26. TWENTY-SIX
twenty-six
Iknow there is nothing I could possibly say to make the situation any less devastating, but I’m crushed nonetheless when Dante shoves away from me and stalks into the woods with a clear aura of not wanting to be followed.
As much as I want to give chase and ensure that he doesn’t abandon me in these otherworldly woods, I don’t imagine he’s in the state of mind to go very far.
He wants to be alone, and perhaps I do, too.
Every second the truth sinks in and solidifies—we both had been chasing a fairytale.
But as thrilled as I had been at the thought of uncovering the cure to vampirism, the sharpest pain is far more shameful.
The hazy fantasies I had pictured with Dante after becoming human were dissolving before my eyes.
Silly, frivolous thoughts that never should have carried weight—and yet their absence leaves me hollow.
Even the bitter disappointment can’t keep my gnawing appetite away.
After being left alone, I eat the last of my food and brace myself for a long stretch of hunger before me.
But to my surprise, I turn to find a pile of fruits and berries miraculously presented upon one of the nearby flat stones.
The offerings are vibrant enough to look unreal.
I search the branches overhead, but the fairies do not make their presence known—continuing to tolerate us at a distance.
It’s a dim consolation prize compared to what we were seeking, but I nearly moan at the first bite of wild strawberry and wonder if I will ever again taste something so flavorful.
Once I’ve had my fill, I set off in search of Dante. Without Laelia as my guide, I question my every move—though I do end up tripping far less.
Before long, I find Dante reclining in a grove that is less extravagant than Callistia’s, but breathtaking nonetheless. The foliage and soft flowers all but beckon for a nap. The glowing lights overhead cast warmth all around, and a gentle, descending creek empties into a glittering pond.
Hesitating by a tree, I watch him quietly for a moment, knowing he must have heard me long before I spotted him.
His eyes are closed, one arm folded behind his head and his long legs stretched out on the bank.
When he makes no acknowledgement, I approach with soft steps and lower myself to sit beside him.
My heart aches as I observe his face—the way the enchanted, glowing lights play upon his skin like sunlight.
“So,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, “what will it be? Stake through the heart? Beheading? Poisoning me with one last sup at your neck after you’ve consumed dead man’s blood?” His mouth twitches. “Now that would be a dirty trick.”
“I’m still debating,” I say dryly, fighting the inexplicable urge to pull his head into my lap.
I frown at how relaxed he is—as though he either trusts I won’t take the opening to kill him, or he simply doesn’t care anymore.
“Did you have any other leads? What were you really planning to do if this didn’t work out? ”
“Truthfully, my original plan B was draining you dry and dumping your corpse in the nearest river.”
“Hm. Lovely.”
He cracks his eyes open and considers the pond. “That certainly looks beautiful enough for you.”
We share a wry smile.
“And plan C?” I ask, softer.
He huffs a sigh. “I’m working on it. Much as I wouldn’t mind dying with your pretty hands around my throat… If you don’t mind waiting a little longer, I’d appreciate it.”
My voice tightens around a dark chuckle, my insides aching horribly.
Despite everything, the echoes of my training thud in my nerves and muscles.
I can take him by surprise—right here and now.
I can see it playing out clearly in my mind.
A twitch toward my silver knife, a plunge into his throat deep enough severe flesh and bone alike.
His final, wounded inhale as his cursed blood pours over my hands.
My breath hitches, the images all too real.
Cupping his face in one hand, I tuck some unruly blond locks behind his ear, my lips trembling as I study him.
His eyes cut upward to me, soulful and searching—his soul laid bare.
He doesn’t catch my other hand slipping around the hilt of my left blade.
It could be a kindness, letting my face be the last he sees.
Let him die in comfort knowing we tried.
Concern creases his brow at my tormented expression—I can’t hide it. His fingertips graze my jaw, a soft noise of comfort escaping him. Above all, never show fear in the face of an enemy.
Everything inside me should revolt, letting him see me this way. But despite the rivers of blood on Dante’s hands, I cannot see him as an enemy any longer.
“Stellina?” he whispers.
I bite back a sob.
I can’t do it. The Order’s assignment be damned. I release my grip on the blade, letting it stay passively tucked at my side.
