Luca’s face fills my field of vision. He’s all I see. Hazel eyes, dark eyebrows, his lip ring trapped between his teeth. Alive and here with me. He’s beautiful.
To my horror, I burst into tears.
“No, Celine. Don’t cry,” Luca chokes and gathers me against his chest. I’m wrapped in something soft. As I snuggle closer, fur grazes my inner arm. “Are you warm enough?” he asks, wiping tears from my cheeks as if they’re going to freeze there if he waits too long.
“C-Ciprian,” I sob.
“I’m here, Celine.”
Luca drops one of his arms, and Ciprian surges in to fill the space. Sandwiched between them, as close to the fire as possible, my tears fall even faster. They blur my vision, but something about the cell is different. I blink to get a better look, but I’m fighting a losing battle.
“Ciprian?”
“Yeah, hot wings?” His voice is scratchy. He’s finding it as difficult to speak as I am.
“The birdcage . . .”
“We upgraded. Bigger bed, a bath?—”
“And a shower?”
“Yep.”
“I need one,” I whisper. Covered with mud and grime from the arena, I’m so filthy I want to crawl out of my own skin.
“It might sting,” Luca says. “You were hypothermic, baby.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I killed a giant flesh-eating eel monster today. I think I can handle some hot water.”
Five minutes later, I’m singing a different tune.
“Ow,” I hiss.
“I told you?—”
I clamp my hand over Luca’s mouth and cower away from the boiling water.
We decided to start with a shower so I can step in and out of the spray until I warm up. After that, I’ll soak in the tub, which Ciprian is currently fiddling with. He hasn’t managed to turn the water on yet, and from the muttered curses coming from his direction, it’s not going well.
“Everything okay over there?” Luca asks.
“There are seven knobs,” Ciprian snarls. “I’m trying to run a bath, not decode a fucking bomb. Who designed this?”
Luca smirks at me, his lips curling until a cute little line brackets his mouth. “Have you tried turning them all on at once?”
“Of course,” Ciprian snaps, lifting his head to glare at Luca. The expression fades to slack-jawed wonder as he takes us in. “I tried that first.”
“Left to right?”
“Mmhmm.” Ciprian scrapes his hand over his chin. My skin pebbles.
“I’ll come take a look.” Luca kisses my cheek and steps out of the shower, leaving me to acclimate to the water at my own pace.
The shower doesn’t have a curtain or door. With a floor made of glass-smooth black stone that slopes in the middle, the water drains through a grate in the center. It’s surprisingly nice for a prison cell.
Gritting my teeth, I stick my calf under the lukewarm water and wait for the pins and needles to go away.
“Don’t push yourself,” Luca says without turning around.
