“Go,” Alistair says. “I’ll take care of him after our angel gets that hit in that you promised her.”
Luca carves a violent path through the crowd, and half of my attention goes with him. Wanting to get this over and done with, I study the pathetic creep and consider whether I should go easy on him. His eyes are unfocused but darting around wildly. He’s not so drunk that he’s unaware of how much danger he’s in.
Keeping most of my strength leashed, I punch him directly in the nose. The bridge caves in, crunching beneath my fist. He howls, wailing like I smashed every bone in his face. I wiggle my own nose—his is much too flat now to do anything but gush blood, then step back, disgusted. I barely hit the handsy punk. How was I supposed to know he was made of papier-mâché?
“Let this serve as your reminder of what happens when you touch things that aren’t yours,” I say, spinning on my heel to follow Luca out, using my elbows as javelins.
By the time I make it outside and find Luca, his eyes are hazel again, but his pupils remain slitted. His basilisk is watching me. I can sense it, and it’s almost soothing. Luca’s monster side is a kill first, ask questions later kind of guy, but it won’t let anyone get the drop on us.
“Are you good?” I ask.
Luca nods, his jaw locked with tension. He grabs my hand for inspection, and I shake my head when I see how much blood got on my fingers. “If I taught the witch how to throw a punch, he could have won that fight,” I observe, trying to lighten the mood.
“No doubt,” Luca says. his voice returning to the low rumble I’m used to.
“What do you think Alistair will do to the guy?” I ask, heading toward my bike.
“Nothing much. I simply sat him down for a polite discussion about the appropriate ways to treat a lady.”
I shake my head as Alistair once against materializes besideme. “You were only a minute behind me,” I say. “It couldn’t have been much of a discussion.”
Alistair sighs mournfully. “Unfortunately, he passed out before I could finish my speech.”
Luca laughs, and the sound makes me smile. It eases the persistent itch from my wings demanding release.
Alistair’s blue eyes sparkle as he scans the people milling around on the street. “Shall we go back to your place for that conversation, love?”
Gasoline poured over an open flame, his words bring all my filthy thoughts roaring back to the surface. Except this time, my adrenaline is pounding from the punch, and I have a new sexy memory to add to my montage: Alistair and Luca defending my honor like a couple of medieval knights.
“Sure,” I tell him, irritated by the breathy sound of my own voice.No matter how sternly I lecture myself, I can’t block the visuals my mind provides me with.
“Are you okay?” Luca asks, his easy smile fading at whatever he sees on my face.
“Of course.” I grab both helmets, handing him his, then shove mine over my head so I can blush in peace. “Follow us there,” I tell Alistair, straddling my bike and cranking it.
It’s not until we’re on the road, heat radiating up my sides from Luca’s hands on my hips, that I accept how much trouble I’m in.
TWENTY
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #72:
Listen carefully.
LUCA
With my hands melded to Celine’s curves, my mind races faster than her bike. My basilisk rattles in my chest, a low-grade buzz—not of rage, but excitement.
It wants her touch. I need her friendship. Can I risk one to get the other? Celine is everything to me, but my basilisk wants more and isn’t willing to compromise any longer.
We pull up outside her apartment. Peeling my hands off her hips takes major effort.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
I take my helmet off and raise my eyebrows. “We’ve been on the road.”
Celine shrugs. “Your energy is loud, though.”
I sigh. She’s right; I don’t know why I’m arguing about it. “I’m processing,” Isay.
