So, I did.
In. Out. The air tasting like this old house, like ward-magic, and Dante.
Not algae. Not the lagoon.
Just… him.Just him.
Nico trailed behind us up the narrow staircase, his hand trailing along the banister, shadows flickering like restless smoke along the wood. He saw where my eyes landed and smiled, like we shared some kind of secret.
The bedroom was exactly as we’d left it last evening—bed unmade, blankets tangled from lovemaking, my trunks pushed against the wall, overflowing with weapons, dresses, and workout clothing I wore to train—and smelled of day-old sex and…Gods, I hoped Nico’s vampiric senses were on the fritz.
Out of nowhere, I needed to hide—everything crashing in at once—the fact I thought of this place as home, the empty dark hole inside of me, the fact Dante clung to me as though he’d never let me go.
“I… need to use the bathroom.” Tear stung my eyes, and I dug my fingers into Dante’s thick arm as he headed straight for the bed. “Please,marito.”
He hung onto me a moment longer, finally setting me down, tracking every step as I crossed the room, his big hands flexing compulsively, his eyes blazing.
“Give me a minute,” I whispered, then closed the door behind me and stared into the mirror, feeling… untethered. And from my reflection, looking like a drowned rat. My hair hung in snarled waves, my clothes were torn and bloodstained, and rusty streaks still darkening my face and neck.
Like I’d fought a war I didn’t even remember starting.
And my eyes… I leaned closer. There was a faint silver ring around my irises, like moonlight glinting on metal.
I turned the shower on, stripped quickly, trying to get rid of this dark, haunted feeling, like I still had one foot in the Underworld. When I stepped under the stream of hot water, I started to cry. Sobbed, actually, in great heaving waves that wouldn’t stop, not until the tears ran out, and I was left with an empty, aching sorrow that felt like I was being raked over the coals.
I fucked up.
Fucked up so badly, now I have to play dead, so I don’t really get dead.
Somehow, I’d thought I’d be dealing out revenge with an emotionless, cold hand and walk away with my heart untouched.
Now I’m an emotional dumpster fire, burning out of control.
I toweled off and realized my clothes were ruined and wet. Finding one of Dante’s shirts wadded up in a corner, I slipped it over my head. The fabric still smelled like him, and that jagged edge inside of me smoothed over, like putting a band-aid over a wound.
I splashed more water on my face, took another look at my eyes—yup, still silver—and when I opened the door, I was immediately rushed into bed by my bossy, overprotective husband, who was not the least bit satisfied until I was propped on a pile of pillows and tucked under about twenty blankets.
“Dante,” I tried to sound soothing. “I’m getting your bed all wet, I should maybe…”
“Let me do this for you,” he cut in, motions frantic, jerky. “Just… let me take care of you, Ember.”
There was a desperation in the way he kept touching me, so I let him tuck me in like a child and brush damp strands of hair away from my face with shaking fingers, peering at me with eyes that reflected too much.
Pain. Fear. Guilt.
Evidently not one to be deterred by a tender scene or understand what privacy was, Nico lounged in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look casual. His hair was wet from the boat spray, droplets of water sliding down the side of his neck.
I looked between them. “Emilia said death doesn’t like to be cheated. I feel…” I searched for some way to describe the indescribable. “Like I dragged some of that darkness back here with me.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from straying over to Nico, to those strange shadows curling around his feet.
They looked almost solid, as though they were taking physical form.
“What lives in that realm remains there.” Nico tried tosound nonchalant, but his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to peer beneath my skin. “The veil between us and the Underworld can’t be crossed by the living.”
Dante didn’t say a word, but there was something ominous lurking beneath his glassy fear, something rumbling, like a monster wanting to escape.
This strange new darkness inside me seemed to sense its presence, and that quote came back to me—fate follows your scent, and Death will always keep her promise.
Death… was that what I kept feeling?
