“There. Try to be careful,” he said. “And don’t scowl at me for fixing you.”
“You said it didn’t hurt anymore!”
“It doesn’t. Unless you’re injured. When you use my power, I feel that.” He seemed to realize he was still holding her hand and dropped it.
“Oh. Right. That makes sense. In that case, help me up.” She raised her arms, and Dante hauled her to her feet. “Touching is a start, but I need to use their gifts, too. You saw what happened with Kaleb.”
Dante smirked.
She wagged a finger at him. “Not nice.”
“I keep telling you I’m not a nice person.”
“And I keep telling you I don’t believe that. Didn’t you take this job because I cried?”
“That makes me a sucker, not a saint.” Dante rubbed his stubbled chin. “And it wasn’t the only reason. If there’s anywhere to find the information I’m looking for, it’s here.”
“Is that why you were creeping around the night of the gala?”
Sheepishly, Dante tugged his ear. “Guilty.”
He no longer trusted anyone to bring food without poisoning it, so they stopped by the kitchen on their way up. Covered dishes wafting steam behind him, Dante took the lead, and Alessa hurried after, her mouth watering at the aroma of garlic and pancetta.
“How am I supposed to practice the next part, though?” Alessa said as she unlocked her door. “It’s like trying to draw something I’ve never seen.”
Dante put the tray on the table, brows drawn together in thought.
“What’s that old saying?” Alessa continued. “About blind men and elephants? That’s me, trying to sort through a dozen sensations in the half second I experience them without killing someone at the same time.”
“It feels different when you’re trying to use someone’s power, though, right?”
“Sort of. It’s like absorbing a gift is my default—with them, at least—and I have to actively stop myself. With you, it’s not as … insistent? Wait, that’s not true. In the alley, it hit hard.”
“Because you were dying. You needed my power.” Dante divided up the plates and arranged silverware as Alessa fetched a chilled bottle of limoncello. “Not sure how to work on that, since you aren’t hurt.”
The first taste of pasta distracted her momentarily, but she was a dog with a bone, and even the most enticing meal couldn’t deter her for long.
“If I broke my thumb—”
“Do not injure yourself. Eat.”
“I can only practice with a healing gift if I’m hurt.”
“No. I’m not enabling this.”
She kicked the table leg, but only scuffed the toe of her slipper.
“Broken toe?” Dante said in a monotone.
“Unfortunately not.” She narrowed her eyes before lunging for his belt.
“What are you—” Dante danced out of her reach. “Do not stab yourself!”
“I’ll just prick my finger.”
He scorched her with a glare. “I’ll let you bleed to death.”
“No, you won’t. Give it to me.”
He slapped her hand away and stepped behind the table. She feinted left, jumped right, and her skirt caught on the corner of the end table. Dante stopped it from tipping, but a small statue tumbled over the edge and landed directly on her foot, its sharp corner breaking the skin.
Half laughing, half crying, Alessa pressed her other foot on top of the injured one. “There,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m hurt anyway. I win.”
He gave her a flat stare. “Congratulations.”
“Like it or not, we’re doing this.”
For once, he accepted defeat. “Remember, ease—”
Distracted by the blood dripping onto the carpet, she took his hands.
The pain blinked out, the wound sealed, and Alessa was left open-mouthed and breathless while Dante rubbed his temples.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Sit down so you don’t fall.”
Dante waved a hand as though to protest, took a halting step forward, and reached out to steady himself. Careful not to touch his bare skin, Alessa guided him to the settee. Dante sat and blinked repeatedly, his eyes unfocused. “I’m fine. Just dizzy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop being sorry. Just ease into it next time.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
He was, apparently, because he spotted her hand inching toward his knife and trapped her wrist. “I’m not letting you injure yourself.”