chapter 52
The light had shifted by the time Dante stood.
Ferial was still sitting on the pale stone, tracing the silver vines with her eyes, when he brushed his hands on his trousers and said casually, “We’re not going back tonight.”
She blinked. “We’re… what?”
He grinned—slow, boyish, reckless. “We’re staying.”
Her stomach flipped. “Staying as in… hiking until dark and then driving back?”
“Staying,” he repeated, already walking toward a clearing slightly uphill from the moon grounds.
She hurried after him. “Dante.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped into the clearing and crouched near what looked like nothing more than uneven earth. He brushed aside dried leaves, revealing a flat wooden hatch nearly invisible against the soil.
She stared.
He pulled on a concealed metal ring and lifted.
Beneath it was a narrow underground storage space—carefully built, reinforced with treated wood and stone. Shelves lined the inside. Waterproof containers. Blankets sealed in thick bags. Lanterns. Foldable cooking tools. Fire starters. Even sealed food supplies.
Her mouth fell open. “You built this?”
“After I found this place when I was sixteen,” he said, climbing down with easy familiarity. “I didn’t trust that it would always be left alone. So I made sure I could survive here if I ever needed to.”
She crouched at the edge, peering down. “You just… come out here and stocked it?”
“Every few months.” He tossed up a rolled sleeping mat. “It helps knowing I can disappear if I have to.”
That word—disappear—sat heavier than it should have.
He climbed back out with an armful of supplies and shut the hatch carefully, disguising it again with leaves and dirt.
Ferial shook her head, impressed. “You’re impossible.”
“I prefer prepared.”
“You built an underground survival bunker in a sacred forest at sixteen.”
He shrugged. “Some boys build treehouses.”
She laughed.
He worked quickly but not hurriedly. Dante cleared a flat space near a line of stone, unrolled the mats, and layered blankets. He set up a small portable frame for a canopy in case the weather turned. Built the fire pit with stones he’d clearly arranged before.
“You’ve done this a lot,” she observed.
“Enough.”
He handed her a blanket. “Sit. Stay warm.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You sound like you’re talking to a puppy.”
“Do you plan on running into the forest unsupervised?”
She smirked. “Depends. Are there wolves?”
He gave her a look.
She burst out laughing. “I’m joking.”
He softened, but only slightly. “Stay put. I’ll be back. And yes, I am that wolf that will chase and bite.”
“You’re not going far, right?”
He stepped closer then, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll always come back.”
And then he was gone—moving into the trees with a silence that reminded her he was very much not human.
The forest shifted around her. She wrapped the blanket tighter and listened to the crackle of the early fire. The sky deepened slowly into indigo.
He returned faster than she expected.
Two rabbits slung easily in one hand.
Her nose wrinkled. “You didn’t even break a sweat.”
He smirked. “I told you. Prepared I come and prepared I shall stay.”
The smell of grilled meat and simmering stew filled the clearing. Dante moved with surprising domestic ease—skinning, cleaning, and seasoning with herbs he’d gathered nearby.
“You cook rugged like this often?” she asked.
“When I don’t want anyone watching and judging me. A scare tactic, little mate.”
She watched him anyway. He spoke so serious even if it was a joke.
The firelight carved sharp shadows along his jaw, softened his eyes. He handed her a wooden bowl filled with rich, steaming stew and a piece of grilled rabbit.
She tasted it and blinked. “Okay. This is unfair.”
“What?”
“You’re dangerous, powerful, emotionally complex, and you cook?”
He raised a brow. “Should I be worse at something?”
“Yes. It would make you easier to tolerate.”
He laughed —low and real.
They ate slowly, backs resting against stone, legs stretched toward the fire. Above them, the moon rose clean and full, silver light catching on the moon plants in the distance.
It felt unreal.
Safe in a way that scared her.
And maybe that was why she started talking.
“Abdie and I used to get into trouble,” she began, staring into the flames.
Dante hummed softly. “I’m listening.”
“We were the only two in our year who refused to lower our heads all the time.”
He glanced at her. “You? Refused? Not surprised ” he laughed.
“I was quiet,” she corrected. “Not obedient.”
That made him smile.
“Our teachers in our year were werewolves,” she continued. “All of them. Patrols would linger outside the classrooms like we were criminals waiting to happen.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“But Abdie…” She laughed softly. “Abdie would whisper the most ridiculous commentary under his breath. Once, our history teacher was going on about pack hierarchy and destiny, and he leaned over and said, ‘If destiny wanted you to yell less, it would’ve given you a smaller mouth.’”
Dante choked on a laugh. “He did not.”
“He did. And I nearly lost it. I was the ‘silent one,’ remember? So when I started laughing, the entire class froze.”
“What happened?”
“Detention. Both of us.” She shrugged. “Worth it.”
The fire popped.
She grew quieter.
“There was this one time,” she said slowly, “our district alpha allowed ten humans to go on an excursion. First time they’d ever done it. Some show of ‘unity.’”
Dante’s eyes sharpened. “Where?”
“To an aquarium. In one of the werewolf towns under our district.”
He leaned back slightly. “You were chosen?”
She nodded. “I don’t know why. Maybe because I kept my head down. Maybe because they thought I’d behave.”
“And did you?”
She smiled faintly. “Mostly.”
He waited.
She watched the fire. “It was the first time I saw something beautiful that wasn’t controlled by fear.”
His expression softened.
“The tanks were massive. Sharks, rays, glowing jellyfish. There was this underwater tunnel where the water moved above you, and for a moment…” Her voice quieted. “For a moment I forgot who I was supposed to be. Who my district expected me to be.”
Dante swallowed.
“The patrols were there too,” she added. “Watching us like we’d steal the fish. If Abdie was there, probably a huge possibility of that happening.”
His hand flexed slightly.
“But I remember pressing my hand against the glass,” she continued. “And this stingray swam right over me. Slow. Graceful. Like it didn’t care about hierarchy or laws or species.”
She looked at him then.
“I wanted to feel like that. Just… moving freely.”
The moonlight caught in her eyes.
Dante studied her carefully. “What else did you do?” he asked softly. “As a teenager.”
She tilted her head. “Are you interrogating me?”
“I’m learning about you.”
She considered that.
“I refurbished old clothes with Abdie,” she said. “We’d find discarded fabrics, stitch them into something new. Sold some. Kept some. Mentioned that, remember?”
He imagined her hunched over fabric, quiet but stubborn.
“I read a lot. Snuck books I wasn’t supposed to. Learned things I wasn’t meant to question.”
His eyes darkened with approval.
“I climbed rooftops,” she added.
That made him sit up straighter. “You did what?”
“It was the only place no one followed.”
He stared at her, torn between alarm and admiration. “You’re unbelievable.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice playfully. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
The fire crackled between them.
The night deepened.
He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers over her wrist, thumb tracing the faint pulse there.
“I want to know all of it,” he said quietly.
Under moonlight and smoke and ancient silver vines, it didn’t feel like an interrogation.
It felt like a discovery.
"Dante?" She turned to him. "Sitting here, I feel as though these silver vines brought me to you."
"Yeah?" He smiled, looking up at the moon. "Perhaps my whole life, I wasn't running away, but running towards you."
With a giggle, she left him hanging. Allowing his words to float around her. And the moon above to shine her mercies over them.