Page 22

22

DANTE

I ’ve fought wraiths with bone daggers. Faced down corrupted alpha wolves with madness in their eyes. Once got stabbed in the neck by a demon who smiled while he did it.

But this supernatural council shit? It rattles me. Not that I show it.

I stand still, arms crossed, every inch of me braced and unreadable, just like I was trained. But inside? There’s this low, hot hum under my skin, like my instincts know I’m walking into something too big for fists and fangs.

I’ve heard of the council before. Everyone has.

The elite circle that governs what’s left of the supernatural realms—witch circles, vampire dynasties, elemental lineages, old-blood shifter families. They step in when balance tips too far. When worlds begin to bleed.

They’ve never invited me.

Why would they?

I’m a lone wolf. A bounty hunter. A traitor to my former pack and a mutt with more scars than titles. I don’t belong to anyone anymore. But now I belong to her. And I’m not walking into this pit of snakes and ancient politics without remembering that.

Liora walks beside me, cloak fluttering at her ankles, chin lifted. She looks calm, controlled—but I know her too well now. Her shoulders are too tight. Her fingers curl like they want to spark fire, even if it isn’t her element.

Though Liora called the meeting, they are the ones who decide and summon. The council’s summoned us to a hidden chamber under the old Avalon ruins—protected by glamor and old-world runes. The kind of place that smells like memory and war.

They don’t offer greetings when we arrive. Of course they don’t.

We’re ushered in by witches who say nothing, their expressions carved from stone. One of them I recognize—Leira, silver-haired and sour-faced, her eyes already narrowed at me like she’s seconds from hexing my mouth shut.

At the head of the room stands Thorne. I recognize him only based on description alone. Tall, unreadable, cold as the grave. He meets my eyes once, then turns away like I’m beneath his notice.

Figures.

A Fire Council elder stands near him—dark red robes, a crown of cinders smoldering above their head, smoke curling from their breath. Vampires linger in the far corner—elegant and bored, all moon-pale and blood-sweet, eyes like polished obsidian.

Two shifters stand to the right, neither of them from my line. I recognize the markings of the Ursan and Vesper packs—both old as hell, both judgmental as shit.

We’re outnumbered and unwanted.

Perfect.

Liora stops in the center of the chamber. She doesn’t kneel. She doesn’t bow.

Good.

“My name is Liora Veilborn,” she says, clear and calm, even though I feel her pulse thudding like thunder next to mine. “I’ve called this council because a threat looms over all realms. Not just the fae. Not just the gifted. Everyone. ”

The Fire elder raises a brow, bored. “We know who you are.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”

A pause.

Then Thorne speaks. “You’ve made quite a mess.”

Liora stiffens. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“But you fed it,” Leira cuts in. “You let yourself bond with him—” she gestures at me like I’m something she stepped in, “—knowing full well what it could mean.”

My teeth clench.

Liora’s voice tightens. “I didn’t expect the bond. I didn’t choose it. But I won’t pretend it’s not real.”

“Then you should’ve killed it when it started,” one of the shifters growls.

Before I can say anything, Loira’s eyes burn violet as she looks them all in the eye. “And what? Let Seraphiel get his way? Take down the whole world because we are too scared to go against him?”

“No, but if you hadn't started… whatever this is, then it would have allowed us more time to plan, prepare. And your magic wouldn’t be screaming to him that you are prime for pruning!” a vampire snaps back.

I step forward, voice like steel. “I don’t know what the hell kind of tradition you all run here,” I say, voice rough, “but if you think threatening her is gonna solve your shit, you’re dumber than you look.”

The Ursan shifter snarls. “You’re a rogue, boy. Your opinion means less than dirt.”

Leira smirks. “Marked as one now, officially. You broke PEACE protocol. Lied about her existence. You’re already on the list. Just wait until they find out.”

I grin, sharp and wolfish. “Add me twice. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Enough.” Thorne’s voice booms like a command spell.

The room stills.

He turns to Liora. “You want this council to intervene. To stop Seraphiel. Why?”

“Because if he completes the union rite, the realms will fracture,” she says, her voice cracking but strong. “He’ll bind not just me—but reality. The Veil will rip. The dead will walk. Time itself will collapse. You think your petty bloodlines and territories will survive that?”

“And what do you propose we do?” the vampire elder drawls. “Raise arms? Burn resources for a maybe?”

“It’s not a maybe,” I bark. “It’s already happening. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

“We’ve heard of the bond,” Thorne says, more to her than anyone else. “That’s what made this mess. That’s what’s bleeding into the Veil.”

Liora nods. “And it’s also what gives us a chance to stop it.”

“How?” Leira demands. “You expect us to believe a shifter and a half-dark fae are the solution?”

“Not the solution,” Liora breathes. “But the start.”

Then the Fire elder speaks again, voice smoldering. “You lit the match. Now burn or contain it.”

And just like that, the room turns.

The council—one by one—steps back. Dismissing her. Dismissing us .

Thorne meets her eyes, jaw hard. “You want to protect the humans, the world, the Veil itself? Then stop asking for help.”

“Thorne—” she pleads, stepping forward.

“No,” he says, voice cold. “You were warned. You started this. You’ll end it. Or it will end all of us.”

She goes still. And I swear I feel something inside her start to crack. Not in surrender though. In fury.

They walk away, one by one. Some with scorn, some with indifference.

We’re left in silence, the chamber emptying like a graveyard after the last rite.

I reach for her hand. She takes it, cold and shaking.

“They’re cowards,” I mutter.

“No,” she whispers. “They’re already preparing to survive the end. Just not stop it.”

I look down at her, my chest aching.

“So we do it ourselves,” I say.

She nods, eyes glowing faintly. There is no despair there as I thought there might be. Instead, a fire of determination.

I think for the first time, she believes we actually can stop this. Or at least die trying.