“I can get you weapons,” Ciprian says, eyeing Celine’s wings warily. He backs away, his lips pressed into a thin line, and shoots me a look that says,Do something about this. I send one back that hopefully communicates,Fuck off, I’ll do my best.
“We’re with you, baby,” I tell her. “For whatever you need.”
She nods, brushing angry tears away. Alistair opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Do you need to make use of my contacts?—”
Riven steps directly into Celine’s path and grips her shoulders. “What is happening?”
I tense. If he even thinks abouthurting her...
“Breathe, darling.” His chest rises and falls dramatically, and when she follows his lead and inhales shakily, he nods with satisfaction. “Good. Now tell us what you read. Please.” He tacks the last word on as an afterthought.
Celine’s wings dip, the flaming tips hovering dangerously close to the plush hallway runner. “Malach was under my father’s thumb, but not by choice. He’s been controlling him through the silence rune branded on his hip. Malach thought he could break the hold if he was near me, but it wasn’t enough. In the monster realm...” She gulps, then rolls her shoulders back. “In the monster realm, he gave up on getting free and decided to sacrifice himself instead. His plan was to kill my father himself, so I wouldn’t have to.”
Alistair and I exchange a glance. Celine was right, at least in part. She’s been adamant about Malach’s innocence, but none of this explains her white, tearstained face and flaming, bladed wings.
“What else?” Alistair asks. “Did Malach send the package through the gateway?”
Her spiky, wet lashes flutter shut, before opening again to reveal brown eyes blazing with resolve. “Lyklan sent it,” she says. “Malach explains in the letters, but they’re written as if he only intended for me to read them after he was dead. They’re a goodbye.”
Oh, baby, no.My heart sinks, and not only for Celine. I love her, and I want her to have everything she could want, including Malach, but gods, he was my friend, too. His dry sense of humor, that endless sweet tooth, and his unique moral code. He’s one of us. I might never see him again. And I hate that he might have died alone.
“Angel—”
“Flames and blades,” Riven interrupts Alistair again. “You’re emotionally preparing for war, not grief. There must be more.”
“He’s not dead. Lyklan disobeyed Malach’s orders.” Celine holds up a wrinkled sheet of paper. I still can’t read it, but it’s short—nothing like the words I would write to Celine if they were my last. “He sent me Malach’s journal before he was supposed to and opened a gateway.” She points to the last line. “This? This is Lyklan telling me to come save Malach, or live and die as a piece of shit.”
“He said that?” Alistair hisses.
Celine shrugs. “It was politer than that, but I can read between the lines.”
“It could be a trap,” Riven says. “Your father is highly motivated, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s orchestrated an elaborate scheme to get to you.”
“Itcouldbe a trap.” Celine crosses her arms over her chest. “But I’m going, anyway.”
She’s braced for an argument, but she won’t get one from me. If she left Malach to rot, she wouldn’t be the woman I love. I’m fucking terrified, but I won’t get in her way—I only want to be by her side.
Voices echo around the corner, then Ciprian appears, loaded with weapons. There’s a pistol shoved in his waistband, what appears to be a flamethrower strapped to his back, and a sheathed sword slung low on his hips. It bumps against his thigh with each step. In his arms, he’s carrying a large case, leaning back to accommodate its weight.
“I’ll return them all, I swear,” he shouts over his shoulder before continuing toward us, his eyes burning with determination.
“Ciprian...” Celine’s jaw drops. “A sword would have been plenty.”
“Please, babe.” He tugs the pistol out of his pants and jams a clip in. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, and you aren’t King Arthur. Everyone is better off with a Glockthan a sword.”
“That’s a Beretta,” Alistair says drily.
“And this is a fire extinguisher.” Ciprian pulls the red cylinder out and brandishes it, glancing at Celine’s wings. “I brought it along for no reason at all.”
Celine’s lips curl, and the flames go out. “If you spray me with that, we’re going to have problems.”
Ciprian nods. “Heard. Burn down whatever you want, hot wings. Sheena can fix it.”
Gently, I grab Celine’s upper arm and clear my throat. “Gun, sword, or not—I don’t think you should go alone, baby.”
Her panic radiates down the bond. “I can’t risk you again, Luca. We tried that last time, and look what happened.”
“Hear me out,” I say. “I don’t think we should all go either. Someone needs to stay here as backup in case it’s a trap and you get stuck. I know the gateways can’t be activated without celestial blood, but we could track down another angel if it came down to it.”
