Page 9

9

Dante

T he alley hummed with magical wards, their shimmer barely visible against the deep shadows of the crumbling brick walls. Dante leaned back against the damp surface, his arms crossed tightly as his gaze flicked toward the unassuming warehouse ahead.

“Does this place always look like it’s one failed spell away from collapsing?” he said.

Sebastian, standing a few feet away and adjusting the cuff of his tailored coat, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s called keeping a low profile. Most criminals don’t usually advertise their hideouts in neon lights.”

His scowl deepened. His hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the leather creaking under the tension in his fists. This plan rubbed him the wrong way—every part of it. Letting Sebastian waltz in there, flaunting his last name like some kind of VIP pass, grated against every nerve he had. Sure, Sebastian could play the part, but that didn’t mean Dante was thrilled about dangling him as bait.

The memory of the ARC meeting earlier that day surfaced, unbidden. Orion was clear as he outlined the mission. The safe house was their best lead yet, and Sebastian, with his infamous Blackthorn reputation, was the perfect tool to get through the front door.

“That’s all I’m good for, then?” Sebastian asked. “Using my family’s name to grease the wheels?”

“We all use what we have,” Orion said, his dark gaze unwavering.

But now, standing in the damp chill of the night, a bad feeling coiled in his gut—one he couldn’t shake.

He glanced sideways at Sebastian, who looked maddeningly composed, as if walking into a den of rogue mages with nothing but his charm and a notorious last name was just another day at the office. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression, no sign that the danger even registered.

And that made His unease worse.

“Enjoying yourself?” Dante asked, his words laced with irritation.

Sebastian’s lips twitched, the hint of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?”

“That’s what makes it worse,” Dante said, pushing off the wall. His steps were quiet, measured, as they moved toward the warehouse. “It’s like nothing ever gets under your skin.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and warm enough to send an uninvited heat crawling up His neck. “That’s not entirely true.” He stepped closer, his knowing gaze locking on him with a mischievous glint. “You, for example, seem to have a talent for it.”

Dante stiffened, his pulse skipping uncomfortably as he forced his gaze forward and resisted the urge to fire back.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Dante asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Sebastian to say no or just admit he was as nervous.

Sebastian turned his head, his silver-gray eyes catching the glow of a nearby streetlamp. “Worried about me?”

“No,” Dante snapped, a little too quickly. “More like worried about this whole plan going to shit.”

Sebastian’s smirk returned, subtle but infuriating. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you watching my back.”

The words didn’t help. If anything, they only made his fists curl tighter in his pockets.

“Fantastic,” he muttered under his breath, his amber eyes narrowing as they reached the warehouse door. The wards buzzed, reacting to their proximity.

Sebastian’s smirk widened, but he said nothing more, his composure annoyingly unshaken.

The stakes of the mission pressed against him like a weight he couldn’t shake. And with Sebastian’s name stamped on the entry ticket, the risk felt even higher.

“Remember,” Dante said as he shot a glance at Sebastian, “we’re just here to gather intel. You’re a civilian. No heroics, no unnecessary risks.”

Sebastian tilted his head, the smirk softening into something almost amused. “Funny. I was going to tell you the same thing. Maybe worry less about me and more about your temper.”

His scowl deepened. “I’m not the one about to walk in with a bullseye on my back.”

“No, but you might start a fight we don’t need.”

The jab hit harder than Dante wanted to admit, but he didn’t rise to it. His jaw tightened as he exhaled, stepping aside and jerking his chin toward the door. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Sebastian’s smirk softened into something more neutral, his silver-gray eyes locking on his amber gaze. “You’ve made your point. Shall we?”

Dante resisted the urge to snap back. Sebastian might think he was clever, but he didn’t know the half of it.

His temper wasn’t the problem—it never was during a mission. ARC didn’t pick hotheads for their elite team. They picked the strongest mages who could hold their own when things went sideways.

And when it came to raw firepower, Dante knew he was the one they counted on. Out of the seven of them, he was the muscle—the one who could punch through enemies or drag someone out when the odds were stacked against them. It wasn’t arrogance. It was fact. If things went to hell in there, Sebastian’s best shot at survival wasn’t his name or his charm. It was Dante.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dante said, pushing past him to scan the surrounding area one last time before nodding for Sebastian to proceed.The warehouse loomed ahead, its unassuming facade cloaked in shadows. Arcane wards flickered along the edges of the heavy steel door, their glow just subtle enough to go unnoticed by most passersby. His nerves prickled as he scanned their surroundings, noting the eerie quiet that blanketed the area.

