Page 51

I reached for a weathered, leather-bound book on the mantle, the pages all in Latin, attempting to make casual conversation. Dante had called me to his room to help me prepare for the Rift. To help me prepare to Fall. “The King finds himself too busy for Evermore, then?” I asked. “Even now?”

“No. My father will arrive soon,” Dante replied, staring into the crackling fireplace as silver flames licked toward the chimney. “I cannot assume official duties alone, yet.”

“Why?”

“I’m unwed.” He said like it should have been obvious. “To be Evermore’s true regent, I must be crowned. I can’t be crowned, not officially, without a fated consort.”

“A fated consort?” Somehow, it seemed like one of the more absurd details I’d learned recently. I kept my gaze soft, lingering on the pocket of his blazer jacket. It bulged slightly. The cards. “And that’s something you want?”

“With a title I’ll have control over the realms we conquer,” he replied simply.

“You mean the After.” The fireplace hissed as though horrified I’d mentioned such a place .

Dante moved closer, the firelight picking out the silver in his eyes.“They are our natural enemy, you know. Angels and Daemons were never meant to coexist.”

“Enemies.” I huffed and rolled my shoulders, tense and aching. I pulled another book from the mantle. “And is that what we are?”

He loosed a breathy laugh. “Maybe. But not because of what we are, I don’t think.”

“ Right. ” I ran a finger along the spines along the mantle. So many volumes, all well worn. “Big reader?” I asked. “Suppose you pick these up when my mind gets boring.”

“No.” Dante’s smirk had vanished. “That’s not how it works.”

My finger slipped from the final tome. “How does it work, then?”

“Well,” Dante murmured, stepping close. “I have to feel you… reach for me.”

“Oh. I didn’t—I don’t intend to. Ever. ” I flushed despite myself.

“Like now,” Dante whispered. Heat flooded my cheeks. My head snapped up, his hand reaching for my cheek, the Thread tugging gently in the back of my mind. “I can feel you. I just can’t always figure out what you want.”

“What I want?”

“Yes.” Dante studied me, close in more ways than one. “You come in feelings. In bursts or flourishes more than coherent thoughts. In this moment, I can’t quite figure it out.”

I swallowed. “Can’t you?”

“It’s so…so loud I can’t decipher it.” Dante shook his head, stepping closer. He moved gently, slowly, pressing the palm of his hand to my chest. The Thread between us went taut, vibrating like it couldn’t decide whether to pull us together or tear us apart. “Is it anger, maybe? ”

“Anger?” I shook my head, willing myself to focus on him. Not the cards. “No, it’s not anger. Not really.”

“Then what?”

“Fear,” I admitted. “Maybe a little excitement behind it. I can’t tell.” The first part, at least, I wasn’t lying about. Lies work best when they’re half-dressed in honesty.

“Don’t be afraid to Fall.” Dante said. “My father has asked me to make sure you’re ready. He doesn’t want to risk anything. A lot of people are banking on you making it.”

“I am ready.” I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. People were banking on me Falling? I didn’t like the sound of that.

“You always touch your necklace when you lie.” Dante’s voice softened. “You have to fight. You have to want to live more than you want the pain and suffering to cease. Those who die are those who are lulled by the comfort of death. That’s why only the strong survive.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to live if it meant Falling. I only knew that no matter how my journey ended, I needed the cards. I needed the Archangels back. That was the one truth I could still hold onto, the only way to stop all of this.

“I’m ready,” I repeated sweetly. “But maybe non-existence wouldn’t be so bad, either.”

“You don’t mean that.”

My heart tumbled into chaos, my breath caught as I searched his face, trying to keep a grip on reality. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t even sure the thought was mine anymore.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.

You’re too good to die, little thief . I think the world would notice if you vanished.

” The arrogant curve of his lips made something inside me ache, something I’d tried hard to swallow down.

His fingers drifted lower, grazing the hollow of my throat, trailing downward until my pulse raced uncontrollably beneath his touch. “I see you’re wearing the Lumen again.”

“It was returned to me.” I nodded. I was all too aware of how close he was, my back pressing against the mantle, the heat of the fire flushing me. “Mysterious, actually.”

“Very,” Dante purred. “Maybe whoever returned it thought you were safer keeping it on. For now, anyway.”

The realization clicked. “You?” I let out a quiet laugh. “Why would you give it back? I thought a deal was a deal.”

“It tethers you to this world, Arabella. To the Common World. Neither injury nor death can pull you from here while you wear it.” Shadows dipped in the crease forming between Dante’s brows.

“But I thought if you gave it away, maybe you’d be free of this place.

You’d be allowed to return home without them tracking you.

I was wrong.” He looked away. “And you didn’t leave. ”

Something clenched low in my chest. I hated that he’d done something kind.

Hated that part of me wanted to believe he wasn’t hollow and inhuman and awful.

But I knew him in the strangest of ways.

I knew that he was protective. He always had been.

And again, when my life was in danger, when my wounds would not heal—Dante had returned the necklace.

I shoved down the swirl of confusion stirring in my chest. “Don’t tell me the guilt got to you, now. You’ve been using me this entire time.” And now I’m about to use you, I nearly said. The thought stabbed low in my gut.

