Page 17

17

LIORA

B y the time we make it back to his loft, the magic’s still humming in my hands.

It hasn't settled. Not since I healed him. Not since I touched him and felt light—not shadow—pour from my palms like it had always lived there, just waiting to be seen.

Everything inside me is still too loud.

The bond.

The power.

Him.

Dante shuts the door behind us with that calm, deliberate energy he always carries—like he’s bracing for a fight he already knows he’s gonna win.

Too bad I’m not that easy.

I pace the room, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying not to flinch at the ache in my ribs or the way my magic keeps prickling beneath my skin like it's waiting for permission to explode again.

He watches me from the other side of the room. Quiet. But that steady, anchored kind of quiet that makes me want to scream.

“You should’ve stayed put,” I snap, turning on him.

He lifts an eyebrow, slow and infuriating. “So should you.”

“I’m serious, Dante.”

“So am I.”

“You’re not listening.” My voice cracks, too sharp. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it, Liora,” he growls, stepping forward. “You’re scared.”

“No, I’m?—”

“Yes, you are.”

I stop. Breathe. Just once. Because he's right. But I won't say it out loud.

I can’t.

He walks over, close enough to touch, his voice low and rough like gravel under thunder. “You think if you push me away, it’ll keep me safe. That I’ll go back to being some lone-wolf merc with scars and a death wish.”

“Wouldn’t that be easier?” I snap, chin up. “You were doing just fine before I showed up.”

“No,” he says. “I wasn’t.”

Silence slams between us.

Dante steps closer. I retreat. A dance we keep doing, but neither of us wants to finish it.

“You don’t understand what Seraphiel is,” I whisper.

“Then tell me.”

“He doesn't just kill. He consumes. He breaks things in a way they don't come back right. He rewrites them.”

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t.

“You think I care about some underworld god’s temper tantrum?”

“I think you should,” I hiss. “You’re not invincible, Dante.”

“And you’re not a damn time bomb.”

“I am! ” I shout, and the shadows leap up around me like startled birds. My magic flares out in a violent pulse—runes along my arms lighting up like warning signs. “You don’t know what I’m capable of when I lose control. I destroyed people. Innocents. In New Orleans?—”

His hand shoots out. Wraps around my wrist. Not tight. Not cruel. Grounding.

“ I know. ”

That stops me. Because the way he says is not judgment. It’s recognition .

My heart is racing. I want to pull away. Scream. Vanish. But he doesn’t let go. And his grip doesn’t hurt. It anchors.

“You think I can’t handle this?” he asks. “You think your worst is gonna send me running?”

“I don’t want you to die for me,” I whisper.

“I’d rather die beside you than live without you.”

My knees almost give out.

“We don’t even know each other!”

“Then let me get to know you because I’m already in this and so are you,” he growls. “You know as well as I that whatever is going on inside of us is more than attraction, it’s something we can’t escape. Hell, something I don’t want to.”

He pulls me closer. My chest against his. My forehead resting against his collarbone. The steady thud of his heartbeat under my cheek.

“Gods, Dante...” I breathe. “This isn’t fair.” Because I know he’s right.

“Never said it was.” And then he kisses me. Deeper. Slower. Like he’s choosing me all over again.

My hands fist in his shirt, desperate and aching. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t take this. But I do. Because when his lips touch mine, it’s the first time in days the world stops trying to cave in.

For a moment, I feel whole. And that’s the problem.

I break the kiss and shove him back, breath ragged.

“This can’t happen,” I snap. “You don’t know what’s coming.”

“So tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I tell you, you’ll try to stop it. And you’ll get yourself killed for sure and I can’t live with that.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“Yes, I do!” My voice cracks. “Because I’m the one they want. I’m the fucking prophecy. I’m the thing that ends the world if it breaks wrong.”

He stares at me. Long and hard. Then he takes my face in both hands, firm and sure. “Then I’ll be the one that helps you break right. ”

My vision blurs.

“Dante…”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“I don’t get it though. You should be.”

“I’m not.”

His mouth is just inches from mine again, and I’m trembling. Not from fear. From hope.

And that’s the most dangerous thing of all because if I let him in I’m not sure I’ll ever survive losing him. And if we go up against Seraphiel, I know how likely those odds are.