Sebastian stepped forward without hesitation, his demeanor shifting into something colder, sharper. He reached for the iron door and rapped twice, the sound echoing in the stillness. A metallic clank followed, and a narrow slot slid open, revealing a pair of eyes that scrutinized them with suspicion.

“What’s your business here?” The voice from within was gruff, the man on the other side wasting no time.

Sebastian didn’t flinch. Instead, he let a cool, detached smirk curl his lips. “Business,” he said smoothly, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Blackthorn.”

The eyes narrowed, flicking over Sebastian before landing on Dante. “And him?”

Sebastian tilted his head, letting his gaze slide lazily toward Dante. “My tail of the week,” he said, the words laced with casual disdain. His arm slid around his shoulders, the gesture possessive and pointed. “He’s decorative. Don’t worry about him.”

Dante swallowed the retort burning in his throat, and he forced himself to match the man’s energy. Arching a brow, he leaned closer, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “He’s just jealous I’m prettier than him.”

The guard let out a low grunt, clearly unimpressed. “Blackthorn, huh? Which one?”

Sebastian’s smirk deepened, his eyes hardening just enough to added a subtle threat to his next words. “If you don’t know, then I’m not inclined to clarify. But I’m sure someone inside will.”

The man behind the door hesitated, the weight of his name doing its job. After a beat, the slot slammed shut, and a metallic clang of bolts being drawn back echoed in the quiet. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway that stretched into the warehouse.

“Try anything, and you’ll regret it,” the guard said, stepping aside to let them pass.

Sebastian strolled in as if he owned the place, his posture radiating unbothered confidence. Dante followed, his every sense on high alert. The thick scent of magic clung to the air, sharp and metallic, as if the space itself had been soaked in arcane energy.

“Enjoying yourself?” Dante muttered low enough for only Sebastian to hear.

Sebastian’s smirk softened, a whisper of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Always.”

But even as he spoke, Dante caught the slight tension in Sebastian’s shoulders, the way his gaze darted subtly to the corners of the room. Despite his polished facade, the man was anything but unbothered.

The game was on, and neither of them could afford to lose.

***

His boots scuffed quietly against the concrete as they stepped into the dimly lit warehouse, the heavy door thudding shut behind them. Magic buzzed against his skin, the air charged with tension and the murmur of voices blending into a low hum. He scanned the room, noting clusters of rogue mages huddled together in quiet conversation, their eyes darting nervously toward the raised platform at the center.

Sebastian’s arm slipped from his shoulders as they moved deeper into the shadows, his posture casual but his gaze sharp. With a tilt of his head, he indicated the far side of the room. Dante followed his lead, keeping his steps measured and his presence unobtrusive.

“Stick close,” Sebastian said, more directive than suggestive.

“Not my first rodeo,” Dante muttered, though his gaze didn’t stop sweeping the room for signs of trouble.

A man stepped onto the platform, his arrival drawing the scattered conversations to a halt. The quiet settled over the room like a weighted blanket, every eye turning toward the speaker as he stood tall, surveying the crowd with a confident ease. His dark hair was neatly combed back, his tailored coat fitting him like a second skin. He exuded charisma, the kind that could sell poison as salvation.

“My friends,” he began, his voice smooth and resonant, reaching every corner of the room with no amplification. “Welcome. For those who don’t yet know me, I am Malachi Lockwood.”

His brows knit together as he leaned subtly toward Sebastian. “Lockwood?” he murmured, just loud enough for Sebastian to catch.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flicking toward Malachi. “Old family,” Sebastian said. “Haven’t been heard from in decades. But they’re reputation… it wasn’t forgotten easily. Just like mine.”

Malachi paced the platform, his every move calculated, every gesture a blend of authority and allure. He let the murmurs settle into silence, his hands clasped behind his back. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, forcing those in the room to lean in, his words curling through the air like smoke.

“I know what they call us,” Malachi said, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. “Rogues. Radicals. Traitors. But we are more than that.” He paused, his smiled sharpening, as if savoring the anticipation building around him. “We are visionaries. Pioneers. And we are not alone.”

His shoulders tensed, and the consultant stepped closer.

