Alessa smiled because she knew it would irritate him. “I am eighteen.”
“Like I said. As someone older than you—”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen. Or twenty. Stop interrupting.”
“How can you not know how old you are?”
“I don’t carry a pocket calendar and I lost track of the date a few weeks ago. Do you always ask so many questions?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
“Har har. Now, let me finish. As someone older than you…” He paused, anticipating an interruption, but she clasped her hands innocently in her lap instead. “I can tell you, it’s always better to get something unpleasant over with quickly. Drawing out the wait only makes it worse.”
A truth she knew quite well at eighteen, but it was easier said than done.
“First, tell me how this works. Can a ghiotte heal from anything?”
Dante picked at a loose thread on his chair. “No, not anything, or my parents would still be alive. If you cut my head off or drop a wall on me, I’m done for. Regular injuries, I’ll recover. If it’s a repeat injury, it’s easier. The first time I broke my arm, it hurt like a beast. By the third, I barely noticed. Healed faster, too. I think that’s part of the … gift, but I don’t know.”
“Is it like that for all of you?”
“If I ever find another ghiotte, I’ll ask.”
“You don’t know how it worked for your parents?”
“I was a kid. I didn’t take notes. It was just a thing I knew to keep quiet about. All I know is that for me, the worse the damage is, or if I’m tired or hungry, it takes longer.”
She blew a stream of air through pursed lips. “Are you hungry now? Tired? Thirsty?”
“I’m fine. Let’s start with the basics. I know about your first Fonte, but how’d it end with the others?”
Rubbing her arms, Alessa tried to recall. “Ilsi’s heart stopped on our fourth try. Hugo tried for a few seconds, collapsed, and cracked his skull on the table. I don’t know if I killed him or the fall did.”
Dante pursed his lips like she’d detailed a mundane grocery list rather than a series of gruesome deaths. “We’ll stay seated, then. Get over here.”
Her thighs barely touched the chair before she sprang back up. “My hands are cold.”
“Well, in that case.” Dante slapped his thighs as though to leave. “Sit down.”
“It’s too dangerous. With the Fontes, there’s a reason to risk it, because I need their gifts. But you’re…”
“Worthless?” His tone was light, but his hands curled into fists. “I have nothing to offer, nothing to defend Saverio with, so it’s not worth adding another tally to your guilt list?”
Alessa pressed her fingers to her temples. “No. That’s not—”
“Well, you’re right. No one would miss me.”
“I would.” Her lower lip trembled, but she wouldn’t cry. Her tears had roped him into this mess in the first place.
“I’m not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.”
He shrugged. “Nothing’s killed me yet.”
“That’s a ridiculous argument. Anyone could say the same, and it would be true.”
He winked. “Have a little faith, Finestra.”
She’d been gloveless around him before, but she’d never taken them off for him, and as he watched the fabric slide down her forearms, she saw her skin like it belonged to someone else. The faint blue veins on the inside of her wrists, the pale palms and slender fingers. Her heart thumped viciously against her ribs. “I’m letting go if you so much as twitch.”
She shrank back as he reached for her.
“Hands on the table, palms up. No grabbing.”
He sighed but did as he was told.
“You still feel pain, though, right?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes.”
“Then why are you so damn calm?”
“Worrying about pain doesn’t stop it from happening,” he said. “If you don’t breathe soon, I’ll poke you in the belly like a stubborn mule.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Yup. Now, do it already.”
She hovered her palms above his, lowering until their fingertips brushed with every heartbeat. With a shaky breath, she pressed her hands against his. His hands, like the rest of him, were strong and deft, rough but graceful.