8. Dante
8
Dante
D ante sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light from the spire’s wards casting shadows across his room. His elbows rested on his knees as he stared at the scorch marks on the wall—remnants of past frustrations. The hum of magic woven into the spire filled the space, a constant reminder of where he was and why he couldn’t afford to lose focus.
But focus was exactly what he lacked. His thoughts churned, circling back to a single point no matter how hard he tried to redirect them. Sebastian’s calm, infuriating composure. His smooth confidence, the way he knew exactly what to say to leave Dante off balance.
The library shelves. His breath on his neck. That moment when Sebastian leaned in, his lips so close Dante almost felt them.
Heat flared low in His chest, spreading down his spine and making his muscles tense. He gritted his teeth, forcing the memories away. It’s not like I’m thinking about him. Not like that.
But the memories didn’t go. Instead, they sharpened—Sebastian’s voice, smooth and low, his silver gaze steady and cutting, his fingers grazing his arm. His fists clenched against his jeans, his jaw tightening.
It wasn’t irritation. Not entirely. And that made it worse.
“ Fuck …” His skin felt too hot, a tightness in his chest spreading lower, sharper.
It wasn’t because of Sebastian. It wasn’t. But that traitorous heat that pooled in his stomach didn’t care about his denial. His body didn’t care about logic, or how much he hated that damned smirk, how he always had the upper hand.
Dante groaned, his hands sliding down his face, his pulse pounding in his ears. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but failed. All that was left was the memory of Sebastian—too close, too steady, too in control.
His hand moved of its own accord, sliding down his torso, over the waistband of his pants. Maybe if he just took the edge off. Maybe then he could breathe, could think . His mind rebelled at the thought, even as his fingers dipped lower, brushing against the heat that had settled between his legs.
“Not him,” Dante groaned. But when his eyes closed, the image of Sebastian leaning in was all he could see, trapping him against the bookshelf, watching him through heated silver-gray eyes, his lips curling into that wicked smirk. In total control.
His trembling fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, desperate to release his raging hard-on. With a sigh of relief, he freed his weeping cock from its denim prison and watched as it sprang free, already straining and twitching.
With a groan, he wrapped his fist around his shaft and stroked himself with long, slow pulls. His grip was firm, the callouses on his palm rough against his sensitive skin. With each movement, his heart raced faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
His balls drew up tight against his body as he pumped himself with steady, measured strokes. The friction sent shivers down his spine, igniting every nerve ending in his body.
As he fucked his own hand, his mind was consumed with dirty thoughts of Sebastian. His balls tightened even further as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. And his orgasm built in his core, spreading like wildfire. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, his hips jerking.
Imagined as the consultant bent down on his knees, and wrapped his lips around his cock, that wicked tongue swirling around the head as he sucked him deep into his throat. Thoughts of Sebastian’s mouth on him made him groan low in his throat, his hips bucking forward. And it was enough to push him all the way over that edge.
He came hard and fast, coating his hand in a hot, sticky mess.
Lying back on the bed, he continued to stroke himself through the aftershocks, each one making him shudder with pleasure. But as he settled down from his high, he couldn’t help but feel a mix of shame and satisfaction. He’d just jerked off to another man, yet…it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever experienced.
His bedroom door swung open without warning, and Dante barely had time to register the movement before Lucas appeared. “Hey, man—whoa!”
Lucas spun around so fast it was a wonder he didn’t trip over his own feet, one hand clapping over his eyes. “Seriously, dude? Lock your damn door!”
Dante swore, yanking his hand away from where it had been still lazily stroking himself, jerking a bedsheet across his lap. “What the fuck, man! Ever try knocking?”
Lucas scoffs, still facing away as if the sight of his dick was permanently burned into his retinas. “Your door was unlocked,” he said. “Heard noises. Thought you were dying or something. Turns out you were just… occupied.”
“Well, now you know,” Dante said.
Lucas finally dropped his hand, turning around cautiously. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room, taking in His disheveled state. A slow, amused grin spread across his face.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Lucas said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Working hard or…just hard?”
Dante glared at him, heat flickering at his fingertips. “You ever think about minding your own damned business?”
“Not when it’s this entertaining,” Lucas said. He crossed his arms, his grin widening. “But seriously, what’s got you all twisted up? Or should I ask who ?”
