Not the afterlife. Not a faceless man.
Dante.
And he was not enjoying being on top of her.
Alessa yanked her hands back and stretched her neck to keep her head away from him, but his forehead was still resting on the skin beneath her collarbone and she couldn’t move him without touching him, and— Her back scraped against cracked cobblestones as she fought to get out from beneath him. It was like dislodging herself from a landslide. With a final heave, she wrenched her torso free, and a dagger clattered to the ground.
Memories rushed back.
Dark eyes, deadly anger, daggers buried in flesh. Something—fear, shock, or blood loss—was dulling her pain, but she didn’t need evidence to know the truth.
She was done for.
But he wasn’t. Not yet.
As she twisted to one side, her palm met a puddle of blood. Fear spiked through her at the afterimage of Dante’s horrified guilt. The kind of guilt that could drive a person to turn his blades on himself.
She covered her mouth and tasted blood, stale and rusty.
Please let it be mine.
She found a soggy glove beside Dante’s head and wrestled it on so she could turn his face toward her.
His face was gray, his eyes closed.
She leaned closer, searching for his breath. Dante gasped, surging upward, and his nose cracked against her cheekbone.
Alessa fell back with a yelp, met by Dante’s stream of curses.
“Oh, your poor face,” she cried out.
“I’m fine.” Sitting up, he raised a hand to his clearly broken nose and ducked his head.
“You’re not fine.”
But when he looked up, his face was bloody but otherwise normal.
What in Dea’s name?
“Are you bleeding?” he asked.
Blinking in confusion, Alessa looked down at a body that didn’t feel like her own. “I—I don’t think so.” The front of her dress was stiff and cool, not damp with the pulse of fresh blood.
“Move your blasted hand, will you?”
“I can’t. I need to keep pressure on it, so I don’t start bleeding again.”
Dante took her wrist, protected by the end of her sleeve, and pulled her hand away. She sucked in a sharp inhale as he ripped the tear in her dress wider to reveal a handspan of pale skin, blood-stained, but unbroken.
Impossible.
“I thought it wasn’t going to work.” Dante sat back and covered his mouth with a shaking hand.
Alessa bent to look at her abdomen. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” Dante watched her, tense.
There was only one possible explanation.
Blood pounded in her ears.
“You’re a ghiotte.”
Twenty-Eight
Chi nasce lupo non muore agnello.
Those born as wolves cannot die as lambs. / People don’t change.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 19
It wasn’t every day a girl received a mortal wound, turned around at death’s threshold, and discovered her only friend in the world also happened to be one of the creatures from her nightmares. It was … a lot.
Ghiotte were evil. It was fact, not opinion. But Dante wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
At first, she thought he wouldn’t answer, hoped he’d scoff, and they’d both marvel at the absurdity of what she’d said.
He jerked a nod instead.
“You’re a ghiotte,” she said again. Her thoughts tangled, impossible to tease apart. She seized the most important thread and tugged. “And you used your gift to heal me.”
“No,” he said. “You used it.”
“But you chose to hold my hands because you thought I could.” Euphoria filled her. “Dante, you saved my life.”
His expression darkened at her breathy wonder. “I’m your bodyguard. That’s literally my job.” He stood and brushed off his pants. It was futile. They were thoroughly soiled with blood and filth and not worth salvaging.
Her mind churned with a tempest of emotion—horror, gratitude, fear, and awe. “Dante, you held my hand, and you didn’t die.”
He looked uncomfortable. “For a minute, I thought I might.”
“But—”
“Don’t get excited. I don’t have any useful powers.” Dante scanned the alley, practically twitching with nerves. “You need to get back to the Cittadella, and I have to get out of here.”
Alessa was prodding her miraculously intact belly.
With an impatient huff, Dante hauled her to her feet.
She swayed drunkenly and held out her bloody hands, one glove on and one off, as though to show him some fascinating treasure.