Page 6

6

DANTE

I look up that day at the sky and see the darkness looming over, leftover storm from the night before. And I can feel it. Another storm is on its way.

Not the kind that makes the sky black and floods the subways—though, hell, that wouldn’t surprise me either. This one seems to creep under your skin, makes the air taste metallic.

I can feel it in my bones. In the way the hairs on the back of my neck refuse to settle. In how my instincts—old, buried deep—keep whispering the same thing over and over.

She’s not done with you.

And neither is whatever’s watching, like that black mist last night.

I push open the rusted side door of the PEACE facility tucked between a bodega and an abandoned meatpacking plant in Brooklyn. There’s no signage, just a biometric lock, a runic ward, and a camera that tracks like it’s judging you.

I tap the access rune stitched into my wristband. The door clicks open.

Inside smells like someone tried to scrub the paranormal off the walls and gave up halfway. The fluorescents hum overhead. I hate this place.

“Still brooding like a noir detective or you gonna say hi, wolfman?”

I glance left.

Rosa’s behind the check-in desk, leaning back in a cracked pleather chair, eating a powdered donut like it’s a damn gourmet croissant. Her eyes are cat-sharp, blue as glacier ice, and her skin is that Greek-olive color women crave. Half-leopard, half-bitch. I like her.

Barely.

“Hi, Rosa,” I mutter. “Need access to R&D.”

“Of course you do.” She licks sugar off her thumb. “What’re we chasing today? Another rogue shifter with a grudge? A vampire cult in Bushwick? Please say it’s witches. I need some chaos in my life.”

“Not witches,” I grunt, stepping past the scanner. “Something worse.”

Her smirk drops just a little. “Worse than witches? Impressive. Should I notify containment?”

“No. Just point me to Tamsin.”

She whistles low. “Going straight for the top, huh?”

“I don’t have time for the PR department.”

Rosa taps a few keys, then waves a glowing ID badge at me. “Take Bay Three. And Dante?”

I stop, halfway to the door.

“Don’t piss her off.”

“No promises.”

Tamsin looks like she hasn’t slept in two days, which is about average for her. She’s tall, Black, and wears her hair shaved on one side, dreadlocks pulled into a knot on the other. Her coat’s lab-issue, but the boots beneath it are combat grade. She doesn’t do soft. Doesn’t do small talk.

She’s leaning over a hologram of Manhattan when I walk in, runes flickering over her fingers as she shifts the map. I can see the pulse points—rips in the Veil, glowing red like wounds that haven’t scabbed over.

I cross my arms. “It’s spreading.”

Tamsin doesn’t look up. “No shit. The Veil’s held together with spit and spite these days. Magic’s leaking into places it was never meant to touch.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’ve got mundanes dreaming in languages they don’t know. Children calling shadow-beasts their imaginary friends. Psychics waking up screaming in the middle of the night. Something big is pushing through. And it’s accelerating.”

I nod once. My jaw tightens.

“They’re not ready for it,” she adds, finally meeting my eyes.

“The mundanes?”

“They can’t even agree if shifters should be allowed to vote, Dante. They’re sure as hell not prepared for fae wars and underworld gate breaches.”

I don’t argue. She’s right. The humans forced themselves into tolerance, not acceptance. Most of ‘em still look at me like I’m a bomb waiting to go off. I’ve seen the protests. The riots. The panic every time something supernatural hits the news cycle.

People are scared. People do stupid things when they’re scared.

I lean in. “I need intel. Fae presence in New York. Unregistered. Female. Powerful.”

Tamsin’s brow lifts. “You’re gonna have to narrow that down.”

“Violet eyes. Shadow affinity. Glamour so good it hurts to look at.”

That gets her attention.

She taps at the display, brings up a search grid. “You sure you saw what you think you saw?”

A part of me wants to explain what I saw but the other part of me is telling me to shut my mouth and not even look into it. So, I decide to leave her out of the rogue situation. “I’m sure.”

“Shit,” she mutters.

“What?”

“There’s been whispers. Nothing solid. Just murmurs from the underground. Some say there’s a dark fae running solo. Doesn’t belong to court, doesn’t answer to council. They call her?—”

“Nightshade,” I finish.

Tamsin’s eyes sharpen. “You’ve seen her.”

“Not enough. Just heard she was a dancer at the place I picked up the rogue.”

“Maybe that’s on purpose.”

I exhale through my nose. “You got anything on her?”

“No registration. No court record. Which means if she’s real, she’s rogue. Probably born off-grid. Or... worse.”

“Worse how?”

“Some say she’s cursed. Others say she’s claimed.”

I feel something go cold behind my ribs. “Claimed by who?”

Tamsin hesitates. “Seraphiel.”

Fuck.

I clench my fists. “That name again.”

Tamsin shrugs, like it’s a story she doesn’t want to tell. “Old blood. Fallen celestial. Used to walk between realms. Now he rules one. The one no one wants to talk about.”

“The underworld,” I mutter.

“He doesn’t take kindly to people touching what he thinks is his.”

I step back, heart pounding louder than I want it to. That alley. That black mist. The way she looked when she saved me, like it hurt her to do it.

She’s not just fae.

She’s marked.

And I might’ve just painted a target on her back and mine.

I leave without saying goodbye.

Outside, the air’s heavier. It smells like rain and regrets.

I walk. Fast. Don’t know where I’m headed, just that sitting still will make me implode. I cross into Midtown, take alleys on instinct, old blood guiding my feet like it remembers things I’ve forgotten.

I was born from wolves—but something else runs in my veins, too. My mother called it guardian blood. Said our line was older than the packs. Said we were protectors, not just predators.

But I lost my pack. Lost my place. I hunt alone now.

Still... something about her makes that ancient part of me stir. Like it recognizes her. Or needs to.

I stop at a rooftop overlooking the street where Lux sits. From here, I can see the alley. Cleaned up now. No sign of the fight. No trace of her. But I know she’s out there.

Watching. Running. And I’m gonna find her. Because if the Veil’s cracking she might be the one who breaks it wide open.