Page 8

8

DANTE

S he collapses before I even reach her.

One second she’s upright, defiant, glowing with shadow and power and blood—and the next, her knees buckle, and I lunge forward on instinct.

“Shit—hey, hey—” I catch her just before she hits the ground, her body soft and hot against my chest, breath shallow and ragged.

Up close, she smells like burnt magic and rain-drenched moss. Not perfume. Not glamor. Real.

I lower her gently to the alley floor, already scanning the wound. Shit. The gash at her hip’s still leaking—deep, clean, not fatal, but nasty. The kind of cut made by something that wasn’t meant to just hurt but to claim .

Who the hell did this to her?

She’s out cold, lips parted, lashes dark against her cheekbones. Her runes are flickering now, dulling back to skin, but they’re still alive—shifting in slow, restless patterns like they know I’m watching.

Fae.

It hits me again like a punch in the ribs.

She’s fae .

Not just touched by magic or trained in it—born from it. Blood and bone and breath soaked in spells older than this city. And yet here she is, half-broken in my arms, like something wild that forgot how to be dangerous.

“Damn you,” I mutter, lifting her with one arm under her knees, the other bracing her back.

I should walk away.

I should .

But I can’t.

I don’t know if it’s her or me or something else entirely—something old and buried and angry —but the pull is there again. Low and insistent. Like she’s a thread I’ve been tied to and yanking it would unravel both of us.

So I take her.

I don’t take her to PEACE. Too risky. Too many eyes. Too many questions I don’t want to answer.

Instead, I take her home.

My loft is reinforced, shielded, and silent. No windows anyone can peek through, no wards she’ll trip unless I let her. It’s where I go to disappear. Which makes it the only place I trust with something I don’t understand.

I lay her on the couch, then clean the wound best I can. She stirs once, hissing in her sleep, her hand twitching toward magic—but I murmur, low and steady, “You’re safe.”

Her magic calms. Her breathing evens out.

I watch her. Too long. Too close.

There’s something almost… unholy about her stillness. Like even in unconsciousness she’s coiled, waiting. Her tattoos shift like storm clouds beneath her skin. Her beauty’s the kind that unsettles. Dangerous. Impossible. Not meant for this world.

And yet here she is.

She wakes two hours later.

Not gently.

She jolts up, already conjuring a blade of shadow. I stay still.

“Easy,” I say. “You’re not dying. Yet.”

“Why the hell am I not on a sidewalk bleeding out?”

“Because I caught you.”

She eyes the room, gaze sharp, breath uneven. “And your brilliant solution was to kidnap me?”

“Call it what you want,” I say. “You needed help. I gave it.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t vaporize you.”

“Yeah, I’m shaking.”

Her eyes flash. “You’re a real charmer, wolf.”

She says it like she already figured me out. Like she knows the weight I carry just by existing. Alpha without a pack. Shifter with guardian blood. Lone and lethal and unwanted.

“You’re welcome,” I add.

“Didn’t say thank you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and humming.

“I’m Dante,” I say finally, voice low. “Since you’ve been bleeding on my couch for two hours, figured names might be appropriate.”

She blinks, startled by the shift in tone.

Then she smirks. “Nightshade.”

“Bullshit.”

She lifts her chin. “That’s what they call me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Then you asked the wrong question.”

I stare at her. She doesn’t flinch.

Goddamn, she’s stubborn.

Beautiful, yes. But that’s not the part that gets under my skin. It’s the way she guards herself. Like she’s been burned so badly she welded her own armor shut. The way she pretends she’s not scared when I can feel the fear radiating off her skin in waves.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re fae.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, her face changes.

Not just alarm— terror .

She surges up. Too fast. Too sharp. Her hand flares with shadow again.

“No,” she breathes. “No—how do you?—?”

“You gave it away.”

“I glamoured ?—”

“I’m not like most people,” I cut in, voice calm. “I see through shit I’m not supposed to. That’s how I make my living.”

She shakes her head, stepping away, panic creeping in behind her eyes. “You can’t tell anyone. You can’t .”

“I’m not turning you in,” I add before she panics again.

She flinches anyway. “You should.”

“Not unless you give me a reason.”

Something in her expression cracks. Just for a second. It’s not fear—not exactly. It’s shame.

“You don’t understand what you’re getting into,” she mutters.

“Then explain it.”

“No.”

“Why are you hiding?”

She looks at me like I stabbed her.

I step closer. Not threatening. Just enough to keep her from bolting again. “Whatever’s out there hunting you, I need to know. What attacked you in that alley?”

She goes still.

“Was it fae?”

“No.”

“Demon?”

“Worse.”

Her voice is so low I almost miss it.

My mouth goes dry. “What does that mean?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can handle it.”

“Like you handled passing out in a pool of your own blood?”

Her nostrils flare. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just about me being found out. It’s about him .”

“Who?”

Her eyes flash. “The thing that owns the shadows you saw. The one that sent his enforcer after me tonight. You think this ends with me spilling secrets in your little bunker? No. You help me too much and he’ll come for you too.”

I take a step back. Let that settle.

She thinks she’s radioactive. That whatever marked her will spread to anyone who stands too close.

Which is exactly why I can’t leave.

“Let me guess,” I murmur. “Seraphiel.”

She pales.

That’s confirmation enough.

“I’ve heard of him,” I say. “Fallen celestial. Underworld prince. Big ego. Bad wardrobe.”

“You don’t get it,” she says again, voice shaking now. “He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t share .”

“You’re not property.”

“Tell him that.”

And for the first time, I see it.

Real fear.

Not performance. Not posturing. Just a girl in too much pain, too much magic, caught in something she never asked for.

“You saved me,” I say quietly. “Back in that alley. You didn’t have to. You could’ve left me.”

She meets my eyes. “Once. I saved you once. Don’t make it more than it is.”

“But it is,” I say. “Because you risked everything. Your secret. Your power. That thing’s attention. For me.”

She’s breathing hard now.

I lower my voice again, softer than I mean to. “So maybe I didn’t ask to get tangled in this. But I’m here now and this is what I do for a living. And I’m not walking away.”