urge—the result of the blood circle—that wakes me, hard as stone, from dreams of hunting her down and devouring her. It’s more than that, too.
I miss her laugh and the ferocious way she tackles problems. I miss staring into her eyes and knowing she’s as much mine as I am hers. The love I have for her is anything but steady or soft. It consumes me, an obsession without end, and I’m uninterested in freeing myself from its influence.
I want her back by my side, shoving me against walls and trying to bend me to her will. The push and pull is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I need her to have the same: even if what she wants is the beating heart ripped straight from my chest.
Luca and Ciprian sense my growing disquiet. They think it’s thirst, offering me their veins constantly. Every morning, while my mouth is full of toothpaste and longing for Celine, they offer. Their knowing looks as they pester me about nutrition are annoying. I’m being coddled.
I would put a stop to it if I weren’t enjoying the attention.
I’d rather die than admit it, but I fear they already know.
“Thirsty today, Ali?” Ciprian shuffles into the bathroom wearing nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants. He pees and flushes, keeping his back to me, before bumping me with his hip as he washes his hands.
“You know that it’s generally considered rude to barge into an already-occupied bathroom to relieve yourself?”
Ciprian scoffs and meets my eyes in the mirror. He’s already started washing his face, the part of his morning routine that most reminds me of Celine. Drops of water cling to his sharp cheekbones and spiky eyelashes. He would be beautiful if he wasn’t staring at me with enough mischief to put me on guard.
“Don’t be so posh, Ali.” He splashes more water on his face. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding my question.”
“Is he dodging again?” Luca joins us. Closing the door behind him, he heads for the toilet while yawning loudly.
“Careful,” Ciprian warns. “Alistair finds piss offensive today.”
I narrow my eyes. Everyone finds piss offensive. I haven’t cornered the market on hygiene—Ciprian’s moisturizer costs gods know how much.
Luca flushes the toilet and joins us at the sink, waiting for Ciprian to scoot over and give him room to wash his hands. “Are you thirsty?” he asks, glancingover his shoulder at me.
“I’m fine,” I snap. “I’d be better if you both stopped pestering me.”
“You’re in a bad mood.” Ciprian pats his face dry.
Luca nods. “And your eyes are red.”
“You haven’t drunk from either of us in a week.”
“Plus, you’re gnawing on your own toothbrush, Ali.”
Rolling my eyes—which arebarelyred, bloody idiots—I spit toothpaste into the sink, rinse my mouth out, and ram the toothbrush into the holder. It cracks from the force. Traitorous piece of poorly manufactured garbage; I barely touched it.
Ciprian eyes the cracked toothbrush holder and sighs.
“It’s okay to miss her,” Luca says, rubbing the palm of his hand over his chest.
I hear him. I do. But I don’t miss her. That’s too normal for us. It sounds like something regular people do when their partner goes out of town. Whatever I’m experiencing is far more unstable. “I can handle it,” I insist.
“But you’re feeling . . .”
“Violent,” I bite the word off, letting the syllables snap off my tongue.
“You talked to her last night, didn’t you?” Ciprian grabs his expensive moisturizer and works it into his face. My eyes track the movement, tracing his forearm muscles as they bunch before landing on the pulse in his neck.
Gods, I’ve got to snap out of it. He just washed; the last thing I should be thinking about is making him bloody.
