“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.
