Chapter 30 Dante
Kael’s name lit up my phone in bold white letters.
Of course it was him.
The timing was too perfect — which meant he’d seen something, heard something… or he was simply being his usual paranoid, territorial self.
But I didn’t look at the phone.
Not yet.
My eyes stayed on Seraphine.
She stood in my dining room like someone seeing the world from a brand-new angle — shoulders drawn back, chin dipped slightly, trying not to look overwhelmed but failing. She was beautiful like that. Unsteady, but determined. Soft, but fire-touched.
Amara had already made herself at home, poking at the centerpiece on the table and muttering something about how rich people decorate rooms no one actually sits in.
Lucian leaned against the bar with his arms crossed, watching me with a “well, this should be dramatic” expression.
And still —
my focus never left Seraphine.
So when the phone vibrated again, insistently, I finally answered.
I didn’t bother with a greeting.
“What do you want, Drakov?”
A sharp exhale crackled over the line.
“Vescari. You’re going to leave my consort alone. Or I’ll turn your territory into target practice.”
Lucian’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
My jaw tightened, but my voice remained calm. Neutral. Cold.
Which only made Kael angrier.
Good.
Without warning, I switched languages.
Not English.
Not anything a human would recognize.
Ancient Draconic.
A language older than kingdoms, older than cities — a language only dragons could speak, and only a few still remembered.
The moment it left my tongue, the air in the room shifted.
“Ξυράφι γλώσσας, σταμάτα τις απειλές.”
(Blade-tongue, stop the threats.)
Kael snarled.
“Μην παίζεις μαζί μου, πυροβόλο.”
(Don’t play with me, fire-breather.)
I stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the entire city glittering below.
But my eyes still tracked Seraphine in the reflection.
She was listening. Closely. Too closely.
I continued:
“Αυτό δε συζητιέται από απόσταση.”
(This isn’t a conversation for distance.)
“Θα μιλήσουμε πρόσωπο με πρόσωπο.”
(We speak face-to-face.)
Kael gave a dangerous laugh.
“You forget your place, Vescari.”
I smiled — slow and sharp enough to cut flesh.
Then I delivered the threat.
Deliberately.
Word by word.
“Αν με απειλήσεις ξανά…”
(If you threaten me again…)
“…η εκλεκτή σου δε θα πατήσει ξανά σε κανένα από τα βασίλεια.”
(…your precious consort will never set foot in any kingdom again.)
Silence.
Even Lucian straightened, the air crackling with tension.
Then Kael hissed through the speaker:
“Watch yourself, Fire King.”
I cut the call.
When I turned around, the room felt carved from stone.
Seraphine stared at me — eyes wide, pupils blown, heartbeat fluttering against her throat.
Amara just blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then loudly:
“Okay. Um. I’m sorry, what the hell language was that? Because it sounded like Greek—if Greek was invented by demons.”
Lucian groaned. “It’s not demon—forget it.”
But my attention zeroed in on Seraphine.
I stepped closer.
“Do you understand what I just said?”
She hesitated.
Just a single beat.
But that single beat was enough.
Her lips parted. She inhaled.
Then — casually, too casually — she shook her head.
“No. It sounded Latin... or maybe Romanian. I honestly couldn’t tell. But I didn’t understand any of it.”
Lie.
I felt it.
In the way she held her breath at the exact moment I sharpened the threat.
In the way her pupils dilated the moment the Draconic cadence struck her ears.
In the way her heat curled upward toward mine like instinct.
She understood more than she wanted me to know.
My dragon growled, pleased.
I stepped into her space — close enough for my warmth to brush her skin.
She didn’t flinch.
Of course she didn’t.
“I see,” I said softly. “We’ll… revisit that.”
Her brows lowered. “Revisit—wait. What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
I simply turned away and resumed the tour like nothing at all had happened.
Lucian followed with a smirk that screamed you’re losing your damn mind over her.
He wasn’t wrong.
I continued the tour — though my attention didn’t drift for even a breath from Seraphine.
Every time she looked at something, I looked at her.
Every time she took a step forward, I matched it.
Every time her pulse fluttered at her throat, I felt the answering heat coil inside me like a living flame.
She didn’t notice.
Or maybe…
she pretended not to.
Either way, it made the obsession worse.
We moved past the lounge and into the art corridor — abstract canvases in deep reds and silvers catching the light as she walked. The glow traced the curve of her hip, the arch of her neck, the faint rise of her chest as she breathed.
Lucian had slipped beside Amara, murmuring something that made her crack up laughing — loud, bright, unrestrained. Her laugh echoed off the walls like bells. Lucian smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
Cute.
But my focus stayed on the woman who wasn’t laughing.
We reached the music hall next — a long room lined with shelves of vinyls, an antique piano positioned beneath a skylight.
Seraphine paused in the doorway.
“This is gorgeous,” she whispered.
I stepped behind her. Not touching her — not yet — but close enough that her breath stuttered for half a second.
“You like music?” I asked.
She nodded without turning around. “My mom used to play piano. Before…”
Her voice faltered.
“Before she passed.”
A quiet admission.
A soft wound.
I felt the protective heat flare like a match struck too hard.
“I’m sorry,” I said, gently. “She must have been remarkable.”
Seraphine swallowed. “She was.”
I moved closer — mere inches now.
“If you ever want to play anything in here,” I said, voice low, “the room is yours.”
Finally, she turned her head, meeting my eyes over her shoulder.
The recognition in her gaze nearly unmade me.
“You barely know me,” she said softly.
“Not true,” I murmured.
“Not anymore.”
We continued — past the indoor garden, where Amara immediately wandered off to poke at the citrus trees, Lucian following like a guard dog pretending he wasn’t one.
Past the secondary lounge, where Seraphine lingered on the balcony.
The moment her hands touched the railing, I stepped to her side — drawn to her without thought.
The wind lifted her hair, turning the ends to copper flame.
From this height, the city spread out like it existed for her alone.
“You like heights?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Not particularly. But this view… it makes everything feel small.”
“Everything is small from here,” I replied.
“Except the important things.”
“And what’s important?” she challenged.
I didn’t smile.
“You.”