Enclave Edict #13:
All supernaturals are entitled to equal representation.
CIPRIAN
I want to crawl into the obscenely large bed and never get out, but I’m covered in grime. Since I can’t fathom exposing the clean linens to my filth, I duck into the shower and hope Sheena’s wishes are more trained in plumbing than she is.
The spray hits my back, hot and perfect, and I close my eyes.
The ground comes at me fast—Malach tossing me into the portal a fraction of a second before he slammed into the icy rock. I heard a crack, then it was lights out. I didn’t witness the showdown with S’lach or hear Malach tell Celine he’d been working with her father all along.
All this for revenge? It sounds impossible, but the facts are damning.
Celine doesn’t want to believe him. I don’t blame her, but I am worried. She’s got a reckless streak to match mine. I don’t know how far she’ll go to prove Malach’s innocence. She could chase the memory of who she wants him to be into an early grave, and that terrifies me.
The ground comes at me again; blood and rapidly cooling monster guts smeared in all directions. I remember the sick churning in my belly as we fell, the prickling in my palms as terror consumed me.Enough.I force my eyes open and stare at the tiled shower wall until the neat lines of grout blur.
The door opens, and I shuffle over as Luca steps in beside me. His hazel eyes are bloodshot, and the circles beneath them are so dark they could easily be mistaken for bruises.
“How’s she doing?” I tap the skin over his heart.
He slumps. “Have you ever seen a tornado?”
I wince. “That’s not great.”
He drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “I thought...” he sighs. “Shit, Ciprian, I thought if we could get away from that fucked-up realm, that everything would be okay. And now she’s spiraling, we still can’t go home, and that son of a bitch is still roaming around, alive and well.”
“I know.” I grab the shampoo, squirt some into my palm, and lather his hair up. It’s stiff with grit and gods know what else.
Luca relaxes against me. “Your brother,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you were close.” There’s a question buried in there. He’s not asking outright, giving me an opportunity to answer or deflect. It’s indirect, but I’m growing to appreciate their Fringe-coded way of checking in. It’salmost sweet.
“We aren’t,” I admit, wincing at the pang in my gut. “Or we weren’t. Sheena changed things for us, I guess. We’re working on it.”
Luca grunts. “He’s hot.”
“Why does everyone feel the need to tell me that?” I hiss.
Luca chuckles and kisses my neck. “Major oldest child energy, though, which has never been my thing.”
“Yeah?” I tug him under the spray to rinse the shampoo from his hair.
“I prefer brats.” He nibbles on his lip ring and watches me from heavily lidded eyes. “Competent brats, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I deadpan.
“And only children, too.” He winks. “Celine, Alistair—anyone who’s never had to share their toys before. Something about the push and pull does it for me.”
“Uh huh.” I hide my smile and dump shampoo on my head.
“How are you handling being back here?” Luca asks.
I freeze with my fingers buried in my hair. So much for Fringe avoidance—that wasn’t indirect at all. He lulled me into a false sense of complacency. I should have known.
Shrugging, I deflect. “This room didn’t exist two hours ago, Luca.”
“Ciprian.”
I groan. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a little overwhelmed. Sheena, Callum, and Gideon are my family. I want you all to get along, but if there’s friction, what can I do about it?”
