“Only an extrovert could come up with something that stupid.” She glances again at the stairs, then yanks the top case open and pulls out another helmet, slamming it viciously into my gut. “Get on and shut up. I mean it, Ciprian. You’ve got to be quiet.”
“I can do that,” I say. “You don’t even have to take me seriously.” Bile rises in the back of my throat as I repeat what Alistair said. Celine revs the engine, and I choke it down, straddling her bike and shoving the helmet on before she can hop the curb or run me over.
In the next breath, we’re off. My heart leaps into my throat as she takes the curve too fast and we lose the rear tire for a heart-stopping second. We’re supernatural and sturdy as fuck, but a high-speed crash would kill us both—fast healing or not.
With my hands gripping her hips, I hold on for dear life and do my best not to scream. If Celine wants quiet, that’s what she’ll get. Maybe it will help her drive. When we hit trafficon the freeway, I say a prayer of thanks. Am I grateful for rush hour? That’s embarrassing as—fuck, my relief was premature.
She’s a lane-splitter.
Every hair on my body stands up. I want to close my eyes, but I’m too godsdamn pragmatic. If a turn comes up, I’ll need to lean, or leap clear of the fiery wreckage if she loses control.
A trickle of someone else’s fear hits me as Celine veers around a big truck, clearing the chrome grille with only two inches to spare. I soak it in, enjoying the snack and the temporary kinship with all the other poor fucks she’s scaring to death. My fear tank is nicely topped off by the time we exit—a testament to how recklessly she’s driving.
While I’m scared shitless, I’m also oddly at peace. Somehow, the idea that we could end up pinned to a cactus or wrapped around a bridge abutment is freeing. It’ll be my own fault, at least, since I decided to climb on the back of her bike.
I wanted to know where Celine was going, but I didn’t do it for the enclave or Dad or even myself. I did it because I was worried about her. Letting her take off—alone and upset—was too much for me to stomach.
When we slow down to weave through a grid of narrower residential streets, I squint in confusion at the road signs, then laugh. We’re only a couple of minutes from Celine’s apartment. That death-defying, law-breaking race against our own mortality was completely and utterly pointless.
What a woman.I’m proud of her for putting me through the paces,although she might not have been trying to scare me at all. Pressed tightly against mine, her body is twice as relaxed as it was when we started this ride. Something tells me she needed this.
Celine parks next to Luca’s car, tugs her helmet off and hangs it on the handlebars. “You don’t see anything,” she says. “You don’t hear anything, and if you even think about asking a question?—”
“You’ll drive off a bridge with me tied to the front of the motorcycle.”
“No. I wouldn’t risk my bike like that.” She blinks at me, a smile tilting the corner of her mouth up. “I’d toss you off myself.”
“Got it,” I say, following her to the home ahead.
Celine knocks, and a good-looking older woman opens the door. She’s visibly frazzled, and her eyes narrow as she spots me. “Who is this?”
“He’s with me,” Celine says. My chest puffs up. After being relegated to a couch for the first time in my life, then mostly ignored by the occupants of her apartment, it’s nice to be claimed. Even in this minor way.
“If you vouch for him, that’s enough for me,” the woman says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I’m Harry.”Ah, this is the mythical Harry I’ve heard so much about.
I return the gesture, dipping my head respectfully and noticing her long dark nails. “I’ve heard nothing but good things,” I say, deciding to risk Celine’s wrath by responding. I was raised to be polite, and some instincts don’t die easily.
Harry chuckles, but it’s too brittle to be genuine. “Bunch of liars, all of them,” she mutters, leading us into the house and closing the door.
Luca is inspecting the windows. Wide and squat, they’re multi-paned and low to the ground. He’s bent over when we walk in, and he doesn’t turn around to greet us. I slant a glance at Celine, but she’s avoiding him too.Trouble in paradise?
“Luca told me you would be here as soon as you could,” Harry says to Celine. “Thank you for coming. It’s pretty chaotic back there.”
She points her strangely curved fingernail at a closed door. It’s as old as the rest of the house, stained a rich cherry color and scuffed along the bottom, like it gets closed by careless, swinging feet more than gentle hands.
“Do you want me to talk to them?” Celine asks, shifting her weight and ignoring the thanks.
“If you don’t mind. Anika’s English is incredible—exactly as you said it would be—but some things are hard to explain because of her age.”
Celine nods and visibly straightens her spine, shrugging out of her leather jacket and handing it to me. “This conversation calls for the wings,” she says to no one in particular. A beat later, they pop through the holes in her shirt, fluffy, white, and ridiculously soft and sexy.
During my last text conversation with Sheena, I told her I was developing a Pavlovian reaction to feathers, and I’m starting to think the joke might’ve been a little too real.
“Stay here,” Celine orders me.
I dip my chin, happy to follow her orders and figure out what crawled up Luca’s ass and died while I’m at it. Celine and Harry step through the door to the adjoining room, giving me a glimpse of enough supernatural children to make my back sweat before they close it firmly behind them.
“Is she okay?” Luca’s voice is rough. Given his cold shoulder and her hot anger, I’m convinced he’s the reason Celine tore out of the apartment like her feet were on fire.
