We trail after him, Luca grabbing the trashcan full of puke sheepishly.
I scowl. “Leave it.”
“That seems rude,” he whispers.
“It’s ruder to bring it along. Shit, Luca, it’s not your emotional support vomit.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll leave it here to ferment.”
“Stop.” I cover my mouth. “Or I’ll be sick.”
“This conversation is vile,” Alistair says. His skin is paler than I’ve seen it in a while, with a green tinge that makes it clear Luca isn’t the only one shaken by our rocky arrival.
I ignore him and glance over my shoulder. “Are you okay, Malach?”
He’s standing by the glass wall, wings spread wide. At first glance, he looks like a statue, except every feather is trembling.Shit.Malach is so stoic. It’s easy to forget he’s got weaknesses like everyone else. He’s been rattled all night.
Waving the others on, I snag Alistair’s discarded blanket from the arm of the couch and walk to Malach’s side. “Are you cold?” I offer him the blanket, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.
I consider about ten different things to say and decide to be quiet instead. Malach is either chewing something over or getting chewed up. Either way, when he comes out of this, I don’t want him to find himself alone in a strange house.
I drape the blanket over his shoulders and wait.
Ten minutes pass before his green eyes flutter wildly. His fingers grip the blanket’s edge before he notices me standing beside him. “I’m sorry?—”
I pat him on the back. “Don’t be. It’s been a long night.” Malach hangs his head and wrinkles his nose. “If you keep making faces, you’ll get wrinkles,” I tell him. “My mom always told me to ‘explore creative expression’ through my nightmares and not my face. Illusions were limitless in the Casanell household, but skincare was mandatory.”
“Your family magic is powerful,” Malach says. “I could tell when you saved Alistair.”
I rock back on my heels. “Nightmare legacy to uphold. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Malach studies me, then looks out into the bitter night. “There’s always a choice. I suspect you worked just as hard to develop your nightmares as Celine and I did in the ring.”
I blink, but my memories won’t be ignored.
Blood dripping from my nose. Crawling into bed with an ice pack on my forehead to dull the endless headaches. Wanting to cry, but worrying someone might hear and think me even more unworthy of the Casanell name.
Did I work hard? Sometimes I think I’d be dead if I’d worked any harder. First, because I was terrified I would never be as strong or as brave as Callum. Then, when he manifested as an incubus, I worked harder still—desperate to cushion my parents’ disappointment and keep their negative attention off Cal. So he wouldn’t leave.
Except it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. And then I was alone.
“Motivation is complicated, isn’t it?” I study the jagged rock face to our left. Irregular pockmarks scar the surface. Imperfections in the mineral structure, maybe? If I closed my eyes right now, I could create it from memory in someone else’s mind.
Malach sighs, then pulls the blanket off his shoulders and folds it methodically. “There’s nothing more complex,” he murmurs. “I used to be confident about my judgment. One look inside a person and I thought I knew them. The older I get, the more unsure I am. The only thing I’m certain of now is that everyone changes.”
I glance over my shoulder, then back at Malach. “Can we trust him?”
The creases reappear on his nose. “Tonight, yes. Tomorrow, who knows?”
Footsteps clatter behind us. “What are you two doing?” Luca demands.
“I felt sick.” I shrug. “Malach stayed with me so I wouldn’t be lonely.”
“Shit, I would have stayed if you’d asked. Are you okay?” The brief flicker of guilt I feel as Luca’s face creases with worry disappears when I see Malach’s obvious relief.
“No, we’re coming.”
Luca grabs the trash can, darts around the corner, and a toilet flushes. “Thank the gods,” I whisper. “I was scared there wouldn’t be any plumbing.”
