The Devil’s Touch
583 Words
The night in Erevia was restless. The moon hung low, crimson at the edges, as though it too bled for what was coming.
Elena sat by the old balcony, her fingers trembling against the cold iron rail. The air carried whispers—soft, unearthly, like the echo of forgotten vows. Ever since Dante saved her from the celestial hunters, her dreams had changed. Now, when she closed her eyes, she saw him—his hand pressed against her heart, fire and tenderness burning in equal measure.
She didn’t know which frightened her more: the darkness that followed him, or the way her soul longed for it.
Behind her, the silence broke.
A shadow peeled from the darkness of the room, shaped into a man—tall, graceful, dangerous. Dante.
“You shouldn’t call to me in your dreams, cara mia,” his voice murmured, low and silken. “Every time you do, I come closer to forgetting what mercy feels like.”
Elena turned, startled but drawn to him. His eyes glowed faintly red in the half-light, flickering like embers. He looked more human tonight—less of the monster she once feared, more of the sin she couldn’t resist.
“I didn’t call you,” she whispered, her breath trembling.
“Didn’t you?” He stepped closer. “Your soul did.”
The air grew heavy, the scent of smoke and warmth swirling around her. Her heartbeat quickened, thundering against her ribs like a drum summoning something ancient.
Dante lifted his hand, his fingertips hovering near her cheek. “You’ve felt it too,” he said. “The bond. The pull between us.”
Elena shook her head. “It’s wrong. You’re—”
“Dangerous?” he finished, smiling faintly. “Yes. But so are you, Elena.”
His touch brushed her skin, and the world melted away. In that instant, visions erupted—flashes of wings, fire, the sound of her own voice crying his name in another lifetime.
She gasped, stumbling back. “What did you—”
“You saw what you already know,” he said, eyes dark with emotion. “You were mine long before this life.”
He reached into the air, drawing a faint glow of crimson light. From it, a small sigil burned, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat—the mark of the ancient pact.
“This is your truth,” Dante said softly. “Heaven made you forget. Hell made me remember.”
The balcony wind turned sharp, and suddenly, distant thunder rolled. The scent of ozone and feathers filled the air—Seraphiel was near.
Dante’s expression shifted, protective and cold. “They’re coming for you,” he said. “You need to choose, Elena—now. Stay with me, and I’ll protect you. Go with them, and you’ll never see me again.”
Her pulse raced. The world held its breath.
“I don’t even know who to trust,” she whispered.
“Then trust the one who bleeds for you,” he said, stepping into the light. “Trust the Devil.”
And before she could answer, the sky split open—angelic light descending like fire, and everything she knew was swallowed in blinding gold.
- Writer
