I startle awake, blinking with confusion as Alistair shoots out of the bed completely naked and darts from the room like a shadowed dart.Is he hurt?I glance at the window, but no direct beams of light are making it past the curtains.
Pulling my arm out from under Celine, I follow him and ease the bedroom door shut behind me, just in time to hear a pained groan.Fuck.No longer giving a shit about noise, I sprint into the living room and find Alistair cradling his arm to his chest. His crimson eyes are feral as he hugs the wall to avoid the light.
“I smelled blood,” he snarls. “And forgot her windows aren’t all sun-proofed.”
I hear him, but his voice is hollow, as if it’s coming through a tunnel. Dripping runes cover every surface of the walls; runes that definitely weren’t there when we went to bed. Adrenaline and sleep war for control of my brain, and my fangs descend involuntarily as my arms tremble with the urge to shift.
“How the fuck?” I hiss. We were sleeping a few feet away. How did someone come into this apartment and paint runes on the wall without any of us noticing?
“Check the door,” Alistair says. “I tried, but the sun... Luca, you’ve got to stay calm until we know what’s going on. They could be nearby.”
His words snap me out of it, and I stride to the door and check the locks. All three are still in place, but the breeze hits me a second before I see the open window. Rushing over to it, I stick my head out, blinking as my eyes adjust. There’s nothing to see besides the assorted brick and stucco buildings being broiled by the morning sun.
“Anything?” Alistair asks, his voice tight.
I glance down, then step back to get a better view. “More runes on the windowsill, but these are different.”
“Let me see,” Celine says, her voice reaching me a second before her hand lands gently on my shoulder.
Pulling back, I step away from the window with my eyes cast down. My basilisk is mostly under control, but neither of us want to risk her. We already failed her by sleeping through a fucking home invasion.
“This rune means open,” Celine says, slamming the window and latching it briskly. “It’s not athatsharune, just a common one, used most often by the guardians. They have a range of minor magical abilities.”
“I’m calling a witch,” Alistair says.
“It won’t matter.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, and he growls. I wince as all the tense, dangerous energy in the room heats to a boiling point.
“I’ll pay, Celine,” Alistair insists. “I don’t care about the cost. Let me help.”
“No! You aren’t listening to me,” she snaps, balling her hands at her sides. “It won’t matter because this is celestial magic. Youcould call ten witches and it wouldn’t fucking matter. It’s like trying to fix an airplane with train parts.”
“I understand that,” Alistair seethes. “But we could at least get a warning when someone enters your apartment, then—magic or no magic—we could kill them.”
I grunt in agreement. Celine’s angry stare digs into the side of my head.
“And that reminds me,” she says. “No more tips at the club. I won’t accept them.”
“What?” Alistair sounds shocked. “Can we discuss this after the skin on my arm grows back? I’m more than happy to have a conversation about your misplaced feminism once we figure out who broke into your godsdamn apartment.”
I wince and step back. He’s frustrated. I am too, but Celine is going to toss him out the window if he keeps this up. Her concern over money may seem random. It makes senses to me, though. I’ve spent years unraveling what makes her tick.
This break-in, the orphaned angels, two guys in her bed—Celine feels out of control. She hates that, so she’ll claw her balance back any way she can. If Alistair gets in her way, she’ll move him, and she won’t be gentle about it.
I need to get them back on task or this could escalate quickly. Running my finger through one of the runes on the wall, I clear my throat. “It’s still wet,” I say, breaking their tense standoff, then sniffing the red liquid. “This isn’t blood.”
I make eye contact with Alistair without thinking, relieved when he doesn’t turn to stone. His face twists into a frustrated scowl, his injured arm hanging stiffly at his side. I can sympathize with him. Hiding my protective instincts from Celine to avoid driving her away is a concept I’m intimately familiar with.
“I smelled blood,” Alistair says. “It woke me, but you’re right, it’s not coming from the walls.”
I nod, then inhale deeply. Smell is my strongest sense, and blood gives off a metallic odor. It’s stronger by the window.
Nudging Celine out of the way, I squat to take a closer look. Sure enough, there are several drops of blood on the latch, as if the intruder cut themselves while climbing in or out. I raise my eyebrows, shocked that this small amount woke Alistair up.
“Found it,” I say, pointing at the latch.
Collecting a little on my finger, I bring it over to the kitchen where Alistair is hunkering in the shadowed corner. He grabs my wrist and smells my hand, then nods.
“This is the blood that woke me,” he confirms. “I’ve never smelled it before, but if I ever smell it again, I’ll recognize it.”
