"You don't want to know."
His voice scraped over her skin. That low, rough tone that made her stomach clench even when she was furious with him.
"Yes, I do." She stepped closer against every instinct telling her to protect herself. "I need to know."
She needed to know if she was real. If any of it was real. Or if she was just the latest version of a pattern he'd been repeating for centuries.
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled against his thigh.
The space between them held its breath.
Brynn wrapped herself in anger because the alternative was falling apart, and she waited.
XL.
DANTE
The sound of the entrance opening made his shadows recoil.
No one knew about this place. No one had ever?—
She stepped into his sanctuary, vibrating with rage.
But underneath it—hurt. The brittle edge of someone who'd trusted him and now wondered if that trust had been misplaced.
The thief had found his refuge. And she'd come armed with questions.
He stood from the bench as she approached, his mask slamming into place even though every instinct screamed that it was already too late. She'd seen too much. Knew too much.
"She said I wasn't the first mortal to catch your attention."
The words came out sharp, her voice tight with emotion she was barely controlling. Her hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles white, and even in her fury, she was beautiful in a way that made his shadows ache toward her.
He forced them still.
"She told me to ask you about the tribute you became attached to. About what happened when she started asking the wrong questions."
Elizabeth.
The name dragged up memories he'd buried so deep he'd almostconvinced himself they'd stopped hurting. Seraphina had found that weakness and wielded it perfectly.
And now Brynn stood before him with devastation written in the rigid line of her shoulders, the too-bright shine in her eyes, the way she held herself like she was bracing for another blow.
She thinks she's just another in a pattern.
"You don't want to know." His voice came out rough, a warning she wouldn't heed. Had never heeded, from the first moment she'd looked him in the eye and refused to flinch.
"Yes, I do." She stopped just outside the circle of the fountain's light. "I need to know."
She wasn't just angry. She was hurt in ways that had nothing to do with political games, and that cracked him open.
She'd let herself feel something. And now she was standing in his garden, wondering if any of it had been real.
"Seraphina has her own agenda," he said. "Whatever she told you?—"
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare try to deflect this. I'm not some naive child you can distract with warnings about political games."
His shadows writhed at the anger in her voice. They wanted to wrap around her, soothe the rage radiating from her skin. He held them back through sheer will.
