I groan and bury my face in the pillow. “But they’re all dead; there’s no one left to—shit, the blood.” In the chaos, my brain forgot something my body didn’t.
“What?” Celine’s voice is taut. “Tell me about the blood, Alistair.”
I’m reluctant to share this detail, but keeping anything from her will erode the trust we’ve built. I sigh and say, “The blood of the angel on your windowsill didn’t belong to any of the three who attacked me last night. Someone else is here...”
“And until we find them, I’m up to my wings in bossy supernatural men.”
“Exactly how you like it,” I joke.
Celine swats me, but her touch is unusually gentle, as if I’m made of glass. I dislike it. Rolling, I hover above her, supporting my weight with my arms. There’s an aching tug in my gut, but other than that I feel fine. Another sign that Ciprian is powerful.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” Celine scolds, her hands grazing my skin gingerly.
“Worth it.” I kiss her neck, loving how she cants her head to the side to give me better access. “You’re delicious.” I sigh against her throat, the warmth of her skin banishing the lingering chill from the ambush.
“No super speed,” Celine orders. “In fact . . .”
She grabs me, maneuvering me onto my back until our positions are reversed—her thighs spread wide to accommodate my hips.
Annoyed, I frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What?” Celine hisses. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I... You’ll have to do all the work on top,” I complain.
Her lips twitch. “You can do all the work next time,” she promises. “Today, you’ll have to grin and bear it.”
I nod, stifling a moan as she grinds on me. Luca and Ciprian are steps away. This apartment may be as dark as a coffin, but it’s far from soundproof.
“You’ll have to be quiet,” I purr, grinning as her heart rate picks up. “If you were to scream, for example, they would come running.”
Celine kicks her borrowed boxer briefs off, then hovers above me, wearing nothing but my T-shirt and a devious smile. “Oh, I can be quiet. The question is, can you?”
“I’ll do my best, angel. No promises.”
Celine pulls my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. Her gaze falls to my belly, a deep notch digging into the space between her eyes. My new skin is pink and angry, the edges jagged. She traces what’s left of the wound with the pads of her fingers. I shudder.
“Are you really okay?” she asks. “No bullshit, Ali. I won’t tell.”
The nickname slips from her mouth, and my vampiric nature takes notice. It’s a basic thing, but I feel claimed by the familiarity. By her concern for me too. I want all of her.
“I’m okay, Celine. I swear it.” Desperate to shut my own mouth before it can ruin everything, I kiss her hard, then scrape my fangs across the graceful curve of her neck. My bite mark is fully healed, and I want to put it back. I’ve never drunk from a lover. Until her. Now, it’s all I can think about.
“I was scared last night,” Celine whispers. She runs her fingers over my stomach, my chest, and my shoulders—planting kisses of her own with lips softer than mine will ever be.
Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of my own beating heart and every place she’s touching me. The admission couldn’t have been easy for her. Fear is a weakness; it’s a crack in her armor. Blood pumping, I dive in headfirst before she can shoreit up.
“I was too,” I admit, burying my hands in her tangled hair and rewarding her vulnerability with my own, even though it galls me to admit to the weakness. “I was freezing. I thought,this is it. I wasn’t strong enough. Then Ciprian appeared. I could barely believe it.”
Tears well up in Celine’s eyes, and her wings droop around us until the tips graze the bedspread. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“You have nothing to apologize for, angel.”
I reach for the hem of the shirt I cut up for her, and she grabs my wrist. “I want to keep it on,” she says, looking at the faded fabric. “Let me ride you while I wear nothing but the shirt you gave me.”
