The night pressed thick and breathless against the shattered estate, carrying the scent of smoke, rain, and something darker, something ancient that threaded itself through the veins of destiny like a curse. Elena didn’t feel the cold. She barely felt the ground beneath her feet as Dante pulled her deeper into the forest, away from the ruins of the gathering, away from the blood and the screams and the vow that had turned her world into shards.
Her chest burned. Partly from running. Mostly from fear she refused to admit.
Dante finally stopped when they reached a clearing lit only by the moon filtering through tall pines. His hand slid away from her wrist, but she could still feel his touch like a mark burned into her skin.
“Elena,” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because
