Page 180 of The Devil May Care

That lands somewhere dangerous. My skin prickles. The line between training and something more starts to blur as he takes my wrist and guides my hand up between us. Not to grip a weapon, but to rest against the steady beat of his heart below the Embermark.

“Anchor here,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you can remember this, you can remember to move.” The air shifts with him—heavier, warmer—and it takes effort to remind myself to breathe.

“What are we doing?”

“Teaching you how to stay awake in Umbral,” he says, but there’s a faint rasp in his voice now, like the idea costs him more than he wants to admit.

I glance toward the door. “You’re not exactly subtle when you drop the glamor. Someone might walk in.”

“Then we should give them something to talk about.” He says it so casually that heat spikes in my cheeks and my stomach before I can stop it. The air between us feels thinner. Laced with that same tug in my chest, the thread’s pull amplified by him standing so close. My body wants to lean into it, into him, even though my brain keeps whispering that this is a bad idea if I want to concentrate.

He straightens only long enough to strip off his coat, and it feels like the room exhales. He’s taller, broader, darker, every inch of him shadow,and emberlight. Horns curving sleek above his head, as the Embermark flares faintly along his throat. My breath catches without permission.

“Still tired?” he asks, and the way his voice wraps around the words makes the Umbral thread vibrate in my chest.

“Maybe,” I say, though it comes out softer and far breathier than I intended.

“Then we start here.” His hands find mine, warm and steady. “Focus. Feel the thread’s pull. Do not fight it, that wastes energy. Acknowledge it. Then remind yourself why you are here.”

He guides my palms up to his chest again, just over the steady burn of his embermark. His skin is hot under my touch, every beat of his heart grounding in a way that has nothing to do with magic.

“This is what stillness will feel like,” he murmurs. “Comfort. Heat. Safety. But you will be in an arena where that comfort is a lie.”

His tail curls lazily behind me, just brushing my leg, deliberate enough that I know it’s not an accident. My pulse trips, my body leaning in even though my mind keeps trying to back away from the invitation.

“And if I let it?” My voice is hushed now, almost as if the shadows have swallowed the rest. He studies me for a long moment, eyes hooded but burning.

“Then Umbral wins.”

For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and the thought alone is enough to make me forget why we’re doing all of this. Instead, he leans back, breaking contact. The loss is sharper than it should be, and I have to drag in a breath to keep from pulling him back.

“You see?” he says quietly. “That’s how fast it happens.”

And just like that, the tension in the room becomes something else entirely. A line stretched taut between wanting and warning, both humming in my chest like the thread itself. The space between us feels like a living thing now, not just the pull of the Umbral thread, but something warmer, sharper. Caziel’s gaze flicks over my face like he’s cataloging every shift in my expression. The way my breathing grows ragged. The way I haven’t backed away.

“Again,” he says. “Take the thread. Let it tug.”

This time, when his hands find mine, they don’t stop at his chest. He traces my fingers down the ridge of his sternum, slow enough that mypulse hitches in time with the movement. I feel the faint heat where the embermark sprawls across his skin, steady and alive beneath my touch.

“Comfort,” he murmurs, eyes still on mine. “The illusion will make you think you are safe. Wanted. Needed.”

The way he says it, low and certain, makes my stomach flip. My thumb brushes his skin and he exhales — not sharp, but controlled, like he’s forcing himself not to give in to something.

“Now,” he says, “remember the truth.”

“What truth?” My voice comes out breathless, too honest.

“Umbral does not give without taking. There is nothing in the arena will touch you like this.” His fingers slide to the back of my neck, warm and steady, coaxing my face closer to his. “And if something does, walk away.”

I should. I know I should. But the way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to remember why.

His horns cast shadows over us, the embermark a faint glow between us. The thread hums low in my chest, lulling me into stillness, and the warmth of his hand at my neck makes me want to sink into him and never surface.

“Is this still training?” I ask, trying for wry, but it comes out more like a whisper.

His mouth curves in that slow, dangerous way that always makes my pulse trip. “It’s the most important lesson you’ll learn.”

I don’t know if I lean in first or if he does, only that we end up close, so close that my lips almost graze his. The air between us is heat and shadow and the echo of things neither of us will say out loud. Then he stills. Pulls back just enough that the absence feels like a drop.