“For too long,” Malachi continued, “we’ve allowed ourselves to be divided. Scattered. But now, under the Heralds of Zephyr, we are united. And together, we will awaken the winds of change.”

His stomach knotted. Heralds of Zephyr? His mind raced, searching for any mention of the name in the ARC’s intel. There had been nothing. Just random fires, scattered destruction. Nothing to suggest an organized group with a name—or a purpose.

“That’s new,” Sebastian said.

“Yeah.”

Malachi’s words pressed on, dipping into an almost reverent tone. “I know some of you have had your doubts, your fears. Change is not easy. But look around you. Among us stand those with strength, brilliance, and an unyielding vision—proof that we are building something extraordinary.”

The crowd stirred, hushed whispers rippling through the room as figures of undeniable presence began to emerge from the shadows. His jaw clenched, his pulse quickening as his gaze flicked toward a towering man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. A scar traced his jawline, adding to the rugged air that surrounded him.

Magnus Rhodes, Dante realized, recognition sparking from old photos as his stomach plummeted. A notorious pirate who plagued coastal trade routes— and Lucas’s brother.

Nearby, a woman with dark hair and even darker eyes stood apart, her beauty striking yet unsettling. Something wild gleamed in her gaze, a dangerous intensity that marked her as more than just a bystander.

Another figure lingered at the edges of the gathering, his tanned skin almost seeming to absorb the light. Darkness pulsed around him, a subtle but ominous aura that prickled against his senses. He didn’t need to know the man’s name to recognize power when he saw it.

And finally, there was one figure—a shadow within shadows. He was hard to make out, as though the very air around him wavered and shifted, refusing to settle on his form. His senses prickled as the unmistakable flow of magic pulsed from the man, weaving through the room and the wards outside. An illusionist, Dante guessed grimly, his instincts telling him this wasn’t just another rogue; this mage’s power was intricately bound to the building itself, though the full extent of his influence remained unclear.

His jaw clenched, and his pulse quickened. These weren’t faceless followers. They were powerhouses, mages with reputations, influence, and skill to back it up. Outnumbered in everyway, they were in the deepest shit if they didn’t get out there right now.

Sebastian’s posture remained composed, but his hand brushed his arm, a silent signal. They needed to stay focused, keep listening. Dante let the touch ground him, despite that flare of fear.

Malachi’s voice rose again, confident and commanding. “We will bring balance to the chaos. Restore power to those who deserve it. Together, we will be the storm that cleanses this broken world.” He gestured toward the clusters of rogue mages, his smile widening. “Each of you has a role to play. Each of you is a part of something greater.”

The crowd’s energy was palpable now, the air humming with their mounting fervor. Malachi was weaving more than words; he was shaping conviction, feeding their hunger for meaning and belonging.

Sebastian leaned in, his breath brushing his ear. “Play along,” he murmured, an intimate drawl that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. Before Dante could react, Sebastian draped an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close with a fluid, practiced ease.

When teeth nibbled on his neck, Dante stiffened. “Seriously?”

Sebastian’s smirk was infuriating. “Relax. They’re watching. And you’re not acting like you’re enjoying yourself.”

With calculated nonchalance, Sebastian reached for a glass from a passing tray and raised it to his lips. He tilted it just enough to look convincing, the liquid catching the dim light, but he never drank. Instead, he used the motion to shift closer to Dante, his free hand roaming across his stomach and waist.

This time, the heat coiling in his gut had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the way Sebastian’s touch lingered, his warmth pressing into him from behind. And he couldn’t call him out without blowing their cover.

“Stop enjoying this so much,” Dante hissed.

Sebastian’s laugh was low and warm. “Can you blame me? You make a very convincing accessory.”

Dante shot him a glare that promised retribution later. He crossed his arms but… allowed himself to lean into the act, resting himself backward in the crook of the wind weaver’s shoulder, Sebastian’s cheek against his temple.

He felt Sebastian stiffen, as if surprised, but he relaxed. And Dante swore lips brushed his cheek.

Malachi’s speech continued, the cadence of his words hypnotic. But his focus had shifted. As Sebastian’s fingers played with hair on his nape, Dante realized their charade was working. They were invisible in plain sight, just another pair of nobody mages blending into the crowd. Perfect cover for when they’d need to slip away and dig deeper.

For now, they waited, watching and listening, as Malachi planted the seeds of something far more dangerous than rogue fires. A storm was brewing, and Dante wasn’t sure they’d be able to stop it in time.