His shoulders stiffened, his pulse spiking as he turned away. “Nobody. Just drop it.”
“Oh, I’m not dropping anything,” Lucas said, stepping further into the room despite His glare.
“Lucas—” Dante snapped, but Lucas waved him off.
“Hey, it’s fine,” Lucas said, his tone softer but no less pointed. “If it’s about Sebastian, just admit it. Guy’s a walking magazine cover, and he knows how to get under your skin. It’s not a crime to—”
Dante froze, his jaw tightening as he turned to glare at Lucas. “Get the hell out.”
Lucas held up his hands in mock surrender, backing toward the door. “Fine, fine. But seriously, think about it. Life’s too short. And look, man, it’s okay to feel how you feel. If you like someone, you like them, even if it's a guy. No shame in it.”
“Get. Out,” he said, his tone low and dangerous.
Lucas tossed a grin over his shoulder as he slipped out. “Lock your door next time. Just saying.”
The door clicked shut, leaving Dante in the charged silence. He sat rigid on the edge of his bed, his fists curling at his sides as Lucas’s words settled in his mind.
Sebastian.
No, it wasn’t about him.
And yet, the lingering heat in his chest—and the way his thoughts kept circling back to that damn consultant—said otherwise.
“Fucking idiot.” Although whether he meant Lucas or himself, he wasn’t entirely sure.
***
Sweat clung to his back as his boots pounded against the cushioned track in ARC’s training center. Each stride sent a dull ache rippling through his legs, but it wasn’t enough to burn off the frustration roiling under his skin. The rhythmic hum of the spire’s wards thrummed above him, a constant reminder of the magical fortress keeping them safe—or trapped, depending on the day.
He slowed to a jog, his breathing steady but his mind anything but. Sebastian’s words still echoed in his thoughts. And that almost-kiss. What the hell was that?
Dante shoved the memory aside and came to a halt, bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His comm buzzed on the bench nearby, the sharp ping cutting through the quiet. He grabbed it, thumb swiping across the screen to see Lucas’s latest message: Coming out tonight or staying in to sulk?
Dante snorted, grabbing his towel, and slinging it over his shoulder.
He hesitated, staring at the blinking cursor. The idea of being alone with his thoughts for another night felt unbearable. With a quick tap, he sent back: Fine. Give me twenty minutes.
The city’s pulse hit him the second he stepped outside. Dante strode ahead of the others, the crisp night air carrying the hum of magic and laughter that spilled out from every corner. Eryndia was alive tonight, its streets teeming with both locals and tourists. Arcane glyphs on shop signs glowed, shifting hues as pedestrians passed by. Dante let the bustle pull him in, the sharp edge of his thoughts dulling with every step.
The Arcana came into view, its sleek black exterior marked by shifting runes that pulsed to the bass thundering inside. A line of patrons stretched down the block, each displaying subtle magical tricks to impress the bouncers—a swirl of fire, shimmering illusions, levitating pebbles.
Dante caught the amused glance Kaelen shot the crowd before waving them past the velvet rope. The bouncer recognized them immediately, nodding as he unhooked the chain. “Evening, gentlemen.”
“Evening,” Lucas said dryly, his sharp blue eyes scanning the entrance. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Inside, the club vibrated with life. A chandelier made of floating crystals spun lazily overhead, casting refracted light across the expansive space. The air smelled of ozone, a mix of sweat and charged magic. Music pulsed through the crowd, a deep, thrumming beat that seemed to sync with the rhythm of the city itself.
Lucas peeled off immediately, heading for their table in the VIP section. Dante knew better than to expect him on the dance floor. The man hated crowds, but he didn’t mind watching from a safe distance.
Kaelen followed him, offering a smile as he motioned for the others to enjoy themselves. “We’ll hold the fort,” Kaelen said, his tone mild. “Try not to burn the place down, Reed.”
Ezra, in a fitted black shirt and jeans that clung to his lean frame, was already disappearing into the crowd. Tristan moved toward the bar, his calm demeanor not quite hiding the glint of interest in his sapphire eyes as he scanned the room.
Dante lingered at the edge of the dance floor for a moment, letting the music pull him in. The bass thrummed in his chest, drowning out the noise in his head. He moved into the crowd, the press of bodies and the rhythmic sway of the dancers offering the distraction he craved. For now, the fire inside him quieted, and he let himself forget everything else.
