Page 38 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

Dante can barely stay awake to give me directions to his manor. Luckily, I am somewhat familiar with where Lake Peony is located. It’s just a matter of keeping Dante conscious enough to point out his house.

Between his semi-conscious state and my fae strength, we were able to get him up on Thora’s back, and now I ride with Dante slumped over my back, while his horse follows. We are both wounded, but his injuries are worse, and I can feel his blood seeping into my clothes.

Finally, emerging from the shadows, we come upon a clearing where Dante’s manor stands bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The manor rises before us, its walls, adorned with ivy and climbing roses. The moon’s glow casts dancing shadows upon the cobblestone path that winds its way to the grand entrance. In any other situation, I’d have the inclination to appreciate the manor’s rustic charm and regal sophistication. But in this moment, there is no time. I need to be able to get him inside, to keep us out of sight from whoever might be pursuing us, and try to heal Dante’s injuries.

It takes some effort to dismount, and I almost drop him to the ground. I wrap his arm around my shoulders and allow him to lean on me as we follow the path. His strides falter with each step, his injuries slowing our progress. I cast worried glances at him, noting the lines of pain etched upon his face, but he presses on with a determined resolve. We approach the sturdy door and turn the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

“There, beneath that stone.” Dante’s voice is weak. “A key I leave for the housekeeper.”

I lean him against the door as I fetch the key, then I hold him steady as I get the door open. As we step inside, the scent of polished wood and lavender fills the air, enveloping us in a comforting embrace. I settle Dante on the first seat I can make out in the dark, an armchair made of leather. Once I’m convinced he won’t fall out of it, I search for a gas lantern to give us light.

When the room is finally illuminated, I quickly take in my surroundings. The interior of the manor is no less impressive, its spacious rooms adorned with rich tapestries and plush furnishings. A grand fireplace stands at the heart of the main hall. Despite its grandeur, there is a sense of coziness and intimacy that permeates every corner.

Now that I can see, I’m able to light a few candles so I can examine the extent of Dante’s injuries. He winces, and the hand he uses to grasp his chest is drenched in crimson. His features are softened by the flickering candlelight. Mud and blood cling to our clothes and skin. Dante’s chest heaves with exertion, and there’s a crimson stain spreading across his shirt where blood seeps from a deep gash.

I fetch a basin of water and tear a strip of cloth from a sheet I find, soaking it in the cool liquid before gently dabbing at his wound. I remove his shirt, careful not to extend his wound. The water turns red as I cleanse away the dirt and blood, revealing the raw flesh beneath. Despite my best efforts to remain composed, my heart pounds with fear as I realize how close he came to death. The wound is deep, dangerously close to his heart, and I can’t help but feel a surge of panic at the sight of it. The cut is wider than I thought, but it’s the depth of it that concerns me.

I set down the cloth and try my healing magic first.

Gently placing my hands upon his injury, I call upon my fae powers of healing. My magic isn’t enough to completely heal him, but it can mend him enough so that he doesn’t bleed out.

“The rest will have to be done the hard way.” I dip my hands in the basin to wash the blood off.

“Feels a bit better,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Well, I’m afraid the next part is going to hurt like hell.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

The gash needs to be sewn, but I don’t want to frighten him. Elevating his heart rate might start the blood to flow heavily again. Scanning my surroundings, I search for something to dull the pain. When I spot the bottle of brandy on the sideboard, I rush toward it. When I return to him, I’m discouraged by the amount of blood that seeps from the wound. I can’t waste time searching when he can just tell me where to find the supplies I need.

“Dante, do you have a needle and thread?” I shove the bottle in his hand.

He eyes me with skepticism. “Kitchen drawer. I’m guessing it can’t be avoided?”

“What’s the matter?” I tease. “Afraid of a little needle?”

He lets out a chuckle, then immediately winces, bending slightly to the side.

I rush to get the sewing supplies, then set them down beside him. I grab the bottle from him and open it. “Drink.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t hesitate, downing about five gulps before extending the bottle to me.

I splash some brandy on the needle, hoping the liquid makes it sterile enough, and then swallow some myself. My nerves are a wreck, and I need to steady myself somehow.

I shake my head and hand the bottle back to him. “You’re going to need more than that.”

He complies, nearly emptying the bottle.

I blow out a shaky breath, and it takes me a minute to thread the needle. Once it’s ready, I kneel on the floor beside Dante’s chair. It’s difficult to access the wound without getting close, so I nudge myself between his legs.

Dante’s gaze darkens as he watches me.

