Chapter 12
twelve
OPHELIA
I spent forty minutes sketching a diagram of the original magic I'd woven for the prison, and was still working on it when Dante got to my house.
He knocked.
I didn't answer right away, finishing up what I was working on first.
He knocked again, louder.
"Just a second!" I yelled.
And spent two more minutes sketching before he rang the doorbell. Twice.
Swearing under my breath, I got up and answered the door.
I accidentally sucked in a breath when I opened it.
God, I'd forgotten how gorgeous he was.
Six and a half feet of pure muscle, long, thick locs, dark skin, and stunning blue eyes. And now, business attire.
It looked better on him than I'd expected.
Way better.
Slacks and a long-sleeve button-up rolled to his forearms were definitely not something I could complain about.
His eyes were narrow as he looked past me, into the house. His sharp gaze swept over the room like he was looking for something.
"Hello?" I waved.
"What were you doing?"
"Sketching out the prison."
"It took you five minutes to come to the door because you were sketching?" He sounded unconvinced.
"Yeah. What else would I be doing?"
"Are you here alone?"
I scoffed. "You think I'm hooking up with someone? Seriously?"
"We barely know each other," he pointed out.
"You can feel my emotions through the mate bond!"
"Only the strong ones."
I opened the door widely and swept my hand toward the interior of the room.
"Feel free to look around and see for yourself that I'm alone.
Don't break any of my pottery. I'm not going to spend the next few months saving you from another one of my spells if you accidentally curse yourself with a broken plate. "
"Noted."
He stepped inside.
A glance through the front door proved me right about his vehicle of choice.
Some kind of fancy, navy blue sports car that probably cost as much as my house. Or more.
He disappeared into my bedroom.
I went back to the office I'd created on the floor of my living room, with a dozen sheets of printer paper taped together. I didn't have the money for a big roll of paper, and the printer paper had been waiting for something to do anyway.
My Sharpie and pencil marks were currently interchangeable. I needed Sharpie to draw on the tape, and pencil so I could add and erase everywhere else.
My couch had been shoved out onto the small back porch to make room for my map. Dante stepped outside after he passed me, and I ignored him.
Or tried to ignore him, anyway.
He was really freaking distracting.
I finally dropped my pencil and went to the kitchen, where he was currently pulling random food items from two grocery bags that he must've brought with him.
There was a bag of peaches.
A box of cereal.
A carton of oat milk.
Two prebiotic sodas that claimed to be healthy, despite the fact that they also claimed to be soda.
A pack of protein bars.
A bag of beef jerky, too.
"I don't know what you like to cook or eat," he grumbled, putting random things away in my otherwise empty fridge and pantry.
"I'm not picky. I've lived on cup noodles for the last year."
"What are cup noodles?"
I stepped past him to grab a styrofoam cup out of the trash, and lifted it so he could see it. "They come in here. You just dump boiling water inside. They used to cost like a quarter, but inflation got to them too, so they're at an entire dollar now. Ridiculous, right?"
There was no recognition in his eyes.
"How rich are you?" I checked.
His forehead creased. "What does that have to do with this?"
"You don't know what cup noodles are. Jazz was horrified by my perfectly fine minivan.
You never asked how I afforded to live while I was trying to figure out how to break you out of my prison.
The random things you brought make me think you've never been grocery shopping until today.
You were late, so it took you longer than you thought it would, and you're obviously someone who plans how you spend your time. "
He didn't reply right away.
Went back to putting things away in my empty cabinets, at random.
I waited, tapping my foot while I did.
"I'll have money transferred into your account by the end of the day. I just need your information," he eventually said.
"I don't want your money, Dante."
His entire body stiffened. "But you want Callum Frost's?"
"No. I don't want anyone's money. I just want enough noodle cups, gas, and utilities paid to survive until I can go back to making and selling my pottery." I dropped the foam cup back in the trash bin.
"My mate isn't surviving on noodle cups," he gritted out.
"You're surviving on nightmare blood, so it seems fair."
"What did you just say?" He turned to face me slowly.
Almost predatorily.
