31. Briar #2
He’s likely correct in that assumption, and even if it truly was the grief or rage of losing his wife that turned Terrance into the man he is now…both paths lead to the same result: him being killed tomorrow.
I can feel empathy for anyone who loses a loved one, be it naturally or tragically, but I won’t allow anyone to use that as an excuse to harm others.
He will answer for his crimes.
“The only warmth in our home came from my mom,” he says quieter now, as if he doesn’t mean for the words to slip out of his mind.
My eyes catch on the glint of gold against his sweat-slicked chest and the chain he told me is the last thing he has of her. When my eyes shift to his, a thought hits me harder than if this bag came back to knock me onto my ass.
There’s no hatred for me, or any supernatural, when he speaks of them during this conversation.
There never has been.
Ever since I first saw him at the compound, that’s been true.
When he carried me in his arms, limp and half-broken, his face was blank, but not cruel.
Not once did I catch the simmer of violence in his gaze when it landed on me.
Elias had fury, Callum had grief, but Dante…
he’s always been hollow where hatred should have lived under the weight of his father’s ideals.
And now, here in my home, with his jaw set and his hands steady on the bag, the truth clicks into place within my mind.
Despite being Terrance’s son, despite the blood in his veins, it’s somehow easier to forgive Dante faster than Elias and Callum. Because he never had a choice in being a part of it. He was just trying to survive under the shadow of the man who would’ve killed him for doing otherwise.
Trapped by family and the expectation that comes with being a part of it. Chained to a future he never wanted.
Maybe that’s why looking at him has never brought fire to my chest the way I expect it to. Maybe that’s why it feels different with him.
I pull back after another strike, breath ragged, and shake out my hands. My knuckles throb under the wraps, but it’s nothing compared to the ache twisting in my chest as I look at him.
“The moment you decided to help us break out,” I say quietly, “I saw how hard it was for you to come to that decision. I may not have had the threat of violence from my family hanging over me if I left, but I know what it’s like to fight against familial expectations.
To be defined by a name and the blood in your veins before anyone even thinks to ask what it is you want. ”
His jaw clenches and I watch his hands tighten around the bag, the leather squeaking under his grip.
“Every one of them under my father wanted the power I had as his second-in-command.” His voice is soft now, carrying the weight of old wounds he may never have been able to say aloud until now.
“They saw it as a gift.” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head as he stares at the bag. “I only ever saw it as a curse.”
When his eyes lift to mine, the weight of his stare pins me in place.
“Thank you for helping me find the strength to try to break away from it all one more time.”
The corner of his mouth twitches before a sigh falls from his parted lips.
“I’m only sorry that you had to endure everything you did in order for me to have that opportunity.
” His chest rises and falls with a sharp breath, his knuckles whitening on the bag from his grip. “It feels wrong to thank you for that.”
I don’t know if I want to strike the bag again, or reach for him, from the brokenness that surfaces in his voice and eyes with that admission.
His brows lift as if mocking himself internally or preparing to laugh, though there’s no humor in his eyes.
“While we’re on the topic of saying things that feel wrong to say out loud, I guess I can also admit that somehow I feel like an outsider in our group,” he mutters before his eyes fall to the floor, unwilling to meet mine anymore.
“I felt it that day in the clearing when I came to, seeing the three of you have this easy banter and dynamic. I felt it again this week when I heard that both of them have seen you since we got here.”
An uneven breath falls from me as heat creeps into my cheeks, unbidden. My mind races through what he might have heard happened with his cousins, or what he might imagine.
Why does that feel humiliating to think about? Why do I…care what Dante thinks?
My hands fall slowly to my sides, the wraps brushing against my thighs.
“You’re not an outsider,” I finally breathe out, shaking my head at the thought of him feeling that way.
We’re such a fucked-up group. I’m here struggling with what I feel for each of them, and all of them somehow suddenly give a shit about me, making it harder to untangle my emotions.
Then there’s Dante saying he wants in on whatever dynamic I have with his cousins, as if I’m closer to them than he is.
I don’t know how any of us got here.
Suddenly his hands drop from the bag and he’s standing in front of me, staring down at my much smaller frame. Up close, there’s no ignoring the width of his bare shoulders, the sculpted muscle of his chest illuminated by the sheen of sweat.
I can’t tell if his chest is heaving from the workout, his words, or something else entirely.
What unsettles me most is the realization crawling beneath my skin that just like with Elias and Callum, I don’t want to escape his nearness.
I hate myself for that.
His hand lifts to grip my chin lightly, turning it up to look up at him, unable to escape the intensity shining down at me now.
