Chapter 8

Dante's POV

Rest. The term rested on the tip of my tongue, stiff and cold as ash. I wanted to say something—something—shatter the room. My fists, though, were still bunched up next to me, balls forming to rip apart my something, something.

"You've had enough." My Father announced as our eyes locked, parted, cold. "We'll take care of this. Return to your quarters. Not the time for further questions."

There it was—the dismissal. The one that angered me. But he was in the right. Not exactly. I needed something from him, something I would not get screaming orders with clenched fists. So I bit the frustration in half, gulped it like a rock.

"Fine." Low, strained. I couldn't look at him anymore. If I did, something I couldn't take back would vomit from my lips. Something that would rip apart whatever tenuous thread of control I still maintained.

I started to leave before I could, but his voice wrapped around me, cold manacles. "Rest, Dante. I'll talk to the Virellos. You'll get your answers. And I too will."

And then he sent me away, waving his hand like I was some street urchin kid who needed to be shooed off.

I didn't move at first. I simply stood there, staring at the door, burning with rage seething under my skin. The Virellos. Stella. How could they have been so wrong? How had it all fallen apart right in front of me?

I couldn't have it be that way. Not with my name at stake. With Volmore's name at stake.

I left there without another word.

The corridor was heavy with quiet. Each step heavier than the last, my heart pounding in my ears. I wanted to break something. Just so I could feel something other than this tension growing in my chest.

I compelled myself to move on, back to my barracks. The more distance I created between myself and the place of my encounter with her, the tighter the anxiety tightened, yet I did not desist. The questions raged in me, unanswered, unbearable. But the feeling—the pressure—was worse. It ripped at my insides, as if choking on the weight of what I did not know.

When finally I reached my door, Opened it and I paused.

I stared at her—The human girl, in my bed, as if she had a right to be there. As if she was meant to be. The rage started first, the urge to shoo her off the bed, out and toss her out of this room. I did not invite her. Did not want her here.

Why the devil is she in my bed?

My fingers curled into fists by my side. This had been a mistake. Had to be. I hadn't seen who she was or why she'd invaded my territory. But she was here, and something about that didn't feel right. Something about that didn't feel like it should. I wanted her gone. I just wanted to make her leave, to make all of this forgotten.

But looking at her, that still spot in my mind—the one I never actually heard—started bothering me. She was so quiet, her expression peaceful in sleep, the way her hair rested on the gentle sheets like she belonged here.

And that made me really annoyed.

My thoughts were cut off as I went on, towards the bed. My wolf—my goddamn wolf Henry—seethed in my head, ran back and forth, mad, battling me. I wanted to plug it up, push the feeling it was struggling to inflict.

What is wrong with you? I growled in my head. You hate this. You hate that she's here.

But Henry wasn't going to quit.

I growled and muttered under my breath, anger rising up all over again, but underneath that was something else, something more gentle. It hit me like a body blow. Her face pulled at some part of me I did not want to articulate.

But Henry did not answer with rage, did not counterattack with the usual dominance. There was just that low, almost mournful thrum.

She doesn't even have a clue what she's gotten herself into, Henry murmured. She has no idea what is going on Dante. And it will not be simple for her. Not in our world.

I clenched my teeth, but the rage was ebbing now, like water drawn back from the beach. It wasn't entirely gone, but it was quieted, dampened by something that seemed almost like regret—or maybe guilt?

I didn't get it. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to scream that she had to leave. She doesn't belong here, damn it.

And my legs just kept going ahead of my head coming online, nearer to the bed. The blankets were tossed around her, thrown over her as if she had a right to be there.

Just shoo her away, I thought.

But standing by her bed, fingers quivering, I felt a heat in palms, receding slowly like something scurrying. I looked at her and the sympathy flooded back. Henry was correct. She wasn't worthy. She didn't realize what she was stepping into. My existence? It was ruthless. It would ruin her if she did not tread carefully. And she was just. here.

Her breathing was calm, serene. I hated the sight of serenity on her face, an almost pure face. She didn't deserve all this.

Instinctively, I fell back down to the far side of the bed, the mattress creaking under me. My back against the soft, alien sheets, the room closing in around me too quiet.

I had no idea what the devil I was doing. I had no idea why I didn't stand up and walk out.

You're not going, are you? Henry's voice was low and teasing, like he could hear me stall. You know you're not going to turn her away. She's in this, whether you want her to be or not.

I stared at her, still furious, still burning with wrath, but pity?

I can't say what I feel.

She was innocent, and I had no notion what the devil the hell she was going to do in this world, this world of teeth and claws and deception. She didn't belong. And yet, the wolf was correct.

She's here now.

I breathed harshly, all anger ebbing out of me. It wasn't that I had any hope of holding her here—it was just that. I didn't know how to make it stop.

I shut my eyes, the weight of everything crashing down on me, pulling me into a sleep that I didn't want but couldn't help.

The first thing I feel is the weight. Not bodily—no, it's the pull of something more, something primal. Pressure in my chest, a bond. The summons is in a whisper, like a string of ice through my veins, opening my eyes.

Dante.

The voice reverberates, unspoken but felt—directly in my head, my veins. My father's command, infused with power, stinging and cold. I don't need to look to recognize it's him. It's how I know he's been calling me in his way since the first time I was able to hear my pack's mind.

I blink, my eyes still foggy from sleep, and the remnants of unconsciousness hovering around me like a heavy mist. The human girl, lying still on my bed, is the last thing I wish to see. And yet, she is there, lying like a specter beside me. Her face is white, her chest rising and falling in a soft motion. Her weight is oppressive upon me, a reminder of the tangle I am unable to escape.

But my father's voice cuts through everything, waking me up from the haze of sleep.

Wake up, Dante. My Chamber. Now.