A trickle of excitement rolled down my spine.
It probably made me delusional, but it really did something for me when he got all primal.
"You're surviving on nightmare blood. Me living on cup noodles is a fair equivalent," I said.
His eyes slitted.
Maybe he wanted more of an explanation?
"I'm a fallen angel, Dante. No part of me is made to be enticing or pleasant. I'm aware that I'm not a catch. It's not surprising that my blood is unpleasant, but your options were to die in an elevator underground or mate with me, so—why do you feel like that?"
The man was so furious, he may as well have been steaming. I could feel his rage radiating through his side of the mate bond.
"Your blood isn't unpleasant," he said in a low voice.
"Of course it is. You're the one who said I tasted like darkness."
A snarl escaped him.
Even in the prison, he hadn't been this angry.
Dante abandoned the grocery bags on the countertop and grabbed me by the waist, carrying me straight out through the front door. He slammed it behind him, but didn't lock it.
No one would've tried to break in, anyway. All of my neighbors were afraid of me. No one realized that I had been basically powerless.
"What is happening?" I asked, as he deposited me in the passenger seat of the most expensive vehicle I had ever been inside.
He shut the door harder than he needed to, without answering my question.
The tires squealed as he peeled away from my house a lot more smoothly than I would've expected, given how long he'd been in prison.
Rock music played from the stereo, loudly.
"I was busy," I called above it. "I am busy. Take me back home."
He clenched his jaw, and didn't turn the car around. His rage didn't ease up, either.
"Seriously?" I asked. "I'm trying to get more innocent people out of prison!"
He didn't reply.
Guess I would have to figure out how to break a bunch of assholes out of my prison later.
I turned the music up louder, hoping it would ease his anger.
It didn't.
I liked the noise anyway. His fancy car had really nice speakers.
An hour later, Dante parked in an open spot in front of a large building. I studied the building. Decided it was probably an office of some kind.
"Stay here," he ordered, unbuckling his seat belt and leaving the car.
I watched his ass as he strode through the sliding glass doors like he owned the place.
It was a nice ass.
The sign in front of the parking spot said:
RESERVED FOR THE OWNER
So yeah. Guess he did own the place.
Cool.
The rock music suddenly cut off, and his phone vibrated loudly in the car's sleek pocket that looked like it had been created for the thing. The caller ID on the screen that had shown what song was playing now said:
JASMINE VEIL
I assumed that was Jazz.
Dante was still gone, so I hit the green button to answer it.
"Hey, have you made it out to the brewery yet? I heard some weird shit about one of the bartenders there."
"I'm going to guess that he hasn't," I said.
"Ophelia?" Jazz asked, sounding surprised.
"Unfortunately."
A pause followed. "Um, hey."
"Hi."
"Dante said he was going to track you down tomorrow. What happened?"
"I knew he was a schedule guy. I'm probably in his calendar. Ugh."
Another pause. "So, why do you have his phone?"
"He forgot it in his car when he went into a fancy office building. I'm pretty sure he owns the place. He basically abducted me from my home after losing his goddamn mind, so I'm the last person you should ask what's going on."
"Dante doesn't lose his mind," Jazz reasoned.
"I'm going to have to disagree."
"What happened?"
"It's a long story." I fiddled with the air conditioning settings. The sun was shining through the window at a truly unpleasant angle. I wished it was raining, if just to ease the sunshine. "Do you know why Dante's shadows are stuck to me? It's kind of weird."
"Mated demons' shadows always cling to their mate. It's a protection thing."
"Weird." Guess I might've noticed that, if I'd let myself look at River for more than two seconds at a time.
"Just tell me," Jazz said.
"I ran out of money and food, so I went to Callum Frost for more. To avoid starving while I fix the prison, obviously."
"Dear lord," she muttered.
"Callum had heard from his unhinged family that I am now mated to Dante, so he called Dante then and there.
Dante freaked out. Callum refused to give me money, but provided pancakes.
I went home, and started working. Dante showed up, accused me of cheating on him, and started unpacking groceries after he realized I didn't."