The music pulsed like a living thing, matching the heat in his blood as he moved through the crowd. On the dance floor, the haze of light and magic blurred faces into a sea of motion. He grabbed a drink from a passing server, downing half of it in one go before his eyes landed on a brunette nearby. Her smile was coy, her magical aura warm. She leaned closer, her laugh barely audible over the pounding bass.
“Careful,” Dante said, grinning as he raised his glass. “You’re gonna have to dance if you stick around me.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asked, her tone teasing as she took a step closer.
Dante set his empty glass on a glowing tray that floated past, his body already falling into the rhythm of the music. “More like a promise.”
For a moment, he let himself get lost in it—the sway of bodies, the heat of the room, the way her hands brushed his shoulders as they danced. It was what he needed, a way to drown out the noise in his head. No Sebastian. No missions. Just the fire in his veins and the weightless buzz of the club.
Across the room, Ezra was a beacon of chaos. His dark hair was mussed from the energy of the dance floor, violet eyes flashing as he twirled a bottle of something blue before handing it to a man who looked equally enchanted and overwhelmed. Dante caught a snippet of Ezra’s laugh—a carefree sound that rose above the music. The guy was impossible to ignore, moving from one group to another like he’d been born to command attention.
Near the bar, Tristan leaned casually against the counter, his sapphire-blue hair catching the shifting lights. He was deep in conversation with a man who seemed captivated by whatever Tristan was saying. Dante caught the subtle way Tristan’s hand brushed the man’s wrist as he leaned in to make a point, his calm charm as effortless as ever.
Dante smirked. Tristan had always been good at that—drawing people in without trying. Meanwhile, Ezra flung himself into everything like it was his last chance to live.
Shaking his head, Dante made his way to the VIP section, slipping past a group of tourists who were snapping pictures of the chandelier. Their table was easy to spot— Kaelen lounged back in his seat, his sun-bleached hair catching the light, unhurried as ever, a glass of whiskey in hand.
Lucas, in contrast, sat stiffly, his bright blue eyes tracking the crowd. His arms rested on the table, fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the surface, his drink untouched.
“Having fun?” Dante asked, sliding into a seat beside him.
Lucas barely glanced up, his expression as dry as ever. “Oh, yeah. Highlight of my week.”
Kaelen chuckled, tilting his glass toward Lucas. “It’s not all bad.”
“Too many people,” Lucas said, his tone clipped.
Dante didn’t miss the way Lucas’s fingers curled tighter around his glass. It wasn’t just about the crowd, Dante knew. For Lucas, being in a place like this—surrounded by people, their bodies brushing past each other without a second thought—wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was dangerous.
The lightning always hummed under Lucas’s skin, a constant charge he couldn’t fully shut off. A careless touch, even the brush of a hand, could send sparks flying—literally. And while the guy had worked for years to control it, the risk was always there, a barrier Lucas carried between himself and the rest of the world.
His gaze flicked to Lucas’s gloves—sleek, tight black material that covered his hands even here, in the middle of a crowded nightclub. They weren’t just an accessory; they were a necessity. His clothes, too, were made from a specialized, non-conductive fabric, designed to contain stray charges as much as possible. Lucas never talked about it, but Dante knew the weight of it all, the way it set him apart from everyone else. The team understood, but out here? Strangers wouldn’t see the guy behind the charge. They’d see a walking hazard.
Dante had seen the way people looked at Lucas when they realized what he could do. Fearful. Wary. Like he wasn’t quite human.
Kaelen’s grin softened. “Fair enough.”
Lucas glanced at Kaelen, a flicker of appreciation passing over his face before he returned to scanning the room.
Dante took a long drink, letting the burn distract him from the knot tightening in his chest. Lucas might play it off, but Dante knew how much it bothered him. The team never said it outright, but they all knew Lucas had built walls around himself as much to protect others as to protect himself.
Still, Lucas had always shown up, always fought beside them. Dante had to respect that, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and nudged Lucas’s arm with his own, careful to keep the contact brief.
“I could use someone out there to make me look good,” Dante said, his tone light as he motioned toward the dance floor.
Lucas snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Kaelen chuckled.
The music shifted, a deeper beat rolling through the room, and His gaze drifted back to the dance floor. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to pull Sebastian into this chaos—to see that polished veneer crack under the heat of it. The thought startled him, and he shook his head, knocking back the rest of his drink.
