Page 12

12

DANTE

H er kiss burns through me like wildfire the moment she gives in.

Not a spark. Not heat. Flame.

It's not soft. It’s not cautious. It’s like she’s breaking something—between us, in herself—and using her mouth to set the damn boundary on fire.

And I let her.

Gods, I lean into it like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life.

She tastes like secrets. Like dusk. Like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. Her lips are hot and sure, but there’s a tremble under it—like she doesn’t want to need this, but can’t stop herself either.

I know the feeling.

When I finally pull back, just a breath’s distance, we’re both breathing too hard. Her eyes flutter open. Violet. Luminescent. Unnatural.

But beautiful.

And not just the kind that turns heads on the street. The kind that unsettles something in your gut. Makes you feel like you’re looking at a creature who’s seen the world burn—and survived.

Her obsidian hair spills around her shoulders in waves, catching the low light like strands of moonlight caught in ink. The tattoos that wind across her collarbone and down her arms shift subtly, like they’re alive—glowing faint, ancient runes inked into skin that was never meant to be ordinary.

And those shadows? They move when she does. Like they’re loyal to her. Like they’d kill for her.

“You’re…” I start, but I can’t finish it. There’s no damn word big enough for what she is.

Liora tilts her head slightly, a hint of mischief curling at the corner of her mouth.

“Careful, wolf. You start looking at me like that, and I might get the wrong idea.”

“What idea’s that?”

“That you don’t care what I am.”

I stare at her for a beat.

“I don’t,” I say, and I mean it.

That shuts her up.

She glances away, like the truth of that lands somewhere she wasn’t ready to look. Her jaw tightens. Her fingers twitch at her sides.

“Don’t say things like that,” she murmurs. “Not to me.”

“Why?”

“Because they make me want to believe you.”

Fuck.

I take a slow step toward her. “Then believe me.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “You should be afraid of what I’m becoming.”

That makes something cold slide down my spine.

“Because of Seraphiel?” I ask.

Her shoulders tense. “Because of what he thinks I am. What he says I could be. If I let go.”

“And what’s that?”

She looks up at me, and she doesn’t lie or play the fae riddle word games.

“The end.”

Silence stretches.

But I don’t flinch. I don’t move. And that seems to rattle her more than anything.

“Say something,” she whispers.

So I do.

“I’ve seen ends before. You’re not one of them.”

Her breath catches. And I know I’ve hit the nerve she’s tried to keep buried under all that armor.

But before I can say more, she jerks her head toward the window. Her body goes rigid.

“What is it?” I ask, already moving.

Her eyes glow brighter, flicking toward the alley below. Her shadow stretches unnaturally long behind her.

“They’re close,” she mutters. “Too close.”

“Who—?”

“I don’t know which one this time.” She swallows. “It’s getting harder to tell.”

My blood goes cold. I move toward the weapons locker on instinct, but when I turn back?—

She’s already fading.

Her outline blurs at the edges, the shadows around her curling like smoke, like silk in water.

“Liora—”

“I had to see you,” she says, voice softer now. “To know if it was real. If it was us .”

“It is.”

“Then remember that.”

She lifts her hand. Her fingers twitch. A swirl of mist curls through the air like ink poured into moonlight.

And she’s gone.

I stare at the empty space she left behind like it owes me an explanation.

The room’s too quiet. No trace. No sound. Just the faint lingering scent of magic—and her.

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to tear the place apart. To scream. Because I just got her back. Because I kissed her. Because she told me her name.

And now she’s gone again, and I don’t know where or why or what the hell is coming next—but I know one thing:

It’s coming fast and I’m not letting her face it alone.

She won’t have to ever again.