Chapter 48 Dante
I watched her watch them.
Seraphine stood a few steps away from Lucian and Amara, her posture still, composed—too composed—but I felt what she didn’t show. The warmth under her skin flared unevenly, like a fire struggling to decide whether to burn or retreat. To anyone else, she looked calm. To me, she was a storm of conflicting emotions.
Happiness for her friend.
Relief that Amara wasn’t alone.
And beneath it all—ache.
Longing.
Fear.
Her fire spoke to mine in a language no one else could hear. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the quiet pull of recognition. The kind that said this is where you would fit if you let yourself.
I could have crossed the room.
Could have reached for her, pulled her into my arms the way Lucian held Amara—steady, certain, protective. I knew exactly how she would feel against me. I knew the way her body would soften before her mind caught up. I knew, because her fire already leaned toward mine.
I took one step forward.
And then—
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
I turned, irritation flaring, already prepared to tear into whoever had the audacity to interrupt this moment. Instead, it was the restaurant host—young, nervous, clutching insulated bags like a shield. His face flushed the second he realized where he was.
“I—uh—delivery for Mr. Vescari,” he stammered.
I didn’t let him finish.
I crossed the space in two strides, took the bags from his hands, and guided him back toward the elevator with a firm grip on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said curtly. “You’re done here.”
He nodded so fast I thought his neck might snap, practically diving back into the elevator. The doors closed, sealing him away.
I turned back.
Seraphine was gone.
The sound came a heartbeat later—the soft but unmistakable click of a door shutting down the hall.
Her door.
Locking.
I exhaled slowly.
Smoke curled from my mouth, thin and involuntary, and the air around me warmed. I didn’t bother stopping it. I didn’t have the patience.
Amara stared at me, eyes wide.
“…Did you just—” she started.
I waved a hand, cutting her off, and passed the food to Lucian. “Eat it before it gets cold.”
Lucian took the bags without comment, watching me carefully. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.
A bitter thought curled in my chest, sharp and ugly.
Part of me hated Amara.
The ease with which she’d accepted Lucian. The way she let herself be held without second-guessing every instinct. The way she leaned into what she was instead of fighting it.
But I knew better than to let that feeling fester.
I didn’t hate Amara.
I hated the comparison.
I hated that Lucian had what I didn’t.
Amara stepped closer, voice softer now. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “She does this. Shuts down. Locks herself away when it gets too much.”
I looked down at her.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “From what little I know? Yeah. She feels everything too hard. Always has.”
That didn’t comfort me.
It worried me.
I turned away, heading for my office. The door shut behind me with a solid click, and I locked it—not to keep others out, but to keep myself contained.
I crossed to the console and brought up the cameras.
Her room filled the screen.
Seraphine sat curled on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, shoulders shaking as she cried into the blankets. Her fire flickered erratically—flaring, dimming, struggling for balance.
I leaned my hands against the desk, jaw tightening.
“I’m not taking this from you,” I murmured to the empty room. “Not your choice. Not your control. Not your safety.”
She didn’t know it yet.
But I would protect her—even from herself.
And if that meant waiting…
Then I would wait.
Because fire didn’t rush.
Fire endured.
The door to my office opened without so much as a knock.
I growled low in my chest, the sound vibrating through the room. “I locked that door for a reason.”
Lucian didn’t flinch.
He stepped inside calmly, Amara just behind him, and held up a small black key between his fingers. “You gave me this several years ago,” he said evenly. “For emergencies. I’d say this qualifies.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t argue. Lucian didn’t use that key lightly.
“We don’t have time for this,” he continued. “We’ve got a situation that requires both of us. Now.”
Before I could respond, Amara gasped.
I turned my head just in time to see her staring at the monitors.
At Seraphine.
Curled on the bed. Crying.
The fire in my chest surged—not in anger this time, but something sharper. More dangerous.
Amara spun toward me. “Oh my god. Are you—are you watching her?”
I raised a brow, unapologetic. “I told you both when you moved in—every room is monitored except the bathrooms. For security.”
“That’s still creepy,” she snapped. “She’s vulnerable right now, Dante. That’s not protection, that’s—”
My fingernails ignited.
Blue-white flame licked up my fingers, sharp and sudden, fueled by instinct more than emotion. The temperature in the room spiked instantly.
Lucian reacted at once.
He stepped between us, one hand firmly guiding Amara back toward the door, the other lifted in a calming gesture toward me. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Not here. Not like this.”
He glanced back at Amara. “It’s different for us.”
She bristled. “Different how?”
Lucian didn’t sugarcoat it. “This is how he protects. This is how fire watches over what it claims. It isn’t about control. It’s vigilance.”
I didn’t look away from the screens.
“I’m not doing this for pleasure,” I said flatly. “I’m doing it because someone threatened her life. Because Kael’s consort is moving unchecked. Because assassins are in play.”
Amara crossed her arms, glaring at me. “You still should’ve told her.”
“Maybe,” I admitted.
That didn’t soften her expression.
She looked back at the monitor one last time, jaw clenched. “I’m telling her,” she said. “She deserves to know.”
“So be it,” I replied.
She turned and walked out without another word, the door shutting harder than necessary behind her.
I didn’t stop her.
Lucian exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You really have a talent for setting things on fire,” he muttered. “Metaphorically and otherwise.”
“She’s not wrong,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “But she also doesn’t understand what you are. Or what Seraphine is becoming.”
He moved past me and keyed in a command at the console, pulling up a new display. Coordinates flashed onto the screen, overlaid on a satellite map.
“Renee’s last known location,” Lucian said grimly. “Updated five minutes ago.”
I leaned forward, focus snapping into place.
“Neutral territory,” I said. “She’s moving fast.”
Lucian nodded. “Too fast. She knows Valin’s watching. She knows we are too.”
“And she doesn’t care,” I finished.
The fire in my veins steadied—no longer wild, no longer reactive.
Focused.
“Then we stop her,” I said. “Before she reaches water territory. Before this becomes bloodshed we can’t undo.”