He cast a wary glance over his shoulder. “People like me. I don’t know much besides the stories, and those aren’t all true—horns and all that—but there must be more. And plenty were banished, not killed, so they might still be out there. Somewhere.”
Alessa sank into a chair. Beside him. Because she could do that now without her pulse spiking at his proximity. Well. Without her pulse spiking in a bad way.
It sat like a heavy meal, the thought of ghiotte roaming free. Unfair, maybe—if one ghiotte wasn’t evil, it was reasonable to assume the rest weren’t either—but it was difficult to shake years of conditioning.
Still, she took a book off the pile closest to her and began trying to flip pages. Gloves made it difficult, so with a brief pause to savor the novelty, she took them off and continued.
A thud from the wall between the library and Fonte suite made her jump.
Twenty minutes until she had to torture them again.
Dante was unique, or at least rare, and she might be getting better at reining in the destructive power of her gift with him, but that didn’t mean it would translate to anyone else.
“What are you doing?” Dante asked as she took a lungful of air and held it for a count of three.
“Deep breathing. I can control my power better when I’m calm, so I’m practicing calming strategies.” She exhaled, pushing out the breath until her chest went concave.
“You’re never calm.”
Another deep inhale. “Hence my problem.”
Keeping one hand on his book, Dante extended his other without looking over. “Give it here.”
Her body didn’t seem to understand that it was just for practice, especially when he grew tired of holding their clasped hands up and lowered them to rest on his knee.
Only Dante’s focus on his task saved Alessa from having to explain why her neck was turning red.
Resuming her hunt for the word ghiotte, she found one example, bookmarked it, and moved on to the next.
Idly, Dante curled his fingers and unfurled them in her palm, sending lightning bolts up her arm.
Was this a joke? A test? How was she supposed to read under these circumstances?
Dante leaned closer to the page, brows drawn in concentration, and his thumb began tracing lazy circles on her wrist.
Alessa’s book might have burst into flames for how well she could read it now.
“Careful,” Dante said, only half paying attention. “You’re putting out surges over there.”
She snatched her hand back and stood, fumbling to catch her chair before it tipped backward. “We should get going. Can’t be the last ones there.”
* * *
In the training room, Dante watched from his usual spot on the wall. Checking his knives, shifting his gaze away when the Fontes reacted from pain. She recognized his tells now. He was more uncomfortable as a witness than he’d been when he was on the receiving end.
Kaleb skulked over, and Alessa touched his palms, searching his face for any sign it was different this time. His expression cycled between dread, confusion, and skepticism, but he didn’t yank his hands away.
Dante dipped his chin in a subtle nod of encouragement.
“What’s the deal?” Kaleb asked. “Why is it better this time?”
Only Kaleb would be equally annoyed when she didn’t hurt him.
Alessa shrugged. “Practice?”
Now came the hard part.
“I’m going to try to tap into your power this time.”
A deep inhale, breathing life into her gift, and Alessa’s hair drifted up in an electrified cloud, crackling with Kaleb’s power.
He yanked free.
“Sorry,” Alessa said, but she couldn’t hide her delight. Kaleb was frowning, not screaming. Progress.
She refrained from celebrating, but by the final round, she was sure of it. She was getting better. She could harness the urge faster and more completely, until she felt more like a ship’s captain and less like a prisoner roped to the mast.
“Today went well, right?” Alessa said when the lesson was over, standing on one foot to put her shoes on outside the training room.
Dante grunted an affirmative.
Glancing up at him, she lost her balance. With her finger hooked on the back of the slipper, she couldn’t put her foot down, so she threw her free hand out to catch herself but misjudged the distance and smacked it against the wall instead. Wincing, she examined her throbbing knuckle.
Dante dropped to a crouch with an exasperated sigh and curled her fingers over his hand. Discomfort flickered across his face, but his expression cleared as the last of her pain vanished.