Chapter 23 Dante
The bar wasn’t ours.
That alone made me irritated.
It belonged to one of the smaller human syndicates — a competitor, technically — but nothing strong enough to challenge a dragon-run territory. Still, it annoyed me to step into a place where my presence wasn’t absolute.
But the moment I saw her?
The irritation evaporated.
Seraphine Vale.
In a black mini dress so tight it looked like it had been poured onto her skin, curves framed in leather and confidence, hair pulled up to show the line of her throat…
Gods.
She stole every bit of my attention the second I stepped through the door.
Lucian sat next to me at the shadowed corner table, scanning the crowd with his usual bored detachment. “You’re staring,” he muttered.
“I’m observing.”
“Right,” he said dryly. “Observing her ass. For scientific purposes.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response.
She was sitting at the bar, a half-empty drink in front of her, laughter flashing across her face like lightning. And the woman she was with — brunette, dressed in purple mesh and fishnets — leaned in close like they were already bonded for life.
Interesting.
I nodded toward the brunette. “Run facial recognition.”
Lucian didn’t ask why. Just pulled out his phone and snapped a covert photo.
A few seconds later, he whistled.
“Amara Blackwood. Twenty-six. Only child. No partner on record. Parents deceased — drunk driving accident ten years ago. Owns a boutique in the East District. Specializes in alternative fashion, primarily BDSM-inspired materials, leatherwork, corsetry, mesh.” He raised a brow. “Seems like your girl met her in the perfect place.”
My jaw tightened at the words “your girl,” but I didn’t correct him.
He kept reading. “No criminal ties. No suspicious finances. No gang affiliations. Completely normal.”
“Normal,” I repeated, watching her laugh again. “We’ll see.”
She and Amara were bent over Seraphine’s phone now, shoulders pressed together. The second Seraphine tapped the screen, Amara practically fell off her stool laughing.
Lucian smirked. “Oh, she definitely said your name.”
A slow, involuntary satisfaction slid through me.
Good.
Let her think of me.
Let her say my name out loud.
Lucian nudged me. “You could go talk to her.”
“No.”
“Oh, right,” he said, “we’re doing the stoic brooding thing tonight instead of the unhinged possessive thing. My mistake.”
I ignored him entirely.
Instead, I turned my attention to the crowd.
The club was packed. Shoulder-to-shoulder. On a damn Wednesday night.
Lucian followed my gaze. “You seeing this?”
“I’m seeing it and I don’t like it.”
“It’s not the music,” he said.
“No.”
“Not the drinks or price point.”
“Same as ours.”
“Distance isn’t a problem. Your new club is literally one block away.”
“I know.”
“So…” he drawled, “why are all these humans choosing competition instead of fire and water royalty?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
And not knowing?
That infuriated me.
Lucian leaned back. “Maybe it’s just a phase.”
“No,” I said. “Someone is pulling them in.”
Whether it was human influence, magical interference, or deliberate manipulation… we’d find out.
But my focus returned — again — to the one woman I could not seem to look away from.
Seraphine.
She hadn’t noticed me yet. Her shoulders were relaxed, her smile unguarded, her eyes bright. It was… rare, seeing her like this. Comfortable. Unaware.
Beautiful.
Then — suddenly — her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
And all the color drained from her face.
Her back straightened. Her breath hitched. Her hand tightened around the glass.
Lucian noticed it instantly. “What the hell was that about?”
Before I could answer, Seraphine stood abruptly, said something rushed to Amara, and beelined for the bathroom — eyes glued to the phone the entire way.
Something cold and instinctive rolled through me.
I was on my feet before I thought about it.
Lucian sighed. “And there he goes. Unhinged after all.”
I ignored him.
I didn’t follow Seraphine — not yet. She’d think I was actually stalking her, and I wasn’t ready to fight that battle.
Instead, I walked straight to her friend.
Amara was swirling the straw in her drink absentmindedly, staring at the hallway Seraphine vanished into. When she noticed me approach, her eyes widened — then widened more when she realized who I was.
“Oh shit,” she whispered.
I stopped at her table. “You’re Amara.”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Tell me,” I said, voice low but calm, “what the two of you were talking about before she left.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
I waited.
Amara exhaled shakily. Then, to her credit, she didn’t hesitate.
“She showed me an email she sent to you.”
I arched a brow. “Ah.”
“She told you to fuck off,” Amara said bluntly. “It was glorious.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“And?” I pressed.
Amara scooted closer, lowering her voice. “She had a horrible day. Her coworker Ted harassed her. Her boss made a… disgusting proposition in the elevator. And she hasn't recovered from what happened with you last night.”
My jaw locked.
“What happened with me?”
“She told me you showed up at her double date. That your manager voided her VIP card. And that you made her feel—” She hesitated, eyes softening. “—noticed.”
Not what I expected.
Not what I deserved.
But interesting.
Very interesting.
Before I could respond, the bathroom door opened.
Seraphine stepped out, still pale, still holding her phone in a death grip.
Her eyes swept the room—
—and landed on me.
Shock.
Fear.
Annoyance.
Interest.
All rolled into one look.
And the moment her gaze locked to mine…
I knew something had shifted.
And then the tears hit.
She turned away so fast her hair whipped across her shoulder, marching toward the bathroom with her head down as if she could outrun whatever message had just gutted her.
She didn’t make it three steps before she broke into a near-run.
Every instinct in me exploded.
I moved.
Across the dance floor.
Past the crowd.
Through the pulsing lights.
I didn’t feel my feet hit the ground. I didn’t hear the music.
All I saw was her.
She shoved into the women’s bathroom and I followed without hesitation.
Several women snapped their heads up — startled, irritated — but I didn’t give a damn.
“Out,” I said, voice low.
They left without arguing.
I locked the door behind them.
Her stall door was shut tight, but I could hear her.
Her uneven breathing.
Her soft, shaky sniffles she was trying so hard to swallow down.
I approached the stall door and knocked once.
“Seraphine.”
Silence.
Then her voice — small, raw, furious:
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Dante.” Her breath hitched. “Please just leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said firmly, “not until I know you’re alright.”
A shaky exhale.
Another sniffle.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded. “Why are you everywhere I go?”