"When you're mated to a demon, asking someone other than your mate for money is horribly offensive, Ophelia. It's like asking someone else to touch your wings would be for a happily mated angel."
I made a face. "Seems like it."
"He wouldn't have just randomly lost his mind while he was unpacking groceries, though."
"No," I agreed.
She waited.
I looked up at the roof of the car. "We had another conversation. I told him I didn't want his money, and said I just needed noodle cups. He said his mate wasn't surviving on noodle cups."
"What are noodle cups?"
"Styrofoam cups full of hard noodles that you add hot water to."
"Gross."
"They're delicious, and cheap." I sighed.
Loudly. "Anyway. I told him that my unpleasant fallen angel blood is the equivalent of noodle cups, so he has no reason to take issue with my choice of food.
He was even more pissed after that, and said it wasn't unpleasant.
I reminded him that he said I tasted like a nightmare, and he basically lost his mind.
He threw me in his car, and took off. Hasn't said a word since. "
"God," Jazz said with a groan. "Do you know anything about demons?"
"How would I know anything about demons? Did you know anything about angels before you mated with my dickhead brother?"
"Not really. And River's not—"
I interrupted her. "I've known Dante for less than ten days, and we haven't even been mated for one. So yeah, I know almost nothing about demons."
"That's fair," Jazz admitted grudgingly. "You basically just said and did all of the most offensive things possible to a demon. And he's not just a demon—he's your mate. That makes everything much worse."
I blinked. "How?"
"Feeding on an immortal being is intimate, and demons take it very seriously. We're trained to see it as a privilege. Accusing one of us of not being satisfied by that privilege would be like accusing someone of hating the most expensive meal at the most expensive restaurant."
"Not everyone would like every meal."
"It's not a perfect metaphor. All you need to know is that accusing Dante of not being satisfied by his mate's blood is the worst possible insult you could give him.
If you were anyone but his mate, he'd probably kill you for it.
And you didn't just accuse him of not being satisfied.
You said he told you it was as disgusting as styrofoam noodles. "
"The noodles themselves aren't Styrofoam, and that's not exactly what I said. Also, cup noodles aren't disgusting."
"You said they're cheap. He sees you as the fanciest restaurant in the fucking world, and you accused him of seeing you as a meal that costs, what, five dollars?"
"One," I admitted grudgingly.
Technically, I'd told him they only used to cost a quarter.
"And you did that after asking another man for money," she pointed out.
"I get it. I've unintentionally insulted him horribly. For the record, he did say my blood tastes like darkness, though."
"Ophelia, he's a demon. We feel at home in the shadows. You only think darkness is an insult because you grew up equating light magic with good and dark magic with bad."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm mated to an angel, remember?
I made a face. "My fucked-up childhood doesn't mean that Dante likes the way my blood tastes. He didn't say it like it was a compliment, and he can't like that I'm fallen. No one does. Including me."
"He wouldn't have mated with you if he didn't like the way your blood tastes. It wouldn't even be possible for a vampire to do that. And he doesn't care that you fell. He was telling us about your wings yesterday. He said they're beautiful."
The tension in my lower belly uncurled a little. "Why was he talking about my wings?"
"We spent the day catching up. Grayson asked if you had wings. We're family; we were just talking. That was the only thing he said about them. He likes you, so stop worrying."
"I'm not worrying about him liking me," I said defensively. "He just fucking abducted me."
Her scoff was audible. "Is he still in the building?"
"Yeah. No sign of him yet. Any idea what he's doing?"
"Probably something that's going to piss you off."
"Like..." I trailed off.
"I don't know. You asked for money and said he hates your blood. Something to fix one of those problems. The money thing, I would guess. That's easier."
"Just how rich is he?" I asked.
"The fae basically own their half of Rumor. We basically own our half."
"Really rich, then."
"Yeah."
The glass doors slid open, and Dante stepped out.
"He's finally coming back," I said.
"Alright. I'll call back to ask him about the business stuff in a minute. Pretend we didn't just talk about this."
"Okay." I hit the button to hang up.
Dante opened the door, looking slightly less ragey than he had before.
He still didn't say a word as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.