The moment that I fully accept I will never strike him, I am imbued with a terror unlike anything I have known. Worse than being given my assignment in the first place. Worse than marriage. Worse than waking to find a vampire inches from my throat.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
“If you want death at my hands, you’ll be waiting a very long time,” I croak.
An eyebrow lifts. “What about your noble mission? Not very obedient of you, spurning your duty like this.”
I swallow hard. “There are more important things.”
His gaze smolders with affection as my words rush over him. There is nothing more I can say—or perhaps too much—so I surge forward and kiss him. It’s tender, almost shy at first. But his hands lock around my waist, and his arms wrap me up like I am his.
“You impossible little creature,” he murmurs before leaning in with a deeper kiss, his mouth sweet and mine feverishly hot.
When we pause for breath, he meets my eyes with a desirous glint.
“You must promise to tell stories about me when you return. Wicked tales that can only be whispered in the dark.” Another kiss.
“Lament about how you simply can’t decide where my prowess is more impressive—in bed or in battle. ”
I cling to him, chuckling breathlessly. “I quite like the idea of keeping you a secret.” When he starts to pout in protest, I bite his bottom lip, then whisper, “Our story will belong to me alone.”
His eyes flash both sorrowful and pleased, and I can’t bear to ask who he would want to share our story with. There is no telling what will come next, and I am determined to enjoy our time together while this is still real.
Mid-kiss, I break away from our hectic embrace.
Dante looks utterly insulted, tensing like he might drag me back, but he promptly shuts up when I begin to strip off my armor.
Each piece thumps onto the waxy grass slope after I look around to make sure the coast is clear.
My boots come off, and then I’m sauntering toward the bank.
My fingers slow upon the laces of my blouse.
I bite my lip and rest my gaze upon Dante as I languidly step backward into the water—surprising even myself.
But no one else is here to witness this, no one to judge. I’m untethered, free.
“This really isn’t helping me think of a plan,” Dante says with a world-weary sigh—though he scarcely dares blink as he tracks my movements.
“Whatever do you mean?” I shuck off my blouse–the last garment protecting my modesty—and undo the half-braid that pins hair off my face, unraveling it at a leisurely pace.
He manages to hold his annoyed, flat stare for all of a single second. I see straight through it, anyway. Dante’s lips part as I splash some of the miraculously tepid water over my chest to acclimate myself. It ribbons down my naked body in rivulets, casting goosebumps everywhere.
“Alright, fuck the plan.” He grins wolfishly as he chases me into the water, stripping as he goes.
I tear away from him as he wades in, possessed by a wild impulse to make him pursue me clean across the pond before he gets the prize of touching me.
But Dante closes in on me with urgency befitting a soldier.
I barely make it ten feet before his body crashes into me, arms crushing around my waist from behind.
He wheels me off my feet like I’m weightless, sending waves of water everywhere, drenching us both. I shriek with laughter—an utterly girlish, carefree sound. It shocks me to hear it exit my lungs, like I had stolen it from someone else—someone with a life not waist-deep in death.
I fight him, squirming in his arms just to provoke those luscious muscles to tighten around me.
For a few beats, he lets me at it, and I feel his grin buried against my hair.
The pond is shallow enough here that I can stand on my feet, toes pushing against the smooth stones at the bottom so I can twist to face him.
The sight of his body dripping with water and dappled in soft light is nothing short of godlike.
“Look at you, still so eager,” Dante murmurs. “Like what you see?”
Color floods my cheeks as his smile turns wicked.
It shouldn’t matter that I’ve been caught staring after what we’ve already done—but I can’t let my wounded pride remain empty-handed.
With a coy smirk, I hook my leg around his, and with one swift movement—before he can shove me off—I pull hard, knocking him off his feet and sending him under the water with a splash.
He surfaces with a chuckle, this time catching me when I’ve almost made it to the opposite bank.
Towering oaks grow into the water on this side, their roots looping right into the lapping waves—something that, in the back of my mind, I register should be impossible.
Their winding branches create a canopy overhead, casting dancing shadows that shift with the fae lights that cling to leaves and flowers.