“I spent so long suppressing all of my emotions just to be numb enough to get through each day. Maybe it’s incredibly fucked up for me to admit this to you, but all of this–” his hand gestures around, “–has taught me to take the risks. Because none of us know how long we have to live and we should live each fucking day on our own terms, or it isn’t worth living. ”
There’s so much passion mixed with rage in his words and it makes my heart gallop. I swallow hard, the rising knot in my throat threatening to choke me as I force myself to hold his gaze.
His fingers shift from my chin to cup my cheek and my body leans into him before I can think better of it. When his palm settles there fully, the calluses of his fingers brush my skin and my breath stumbles at the intimacy and charged energy building between us.
“I have this inexplicable desire to be around you,” he admits, his eyes burning into mine with an honesty that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
“It’s like you have this gravitational pull I’m helpless to.
Your fire called to me in the compound, your love for your family overpowered everything, and the compassion you had in saving us–when you owed us nothing–was nothing short of astounding. ”
My lips part, but nothing comes out as I blink up at him.
Words scatter uselessly in my head, tripping over one another.
There’s no sharp retort or a wall of fury to hide behind, just this sudden rush of warmth between my legs that is very much so responding to the admiration and honesty in his words.
What is it about these three men? Every reason I should push them away evaporates when I need it most.
Dante’s mouth curves into the faintest smirk, like he expected me to not respond.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “I didn’t expect you to feel the same, but I’m done burying things. I’m determined to feel every emotion moving forward and to voice them.”
Much like the snake tattoo on his back, he’s shedding who he was and claiming his new identity. The man who won’t be told how to feel or act.
I force myself to speak as my head shakes. “You aren’t the outsider in this group, Dante. I am. You’re all family. I’m just…” My voice falters as my chest squeezes and I remember the monster I was reduced to in my starvation. “Just the vampire girl.”
His free hand lifts to settle warm and firm against my hip. The touch jolts through me, surprising me enough that my breath stutters, but his gaze never wavers.
“No.” He shakes his head once. “You’re the woman none of us deserve but all of us want.”
The truth of it lingers between us and my pulse thunders in response.
His hand slips from my cheek and the other from my hip, leaving a chill in their wake as he takes a step back.
“We will show you tomorrow that we aren’t afraid to stand up for the right side any longer–even if it costs us our lives.”
He turns, and I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, despite having a speed he could never track.
Before my mind has a chance to catch up, my body moves on instinct.
I catch his wrist, fingers curling tight around him as I yank him back toward me.
He turns, surprise flickering in his eyes, but I don’t give myself time to second-guess.
Fuck it. Fuck it all.
I rise onto my toes, closing the distance, my arms winding around his neck as if they’ve always belonged there, and then I kiss him.
For a heartbeat, he goes completely still beneath my touch. His breath catches against my lips, his whole body locked as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening. The shock radiates off him, and for the space of a single pulse, I think I’ve made a mistake.
Then he snaps into action, his hands finding my waist, rough and sure as he pulls me flush against his body until there’s no space left between us.
The scent of salt and leather clings to him, the warmth of his skin searing through the thin fabric of my shirt, and the heavy beat of his heart pounds against my chest like it’s echoing my own.
My fingers tangle in the damp hair at the nape of his neck as I tilt my mouth against his, deepening the kiss before he can take control. It’s mine to give, and I press it into him fiercely, like I’m cementing the choice into both of us.
He answers quickly, desire surging in the way his lips move with mine, hungry now, like he’s been starved for this. His grip tightens at my waist, anchoring me against him as though he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
The world narrows to the slide of his mouth, the rasp of his stubble against my skin, and the heat pooling in my core as I realize how easy it is to lose myself here, with him.
I break the kiss first, gasping for breath, but I don’t move far.
Dante’s forehead drops against mine, and for a long moment we just stand there, tethered together by the ragged sound of our breathing.
My arms stay looped around his neck, his hands still clamped firmly on my hips like neither of us is willing to let go.
Why can’t I fucking let go of them?
I’m startled by the emotion surging through me, deeper than anything I meant to unleash.
My throat is heavy with it as I bite out, “Don’t fucking prove me wrong in trusting you, Dante. Please.”
The last word fractures on the way out, a broken plea I can’t cage.
I can’t handle another betrayal and another crack in what’s left of me.
His grip shifts, rough palms sliding up to cradle my face.
“I won’t,” he answers in a tender, yet somehow fierce tone. “None of us will. Never again.”
The promise sinks deeply next to the one Callum made. Both are heavy, dangerous, and impossible to ignore, yet for the first time in days, I let myself cling to the faintest edge of hope.
Somehow each of them has given me exactly what I’ve needed, in the exact moment I needed it.
Maybe there is a reality in which I don’t have to let go of them at the end of this, if I want it.