He scoffs. The sound is bitter. “Are you kidding me? He shook my nightmare off like a piece of lint. The only reason he didn’t notice I wasn’t actually standing in front of him was because you were keeping him busy.”
The door closes. We all jump.
A muscle in my cheek twitches—hedoesn’t belong here. Riven doesn’t deserve an insider view of our dynamic. And he certainly hasn’t earned the right to witness emotions he caused. Staying as long as he did was a gross invasion of our nonexistent privacy.
I’m your jailer.That’s what he keeps telling me, right?I sigh, overwhelmed by bitterness. Riven hasn’t pretended to be anything other than a bad guy. Why did I think there might be something else to find? I’m a fool.
“Is there anything we can do to help him?” Alistair’s voice is ragged.
I reach for him. “Hey,” I whisper. “I missed you.”
Alistair stares at me, then strikes, lifting me until my toes barely scrape the floor. “Angel,” he moans. His voice cracks, tearing the word downthe middle.
With my arms looped around his neck, I bury my nose in his neck and suck in the scent of him.
Alistair’s lips find mine, chapped and desperate.
The first time he kissed me—a lifetime ago in the Fang—I was consumed by his intensity. That’s still there, but as his lips drag against mine, I see beneath the wildness too. Alistair isterrified.
The realization hits me hard, as if I dunked my face in ice water. It makes me want to protect him from his fear, burst into tears, and admit I’m scared too.You can’t do all that, Celine.
I pull back and swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’ll get us out of here,” I say, cursing the wobble in my voice. “I’ll negotiate a new deal with Riven and?—”
“Angel—”
“Or we can try to escape. The tricky part will be getting to the portal, but we’re all together now, so that’s probably our best option?—”
“Breathe, Celine. Please,” Alistair begs. “You won a terrible fight. The next battle can wait.”
My chest shudders. “I don’t think I can,” I admit. “You’re afraid, and it’s my fault.”
Alistair frowns.
Ciprian makes a rough sound low in his throat. “He’s not scared of anything out there, hot wings.”
“I can speak for myself, Casanell.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thanks.” Ciprian narrows his black eyes. Red rimmed, they’re even more bottomless than usual, the pale skin beneath them hollow and bruised.
“Too loud,” Malach mutters. “Luca needs rest.”
“Casanell should sit down and rest too,” Alistair snaps. “There’s a puddle of his blood cooling in the arena as we speak.”
Sighing, I step from the circle of his arms, sit next to Malach on the bed, grab Luca’s hand, and watch the two of them face off.
This confrontation is the latest in a storm that neither of them will allow to blow over.
For a second, I’m able to convince myself that I’m sprawled in my living room watching trash TV. Alistair and Ciprian are the reality stars—armed with enough sexual tension and snark to fuel ten people, but lacking the communication skills to ask where the bathroom is.
On impulse, I link the fingers of my free hand with Malach’s.
“That’s dramaticandinaccurate,” Ciprian drawls. “I had a minor nosebleed. And the blood is definitely frozen by now.”
“Minor? You’ve got to be kidding me. You were completely tapped out, yet you refused to stop.”
