On the third day, we’re all losing it.
“Let’s play a game,” Ciprian says.
From his spot brooding against the wall, Alistair rolls his eyes. “I’ll pass.”
“Because you have something better to do?”
Alistair smirks at me. “I can think of many better things to do.”
“Celine and Luca don’t count as things to do,” Ciprian snaps.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. The tension has been building since the night Luca woke up. With no outside stimulus to focus on, I can’t keep my mind from imagining what could have happened if we’d taken it further.
Luca pauses in his daily pacing and glances at Ciprian. “Why do I feel like you’re about to suggest truth or dare?”
Ciprian frowns. “I wasn’t.”
“Liar.”
“What game do you want to play?” Malach asks.
I hide a shiver. Ever since Luca’s dirty talk idea, his voice has been doing things to me.
Ciprian shrugs. “I don’t know. Anything really. Two truths and a lie, would you rather, never have I ever.”
“With all magic blocked, it would even the playing field,” Luca says.
“I don’t need magic to win.” I smirk, then look at my nails and wince. The paint is flaking off in big chunks, leaving irregularly shaped maroon islands behind. “I wish we’d bargained for a nail kit.”
Ciprian grins. “That’s a great start. Would you rather have a hot shower or a manicure?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh boy, how is a girl to choose? The shower, obviously.”
“Malach,” Luca says. “Would you rather fight three hundred bees or five angry tigers?”
“Do I have a weapon?”
“A sword.”
Malach winces. “Better go with the tigers, then. Not sure what good my sword would do against flying insects.”
Ciprian shudders. “The roaches in my apartment are going to be out of control when we get back. They’ll drag me to their hive and sacrifice me to their queen as soon as I open the door.”
Malach raises one eyebrow and looks at Alistair. “Would you rather remain hungry or ask someone here to share their blood with you?”
Silence falls on the room.
Alistair shoves off the wall, and his eyes flash red. The rest of his face is pale and lined with exhaustion. He looks tired, but we all do, so I didn’t think anything of it.When was the last time he fed?Maybe I should have noticed, but Malach is right: Alistair should have said something.
“Godsdammit, Ali,” Luca mutters.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he insists.
“Are you thirsty?”
“Why do you automatically assume he’s right?” Alistair crosses his arms. “It’s a game, Malach could be trying to?—”
“Push you to admit you’ve got a problem,” I say, mirroring his position.
