Page 72 of Godless Saints

Aleksei stood. The chair scraped loud against the stone. “Be careful, Cillian. For once in your life.”

He walked away without looking back. I stayed. Glass in hand. Still no fucking message from Moon.

I stood up too fast. Room tilted. For one stupid second I thought about storming Aster Court. Stop. Don’t. I slapped my cheeks hard, trying to knock some sense back into my skull. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me.

I grabbed my glass and crossed the common room. Igor smirked when I dropped into the chair across from him.

“You look like you want to hit something.”

“I do.” I tipped back the last of the whiskey. “Where the fuck is Declan? I need to punch his face in.”

Igor’s smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed. “Declan’s around. But I’m not his fucking bitch, Cillian. Go find him yourself if you want to swing on him.”

I stared at him.

Igor leaned in. “You and Declan keep costing us Favor. Board flipped again. Aster’s climbing because of you and Moon. Whitlock’s behind it.”

Fuck.

Whatever.

Maybe Igor would hit hard enough to make me feel something. I stood and jerked my chin toward the door.

“Yeah. Take it out on me.”

Ten minutes later I was in the middle of the ring. Shirt off. Knuckles freshly wrapped. Igor across from me.

First punch landed clean. Impact sang up my arm. Pain. Something I could understand. Every strike had that fucking prince behind it. Months of pushing me away, only to beg me not to stop. And then the bastard still walked out.

I ducked a heavy swing and drove my fist into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t go down. We traded blows. Blood filled my mouth from a split lip. Knuckles burned. None of it touched the raw ache in my chest.

I climbed out of the ring later. Chest heaving. Blood on my teeth. Phone burning a hole in my pocket. Still no reply.

I pulled it out anyway.

Answer me.

He wouldn’t tonight. But he would eventually. And when he did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let him leave again.

CHAPTER 18

MOON

“You’re limping,” Mikhail said.

“You’re staring.”

“Hard not to.” His voice dropped. “You look like Cillian fucked every last shred of control out of you.”

My hand closed around the cold metal rail. “Say that again, Lovchy, and I’ll make him mourn you.”

Mikhail took one look behind him. Then a small, sharp smile. “Yeah. I see the problem now.”

We kept moving.

Damp stone and rot filled the passage. Black wood panels pressed in tight. Cold air slipped under my clothes and raised goosebumps on my skin. No lamps after the first turn. From deeper inside Thorn came laughter, then the crash of glass. Animals in heirloom rings.

I counted gargoyles and weeping angels. Anything was safer than counting how many steps it would take to run straight back into Cillian’s room.