I sink deep into the squat, making sure my chest stays up and my knees don’t overextend. The tug on my thighs and glutes is familiar and reassuring.Ninety-nine. One hundred.
Twenty burpees come next. As my heart rate picks up, I focus on the cool, smooth texture of the rock floor against my palms.
I’m alive.
I’m making progress.
They’re alive.
They’re... Fuck, this is where the whole mental and physical exercise falls apart.
I drop to my belly and rest my cheek on my hands.
I’m not so fussy that I won’t touch the floor to work out, but I’m not about to rub my face on it. Nothing about Riven’s nonexistent cleaning regime leads me to believe that would be a good idea. After a good mopping, maybe.
No, Celine. Find a better coping mechanism.
A strand of hair falls in front of my face, and I sigh.
Attempting this bond with Luca is a no-brainer to me, and his resistancestings. I can admit that to myself. The way I see it, it’s the same as when Alistair was blood-sick and I stuck my wrist in his mouth. I didn’t know the full implications then either, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed my decision.
I’m a decisive person. I follow my gut, and it rarely steers me wrong. Beyond that, I trust Luca. We love each other—there’s no part of me that doubts that—so why doesn’t he trust himself?Maybe it’s you he doesn’t trust.
I do burpees until my panting drowns out the unwelcome thought.
The binding sounds permanent. Is that why he’s worried? If he’s not sure about being with me forever, I would understand that, but we’re already locked in the blood circle with Alistair. Even if our relationships fell apart, there’s no reality where Luca or I or even Ciprian would let Ali starve.
I’m not scared of forever. Only its opposite.
I don’t want to lose any of them. Being forced to grieveagain—that’s my real fear.
If I could enter into a magical agreement with all four of them, I would do it. My blood? Take it. Pain? I’m ready. Rejection, though? I didn’t expect that. Not from Luca.
Is this how Malach felt after I left? Like fighting my father’s rule was too daunting for me, and he wasn’t enough to make it worth it?Fuck. That wasn’t my intention.I knew I wasn’t strong enough to fight S’lach and win. But I made Malach lose me so I wouldn’t lose him in a worse way.
And now he’s slipping away all over again.
His quiet isn’t watchful anymore; it’s absent. And the headache excuse? I mean, I believe he had one. Any idiot could see he was in real pain, but angels don’t collapse after a day or twowithout water. Something else is going on. Something he doesn’t want to tell me.
And I can’t even get mad about it, because I left him.Snap out of it. This isn’t helpful.
Groaning, I spread my fingers wide and do a push-up. One. Two. Six. Twelve. I do push-ups until my biceps beg me to stop. Then I do more, pushing myself off the floor until my trembling muscles rebel.
They collapse. I brace for my chest to hit the dirty floor, but it never does.
Strong hands grip my hips and tug me upright. Long, lean fingers slide under my shirt, and I wince. It’s plastered to my sweaty skin.
“What’s next?” Alistair asks. “Jumping jacks? Walking lunges? I’m ready, angel.”
I force a laugh and shake my arms out. “I think I’m done.”
He looks me over carefully. “Only if you’re sure.”
“Uh huh.” My eyes roll. “As if that wasn’t your plan all along.”
“Me?” He presses his hand to his heart. “I never plan. I go with the flow.”
I blink at him. “Are you drunk?”
