28. TWENTY-EIGHT #2
I give a gasping cry as he locks a single hand around my throat—his expression horribly apologetic all the while.
“We need peace,” I hear Nico say, his voice stretched and distorted as spots dance over my vision, darkening, darkening. “We can’t keep enduring eternity like this.”
Dante bellows in outrage, but he sounds miles away. Everything does now. His cry is punctuated by a shriek from Clémence and the sound of something snapping hard. I claw at Nico’s hand—and my hazy vision becomes even blurrier as a burst of mist flies beside us.
Dante materializes behind Nico and wrenches him off of me, hurling him into the shallow stream.
As Dante scoops me into his arms, I wince from my injuries, but my weak voice manages to find a laugh. “You shadow-stepped!”
He staggers closer to the wall with me and falls to his knees. “Did I look heroic?” But he can’t hold his smile, looking me up and down like he can sense the pain coursing through me. “Where does it hurt?”
He brushes my hair aside to reveal the stinging wound on the side of my head where I’d hit the ground. Blood comes away on his fingers, making his jaw tighten. His eyes flick between me and our surroundings.
Clémence is closing in, looking as battered and bloodied as Dante.
She’s limping and cradling her left arm like it’s been broken, but carrying herself with cold dignity all the same.
The bone will take longer than a flesh wound to heal, but I have no doubt she’s still lethal.
Nico is pulling himself out of the water, just as relentless.
And Alessandro…
He steps closer to us without any hurry, raising a hand for his children to pause.
Dante bares his teeth at his maker. “You will not have her.”
“Do you truly believe you have any say in what happens here?” Alessandro muses. “Your time away has clouded your understanding of reality, boy.” He sneers, appearing more disappointed than anything. But there is something brewing behind his eyes—a rage that he’s containing on a whim.
“If you would have let me be, Thomas wouldn’t be dead.” Dante’s face is set, eyes wide. “Just let me go. There’s no need for further violence. Keep your family. Keep everything. But leave me be.” His voice wavers hopelessly.
“It seems reeducation is in order.” Alessandro scoffs as though they’re exchanging nothing more than a terse family conversation. “End this foolishness now, and I’ll allow you to kill her quickly—painlessly.”
Dante bares his teeth. “Fuck you.”
“Do it—before I give you no other choice but to drain her dry. Slowly. Is that what you would prefer?”
No other choice. The way he says it makes my nerves stand on end. I know vampire lords have a strong influence, but I have never heard of them being able to strictly force their creations to do their bidding. The self-assured look on Alessandro’s face paints a clear picture—he can and he will.
“Decide,” Alessandro says, quieter.
Dante’s expression doesn’t change—he regards Alessandro defiantly, crushing me to his chest. “I won’t hurt her.”
“Then you’ve damned her. I did warn you.” Alessandro idly strokes a ring on his finger as he strides toward us, his expression nothing short of infernal in its unyielding demand. He stands just three feet before us, glowering down at Dante with an unreadable intensity. “Feed.”
Dante tenses strangely, and he gives his head a small shake, blinking hard. Then slowly—very slowly—he turns his attention down to me in his arms.
“Father…” Nico’s voice is raspy from disuse, his eyes wide, almost pleading.
Clémence stands perfectly still, expression unreadable. She makes no move to attack, as though she knows this is over.
“Dante,” I whisper as his grip begins to stiffen.
I twist in his grasp to look at him. All the familiarity in his expression is simply…
gone. Nothing remains of the man I know.
I don’t know why or how—it’s like he’s possessed.
Dante’s gaze drops to my neck and his eyes blanch to a milky, starving white.
At once, his closeness is no longer a protection but a threat.
I try to tear free, but a quick, effortless adjustment of his grip has me at his mercy. He seizes my neck, lowering his mouth toward my skin. I catch a glimpse of his teeth and panic floods me like ice.
“No!” I rasp, fighting madly. “Stop! Dante, this isn’t you!” My fingers claw at his hands. I cannot reach my weapons. “Please. Please, don’t!”
As I cry his name again, I swear I catch the smallest flicker of hesitation. But his grip renews, unrelenting, and his fangs will be upon me in seconds.
How cruel, that I should die like this when I just began to feel alive.
Although hysteria threatens to keep me locked in its grip, I force myself to look at him. I think of how gently he kissed me just minutes before, cradling me like I was the only thing worth having at all.
Just before he’s too close for me to see, I manage to cup his face in one cold, quavering hand. I can’t possibly overpower him, but I’m not trying to. It’s a touch meant to comfort—because Dante is still in there somewhere. He has to be, and he’ll hate himself for what’s about to happen.
“Dante,” I sob. My voice strangles with terror as I feel his fangs notch against my skin, pulse hammering beneath. “Dante. It’s okay. You’re not alone. I’m here—I’m here. You’ll be alright.”
I weep for him. Another person he cares for, drained at his hands because of the monster standing before us.
Dante’s grip is painfully crushing, his breath steaming behind my ear, my heartbeat deafening as a wardrum.
And then something shifts.