I place my hand on his exposed skin, positioning the needle. “Try not to move too much.”

I pierce his torn flesh, and he hisses.

“Don’t go weak on me now,” I say, trying to keep him alert.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “You fucking pirate.”

I smirk, despite the sheen of sweat coating my brow.

After a minute, he peeks at my progress. “I think he missed my heart.”

“Not a hard feat, considering you don’t have one.”

When I glance up at him, his eyes are filled with longing. “You saved me. I guess you don’t hate me after all.”

“I never said I hated you.”

“But you did threaten to stab me.” The corner of his mouth inches upward. “You must be disappointed that someone else beat you to it.”

I almost laugh, but the direness of the situation sobers me. The wound is sewn shut to the best of my ability, but it needs to be bandaged. I scoot back and tear strips of cloth from the sheet, then return to my spot between his legs.

“I’ll need to wrap it.” My voice is so low and soft, I’m not sure he hears me.

Nodding, he shifts his upper body enough so I can get the strip of cloth behind his back. My arms encircle him as I wind the cloth around his torso. The movement brings our bodies together once, twice, and a third time as I bind his wound. Our eyes lock as I work. Every time our skin touches, it’s as if a small current of lightning charges through my body.

“My healing magic is still working, but the stitches help. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

I tuck the cloth into itself and begin to lean back on my heels, but he places his hands on my arms, and I freeze.

A moment passes between us, the silence so loud, it impales my heart.

“Dante—”

“Yes?” he whispers .

His stare is overwhelming. I force myself to back away, and my gaze drops to my clothes. “I need to wash up. This mud is caked on. And I should probably check myself for injuries.”

Is that disappointment on his face?

“There’s a washroom down the hall,” he says. “And extra clothes in the bedroom.”

I push myself to my feet and nod. “Thank you.”

Despite the pull I feel to stay by his side, I make it to the washroom without faltering. While I clean myself, my mind becomes overloaded with questions.

How did Torbin get involved with the Shadow Tsar?

How long has this been going on?

Has he been responsible for all the carnoraxis attacks?

How could he betray his own kingdom? His own family?

Does the king have a clue that Torbin has become a monster?

A small part of me still hangs onto the hope that Torbin is under a spell of some kind, but my heart is telling me that what we witnessed is his true nature, finally revealed. My head spins from the uncertainty, and my heart aches from the treachery. Either way, this betrothal will do nothing for my land if the Shadow Tsar is controlling Torbin. Delasurvia is doomed.

Unless I can convince the king to cut ties with his son. But then the king would probably carry through with his promise to sire an heir himself.

The impossibility of the whole ordeal exhausts me to no end.

Once I’ve gotten all the mud off my skin and out of my hair, I dry off and wrap a towel around myself. My bare feet pad across the hall to a door I presume is Dante’s bedchamber.

I step quietly into the room, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Shadows stretch across the space, revealing the elegant yet understated furnishings. A grand four-poster bed dominates the middle of the room, its dark, wooden frame carved with intricate designs that catch the faint light filtering in from the hallway. Heavy curtains hang around the bed, partially drawn, their deep-burgundy fabric adding to the room’s somber atmosphere. A large wardrobe stands against one wall, its doors slightly ajar, and beside it, a dresser and a small writing desk with neatly arranged papers and a quill. A tall, ornate mirror stands in the corner, and a nearby plush armchair and a low table create a cozy nook. The room feels both intimate and imposing, a reflection of Dante himself.

I cross to the dresser and pull open one of the drawers. The shirts I find inside are all folded neatly, stacked impeccably one on top of the other. I take one from the pile and lift it to my face. I don’t know what drives me to smell it, but once the scent fills my nostrils, I close my eyes and let the bergamot and sandalwood settle within me.

I can’t deny that Dante fascinates me. He challenges me, pushing me off of familiar ground, and forcing me to confront parts of myself I’d rather keep hidden. And yet, despite the friction between us, there’s an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull that I can’t seem to resist.

“You haven’t abandoned me, have you?” Dante’s voice floats to me from the front room.

I pull the shirt away quickly and clear my throat. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

I hurry to dress, Dante’s shirt hanging to my thighs, then rake my damp hair back from my face before exiting the room.

When I reach Dante, the bottle of brandy is empty.

His eyes take me in from head to toe. “You look good in my clothes.”

Heat flares through me, but I pretend to ignore his words. “How’s the bandage?”

“It’s holding.”

“You probably shouldn’t move too much.”

“Pity. I can think of a few activities I could engage in right now, and they all require a generous amount of movement.”

I bite back a laugh. “You need rest. We both do.”

