I want to scream—but I can’t even do that, because it would cause a scene. I peer at the houses around us and consider letting one rip, anyway. If my wings would go away, I might risk it, but I’m too recognizable with them out.
Ciprian bends to examine a spindly cactus growing from a crack in the sidewalk, then hums softly as he continues to amble along at my side. I narrow my eyes at him. He saved Alistair, and I still can’t figure out his motives.
“You have nothing to say?” I demand, fearing I may lose it if the only voice I’m subjected to is the one screaming inside my head.
“Oh, hot wings, I have plenty to say.” Ciprian looks at me and winks. “But I got the impression this was a rampage ramble.”
“What the fuck is a rampage ramble?” Can’t he tell I have no patience for vague bullshit right now?
“You know—a walk where you purge your pissed off, frustrated, sometimes illogical thoughts all at once with no consequences. You air them out to a friend and relieve the pressure so they don’t accidentally come out sideways and bite you... or someone else.”
“You’re not my friend,” I point out, then stiffen as my magical core sends a stinging wave of pain along my skin.That was a lie?The last thing I need is a new friend. I can’t even protect the ones I have. My heart beats faster in my chest, and the itch migrates to the middle of my back where I have no chance of reaching it.
“Maybe not,” Ciprian says with a shrug. “But I could be today. I promise not to judge.”
I let a sliver of my magic out, my runes barely visible in the bright sunlight as I test his intent.No signs of deception.He means it. I frown. That’s so... strange.
I try to vanish my wings again, groaning when they stubbornly stay put. Ciprian doesn’t comment. I sigh. Am I really about to confide in him? He’s practically a stranger.Or a new friend.
“I am pissed off,” I admit, kicking a chunky piece of gravel with all my strength. It flies across the street, hits the side of a house, and sends up a small cloud of dust on impact.
“Be specific,” Ciprian encourages. “What’s making you feel that way?”
“Fucking everything,” I hiss. “These kids are popping up left and right. I can’t even pick up groceries without expecting to find a winged toddler in my cart. And my dad—he’s a complete and total sack of shit. I know he’s trying to kill me, but the kids don’t fit with his methods. It doesn’t make any sense, and that pisses me off more.”
Ciprian nods. “Like you’re overlooking something that would bring order to the chaos.”
“Yes!” I throw my hands up. “Exactly that. And everyone expects me to have an answer for the orphans. Just because we’re all angels doesn’t make them my problem. I left the celestial realm behind, and I’m on birth control; I don’t want to adopt fifty kids.”
“Of course you don’t,” Ciprian says with a shudder. “That’s grotesque. What else?”
“I’ll tell you what else,” I snarl, pivoting to face him. “Alistair, Luca, even you—you all look at me like an expensive steak you want to sink your teeth into. I’m not a hunk of meat. And it takes me time to understand my feelings. Some of us don’t wake up every morning with perfect emotional clarity.”
“May I point something out?” Ciprian asks.
I shoot him a warning glare, then nod shortly. “If you must.”
“I think you’re more comfortable with people looking at you like a piece of meat than you are when they look at you like something else.”
I scoff. “You’re full of shit.”
Ciprian shrugs, unbothered by my hostility. “Maybe. But it seems to bother you more when they look at you like you’re on a shrine rather than the dinner table.”
“What’s the difference?” I whisper, my wings drooping to graze the ground. “It doesn’t matter if I’m on a plate or a pedestal, I’m still an object to them.”
“Hmm, you could be right about that.” Ciprian nudges my shoulder with his, his tone forcefully cheerful. “But you can’t know for sure if you only tackle it during a rampage ramble.”
“For the record, though, you’re just Celine to me. Angry, more walls than a labyrinth, witty but sometimes cruel, and painfully hot. You’re interesting because you aren’t perfect or shitty—you’re everything in between.”
“Do you think I’m overreacting?” I ask, trying to make sense of his speech. It was convoluted, but not a single word rang false.
“I think you’re just reacting.” Ciprian nudges me again and grins. “Give them room to do the same, yeah? No one has a playbook.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” I ask, trying to rile him up one last time. I feel way better, and I don’t know how he managed it.
Ciprian stares at me, and a weird expression crosses his face. “I’m not smart; I’m a fuckup. I have a lot of miles of rampagerambles racked up. If there were a reward program, I’d be in platinum.”
Frowning, I study him more closely. There’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. I want to ask why he thinks he’s a fuckup, but I don’t get the chance.
