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36

DANTE

S he’s shaking.

She doesn’t want me to know it, but I feel it in the way her shoulders tighten, in the way her breath stutters as she stares at the rebels like they just read her death sentence aloud.

Celestial. Starborn. World-ending.

She doesn’t say it, but I know what she’s thinking.

That I should run.

That she’s too dangerous. That loving her is a risk no one should take. That she’ll destroy everything if she loses control.

But the thing is is that she’s mine. And I’m not going anywhere.

“I’ll stand with you,” I say, low and fierce. “No matter what this means.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t believe it. Like she wants to but doesn’t know how.

“You don’t even know what I am anymore,” she whispers.

I take her hand—gently—and press it to my chest. Right over the bone pendant. “I know exactly who you are.”

Her lip trembles. “I’m a fucking disaster, Dante. A cosmic bomb wearing a pretty face.”

“And I’m the wolf dumb enough to hug the dynamite.”

She lets out a short, ragged laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably.”

“But you’re my idiot.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I cup her face, tilt her chin toward mine. Her violet eyes burn with magic and terror and a love she’s too stubborn to run from this time.

We kiss, soft and slow—not like before, not wild and desperate.

This time, it’s a promise.

I won’t let her face this alone.

When we pull away, I look at the others. The rebels—what’s left of them. They’re worn, bruised, haunted. But they’re still standing. Still willing to fight.

That means something.

“We start preparing,” I say, straightening, slipping back into that old role I tried to bury. Alpha. Strategist. Guardian.

They look at me like they recognize it—like maybe, just maybe, they remember what that title used to mean before the world went sideways.

“Seraphiel’s already in motion,” Mara says. “We may have slipped the net, but he wanted that. Which means this was phase one for him.”

“Then we make sure there isn’t a phase two,” I say.

Liora crosses her arms, voice cool. “We build a force.”

“Not just a force,” I reply. “A resistance.”

It starts that night.

I strip the loft to its bones. Reinforce every barrier, reactivate every forgotten rune. The space shifts—no longer a hiding spot. A war room. A fortress.

Liora helps, her magic pulsing just under her skin. Controlled—but barely.

It responds to emotion. To touch. To me.

And yeah, that scares the shit out of me, too. But I trust her.

By morning, allies begin to arrive.

Old contacts. Former PEACE agents gone rogue. Witches who refused to swear to the High Coven. Vamp clans with no allegiance left. A druid who doesn’t speak and a chimera who does nothing but.

They come in pairs, in shadows, in smoke.

All of them drawn here because they heard one thing:

The celestial has risen.

The energy in the room shifts when she enters.

Not fear.

Awe.

She’s trying to hide it. I can see her armor snapping back into place—shoulders squared, chin high, mouth sharpened.

But I know better.

I see the fracture underneath.

Later, when it’s just us, I sit next to her on the roof, the night air thick with distant storms and possibility.

“You don’t have to prove anything to them,” I say.

“I do,” she replies. “Because they think I’m some chosen flame. But I’m not. I’m the kind of fire that burns too hot and eats everything it touches. I want to show them I can save the world from what they think is an unstoppable demise. I want to be the savior, not the downfall.”

I tilt my head toward her. “Then let’s teach you to wield it.”

She swallows hard.

“What if loving you is what makes it worse?” she whispers.

I reach over, thread my fingers through hers.

“How can it be when it’s the first time you’ve ever wanted to claim it? To wield it?”

She exhales like she’s been holding that fear in her lungs for years. And when she looks at me, it’s like she finally believes we have a chance.