He didn’t know what was worse—thinking about Sebastian, or not knowing how to stop.
A sharp yell cut through the pounding bass, followed by nervous murmurs. His eyes snapped toward the source of the commotion—a group of tourists pressed against the bar. Three bulky men loomed over them, their aggressive postures and slurred taunts carrying over the music.
His jaw tightened. It wasn’t just the drunken bravado; it was the way the harassers leaned in, their words dripping with mockery. The tourists, their faces tight with discomfort, exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a young woman with striking silver hair, tried to step back, only for one of the men to grab her wrist.
That was all Dante needed.
Before he knew it, he was striding toward the group, the heat in his chest flaring. “Hey!” He shouted, sharp and commanding. “Back off.”
The biggest of the men turned, his bleary eyes narrowing as he sized Dante up. “Mind your business.”
“This is my business,” Dante snapped, stepping between the tourists and their aggressors. He glanced over his shoulder at the group. “You okay?”
The young woman nodded quickly, though her wide eyes betrayed her nerves. “We’re fine,” she said, her accent thick but her words clear. “Please, we don’t want trouble.”
“Too late for that,” one of the men sneered, shoving His shoulder. “Why don’t you run along? Let us deal with these Thyrexian scum.”
The word hit Dante like a spark to dry tinder. His muscles tensed, and for a moment, he hesitated. His father, Elias Reed, had died defending their borders from Thyrexian forces.
A voice in his head whispered that walking away might be the smarter move. Let it go. But then his gaze fell on the tourists again—their discomfort, their barely hidden fear—and the heat in his chest flared.
Dante didn’t like bullies. It didn’t matter who they were targeting or where they were from.
And that shove was enough to ignite His temper. His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You really don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, I think I do,” the man said, lunging forward.
Dante didn’t wait. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw before he could even blink, a satisfying crack reverberating through His knuckles.
The second man swung at Dante, but he ducked, his reflexes sharp despite the drinks he’d had earlier. He countered with a quick jab to the ribs, his fiery magic flickering dangerously close to the surface. The heat rolled through him, his pulse pounding in time with the bass thumping from the speakers.
But even as he fought, the thought lingered—his father wouldn’t have hesitated. His father wouldn’t have let old scars cloud his judgment. And yet, here he was, fists flying, trying to prove something he couldn’t quite name.
“Dante!” Tristan shouted, cutting through the commotion like a blade.
Dante barely had time to register Tristan and Kaelen approaching before Tristan stepped between him and the aggressors. The water mage’s calm authority radiated as he held up a hand, his sapphire eyes sharp. “Enough.”
Kaelen moved to His side as he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’ve made your point.”
His chest heaved as he glared at the remaining two men, his fists clenched tightly. “They started it.”
“And now we’re ending it,” Tristan said, his gaze fixed on the aggressors. “Walk. Away.”
The men hesitated, their bravado faltering under Tristan’s unyielding stare. One muttered a curse under his breath before grabbing his groaning friend from the floor and dragging him toward the exit.
Kaelen gave Dante a pointed look. “You good?”
Dante exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. All good.”
Meanwhile, security guided the tourists toward the exit.
The silver-haired woman glanced back at Dante, smiling in gratitude as she followed her group out.
Dante looked away, the heat in his chest replaced by a dull ache of frustration.
Tristan clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grip reassuring. “Come on. Let’s get a drink before you start another fight.”
The three of them headed back to the VIP section, tension slowly ebbing as the music and crowd swallowed the scene whole.
Back at their table, Lucas’s gaze pinned Dante in place. “You’re lucky Tristan and Kaelen were there to pull you out. Next time, use your head before your fists.”
Ezra appeared suddenly, sprawling into his seat with a drink in hand, and grinned. “What he means is, save your punches for people who deserve it. Like him.”
Lucas flipped him the bird.
Tristan rolled his eyes and slid a glass toward Dante. “Here. Cool off.”
Dante muttered a thanks, taking a long sip to quiet the heat simmering in his chest. Around them, the club’s energy pulsed on, as if the fight never happened, a small glitch already self-corrected.
Their comms buzzed in unison with a message from Orion: Meeting at HQ tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lead. Be ready.
The group exchanged looks.
Ezra raised his glass with a smirk. “Here’s to early mornings and bad coffee.”