The kids are okay. They may be orphans, but they’ll grow up better than I did, and that’s the best I can do.
SEVENTEEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #24:
Hold the line.
LUCA
My hands shake as I try to unlock the club, the obvious sign of weakness infuriating me.
Never in my life have I been this at odds with the monster inside me. While I knew Celine was planning some kind of stunt with Alistair, nothing prepared my basilisk for the sight of the vampire wrapped around her.
She isn’t ours.I repeat the thought four times, hoping it will penetrate the cloud of rage. It doesn’t. The basilisk is furious, doubly so because I’m not making any effort to fix things.
Like a dozen snakes writhing behind my ribcage, the low rattle in my chest isn’t something other people can hear, but it’s unnerving to experience firsthand. Gnawing at my sanity, the rattle has ruined two nights of sleep, making it even harder to control my basilisk.
If I’m not careful, the next person to piss me off will pay with their life. I imagine turning a mostly innocent patron to stone for ordering a pisco sour, and the trembling in my hands gets worse. I drop the keys, and my vision shifts—cold and imprecise, colors fade as my basilisk eyes take over.
No. Fuck. Losing her. Claim. Ours. CLAIM HER.
“You don’t control me,” I hiss, gritting the words between my descending fangs before hauling back and punching the concrete wall. The sharp pain of my knuckles splitting sends enough of a shock through my body for my mind to regain a sliver of control.
I lose it again when someone grabs my shoulder.
Spinning, I seize my attacker and shove them against the wall.
“It’s okay,” Celine wheezes. “It’s me.” She braces her hands on my chest, and through the haze of my rage, I see her eyes squeezed shut. A horror beyond anything me or my basilisk have ever felt consumes me.
“Oh gods. Celine, I’m so—fuck,” I sputter, releasing her to stagger backward. “I could have killed you.” I cover my face with my hands, muffling my voice. With a heartbroken hiss, my basilisk retreats to a corner of my chest. Its shame is all-consuming, and I slump under the weight.
“Shh, I’m okay,” Celine whispers. “I could tell something was wrong. I said your name a few times, but you were out of it. Don’t worry, I closed my eyes before I touched you.”
“That makes it worse,” I moan, tugging violently on my hair. “Do you know how dangerous it is to remove your sight and trust me not to hurt you? I could have snapped your neck.” I crowd her against the wall, illustrating my point by carefully wrapping my fingers around her throat.
Celine swallows against my palm. “Give me some credit,” she scoffs. “I was trying to help, but I have no issue kicking your ass with my eyes closed.”
I hear her. I do. But seeing my fingers wrapped around her neck is doing something to me. My stomach flips, and I tighten my grip experimentally, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the front of her neck.
“Careful, Luca,” she whispers. “Unless you want a firsthand demonstration of my fighting skills, you should think twice about what you do with those fingers next.”
My breath catches, and I flinch—it’s the opposite of a sexy noise. Why do I sound like I’m choking on a powdered donut? I clear my throat desperately... Celine can’t talk about my fingers that way and expect my imagination not to supply a long and filthy list of things I could do with them.
She laughs, as if I’m not fighting a fucking war with myself in front of her. “Okay. Okay. I didn’t think about how that would sound,” she says. “It was supposed to be more threat, less innuendo.”
“I took it as both.” I attempt a joke, but my voice is too husky to be playful. Celine drops her head against the wall and crosses one ankle over the other, pretending she doesn’t have a care in the world.
With her eyes closed, I can look at her as much as I want.
Flame-red hair secured in a sexy messy bun, she’s not wearing any makeup yet. Her crop top and cutoff shorts hug her curves like they were made for her, but I don’t love the idea of her riding with only her combat boots for protection. I glance around, noticing her bag and leather jacket lying on the ground a few feet away. Did she drop them to check on me?
She’s everything, and I almost hurt her. I can’t forget that.
Groaning, I dip my forehead to hers, prop my left forearm on the wall, and steal her air like any of that can fix what I did. The least I can give her is an explanation.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “My basilisk and I were having a disagreement.It’s making things hard for me, but I want—no, I need you to know I would rather die than hurt you.”
Celine lifts her hand, then freezes, holding it next to my face as if she isn’t sure whether she’s allowed to touch me. I want to scream.Please. Touch me.I would do anything to have her skin against mine.