“My bed’s big enough for the two of us.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll sleep on the couch. We don’t know if we’ve been followed, and I have a better shot at fighting off the enemy if I’m out here. ”

“As you wish, Commander.” He shifts to stand but freezes instantly and clenches his teeth.

I rush to his side. “Let me help you.”

I lean into him and hang his arm over my shoulders.

“I could convince you to, you know?” he says as he gets to his feet. His steps are careful, his body a bit stiff.

“Convince me to what?”

“To share my bed.”

“You mean use your siren powers on me.”

His eyes are hooded, and his lips are curled into a smirk. “Or simply my charm.”

“And I could dig my fingers into your wound, rip the stitches right out.”

He scoffs, but his smile remains. “That mouth.”

We enter his room, draped in darkness, and I manage to settle him onto the armchair. I crouch down and remove his boots, setting them aside.

“Don’t forget my trousers,” he says.

I can’t read his expression in the dark, but he must sense my hesitation.

“I’m not about to ruin my sheets with this mud.”

I press my lips together. “Fine.”

I unbutton his trousers, and a flash of heat courses through me. He winces when he lifts his body enough for me to slide his trousers down, and I force myself to avert my gaze when his underwear comes with them. With my eyes locked with his, he gives me an amused smirk.

I make a point to keep my focus above his shoulders as I assist him in standing and shifting to the bed, but the feel of his solid, muscular body leaning on me feels so welcoming, it’s a battle to stick to my plan.

Once he’s covered with the duvet, I take a step back. He settles, letting out a small grunt, but the wincing has diminished.

“I’m going to start a fire and hang our clothes near the hearth,” I say, barely able to make out his features in the dark. “I’ll leave the door open. Call out if you need anything.” I turn and head for the bedroom door .

“I do have a heart, you know,” he says just as I’m about to step into the hall. “Perhaps I hadn’t realized it myself, until you showed up at the castle.”

My breath hitches. There’s a fluttering in my stomach that almost makes me return to his side. “The brandy’s made you delirious. Get some rest.”

Before he can respond, I quickly turn away and escape to the couch, but I’m not certain I’ll be able to sleep with his words burning in my mind.

My mother’s dagger slices into my chest. A thundering erupts in my heart, and a tingling sensation flows through me until it shrinks to the spot I was stabbed and disappears. My eyes pop open, my body flooded with adrenaline from the nightmare.

Fog surrounds me, obscuring my vision. A chill shudders through me, making my teeth rattle.

Shit. Ezra’s powder was ruined when Dante and I hid in the muddy swamp, and with the situation with Torbin exacerbating my anxiety, my night wandering has led me out into the middle of nowhere. I can’t see where I am, and I don’t know which way will lead me back to Dante’s manor.

A howl fills the air, making me whip around. The only thing I can make out in the heavy mist is a faint, golden glow.

I wrap my arms around myself, holding the material of Dante’s shirt tighter against my body.

What the hell is that glow?

Another howl cuts through the silence. And as the glow draws closer, I shift into a defensive stance, steeling myself for whatever is approaching me.

“Celeste.”

The sensation of Dante’s hand enveloping mine pulls me back from the edge of darkness, grounding me in the present moment. There’s a warmth in his touch that seeps through my veins, soothing the turmoil that churns within me. I feel a rush of relief flood over me, knowing that he is there beside me, guiding me back to safety.

He pulls me against his form, and I feel the bandage on his bare chest. He’s not only managed to pull on trousers, but somehow found me in the fog.

As he leads me through the cool, night air, his touch is gentle yet firm, a reassuring anchor in the midst of uncertainty. With each step we take together, I feel the weight of my worries begin to lift, replaced by a sense of calm that settles deep within my soul.

When we finally reach the shelter of his manor, he releases me, only to shut the door. Then he takes my hand again and guides me down the hall. When we reach his bedchamber, I plant my feet, part of me wanting to protest.

“What are we doing?”

He rubs his thumb over my hand, his eyes penetrating mine. “I need to be sure you won’t wander again.”

I let out a shuddered breath and nod.

Without another word, he guides me to the bed. The covers are already pulled back, and he slides into them, urging me to follow. I lie beside him, turning my back to his chest, and he pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me protectively. There is solace in the warmth of his embrace, in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against my back.

Cocooned in the safety of his arms, I allow his presence to ease the restless stirrings of my mind. A sense of peace gradually washes over me, chasing away the nightmare that led me astray.

As we lie entwined beneath the covers, I find myself surrendering to the sweet embrace of sleep.