“That wasn’t the intention. Not with you,” Dante said, shaking his head.

Something unguarded shifted behind his eyes.

I didn’t know what to make of the way he was looking at me.

It was like he was trying to memorize something, or maybe solve something.

“Through that mess of a mind,” he muttered, “you must know that.”

His fingers brushed my arm, lingering, drifting down until they caught at my wrist. He turned my hand over between his own, gently, like he was searching for something in the lines of my palm.

“You say you want to disappear,” he said.

“But I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re just tired of not understanding who you are. ”

“And who is that, if you know me so well?” I didn’t move.

“I think,” he said slowly. “That you are one of the rare few who gets to decide. ”

He let my hand drop, reaching upward. The backs of his fingers skimmed my throat, reverent. I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t—for more reasons than one.

I hated how much I wanted to believe him. And then, maybe, I moved first. I brushed my lips against his, softly. My heart was the only sound in my ears as I leaned in. He stilled like he was weighing the cost of this, the cost of me .

He took a breath, and I counted the seconds that passed. One. Two. He dipped his head, closer, but hovered there, his mouth brushing mine. I shouldn’t. I knew that. But maybe if I kissed him first, it would give me control.

Then, the Thread snapped tight, and he caught my mouth like he was starved for it.

His hand cupped the back of my neck, the other gripping my waist like he needed the anchor, like he wasn’t sure this was real.

At some point, my arms had found him. My hands threaded through his hair like it was second nature as I crashed against the mantle.

The Thread between us didn’t just pull, then. It ripped. Not apart, but inward. Into some place where my thoughts blurred with his, where I couldn’t tell whose ache belonged to who. I didn’t know if I’d reached for him, or if he’d reached for me, or if we’d always been moving toward this moment.

I wondered what he’d see if he peered into my mind now, because I couldn’t make sense of anything I was thinking. I demanded more, lips parting as the kiss deepened. I didn’t know if I was trying to distract him, or myself.

Focus, Arabella. He was letting me closer. I wouldn’t let the cards slip away again. My hands brushed over his suit jacket as it hung heavy from his shoulders. I fumbled with it carefully as I slid it from his arms. He let me. Too caught up, or too tired to question.

But my knees nearly buckled from the pressure of the kiss, the heat that demanded more.

He was in my head, and I didn’t want him out.

This wasn’t all strategy anymore. It was something worse, my feelings more raw-edged than I wanted them to be.

But he didn’t deserve my feelings. I was sure he had none of his own.

The jacket dropped to the floor, though his eyes remained trained on me. I was caught in a hunger I couldn’t name, one that felt more his than mine. If I pulled this off, it wouldn’t matter what he felt. Or what I did.

I pressed flush against him, the heat of the fire at my back as he lifted me effortlessly, my legs winding around his waist. My spine collided with the mantle again, the dull ache quickly swallowed in a gasp of warmth and want.

There was something darkly addictive about the way went still beneath my touch, as if his power were mine to take.

Though I had always felt him, known him, this was different.

A single rap broke the silence. We froze, and then, Dante lowered me. Some part of me fractured at the loss of his touch.

“Your father has arrived, your Royal Highness,” came a guard’s clipped voice beyond the door.

Dante cursed under his breath and stepped back, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry. I have to meet him.” He didn’t look at me when he spoke.

The second the door shut behind him, I dropped to my knees. My hands dove into the folds of the fallen coat, fumbling in the pocket. I turned the pockets inside out, each one coming up empty. Shit.

The cards weren’t on him. Which meant they were somewhere else in this room. Or worse—gone. I stood, scanning the space. Shelves, books, drawers. But it was the bed that caught my eye. The black sheets had shifted, just slightly, as if someone had lifted them not long ago.

I dropped low and fumbled beneath the bed, unable to see anything in the darkness. I grappled against the stone, finding nothing until my fingers grazed something smooth. Metal. Hidden. Footsteps sounded outside the door and I stilled, afraid to move.

But they quickly faded. I pulled out a small silver box, but it was locked. The footsteps thudded outside, louder this time. Shit, Shit, Shit. Saints, help me. I twisted the box in my hands, searching for a way in, a latch, a weakness. Anything . My thoughts were too loud.

Then I remembered the key. It had once opened Dante’s journal. Maybe, just maybe , it opened more than one of his things. I fumbled in my skirt pocket, the metal cool against my fingers, and slid it into the lock. If he caught me now, it was over.

Click. The lid sprang open. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was the Arcana Deck. It didn’t glow like The Fool, just shimmered for a moment like the box had stifled it, the many eyes rolling toward me. My pulse matched it beat for beat.

I slipped the cards into my skirt pocket, re-locked the box, and shoved it back under the bed just as the footsteps reached the door. I had the deck. I had the deck.

But saints, my mind was a mess. Dante hadn’t just let me in, he’d made me want to stay. Were those feelings real? I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. I didn’t feel triumph flooding my veins, just emptiness, an empty ache a little too close to guilt.

It didn’t matter now. Feelings are always blurry, but choices are clean. And I’d just made one he never would.