Page 93 of A Dagger in the Ivy

The cabin emerges from the darkness like a beacon of refuge, its sturdy frame weathering the onslaught of the storm with unwavering resolve. Rain lashes against its walls, and gusts of wind whip through the surrounding trees, but the cabin stands firm, a solitary sanctuary in the midst of chaos.

We tie the horses in an empty barn, and I can only hope that the wooden structure is strong enough to keep Thora and Lightning safe. Dante throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me to the door of the cabin, which opens without issue.

Stepping through the door, we find ourselves engulfed in warmth and shelter. The interior is modest, the furnishings simple. But compared to the dangers of the storm outside, the rough-hewn table and chairs and the worn sofa are inviting. A few shelves are lined with dust-covered books and trinkets. The space feels lived-in, as if it has seen its fair share of weary travelers seeking respite from the elements.

Despite the storm still raging outside, there is a sense of calm within these walls. The sound of rain drums against the roof, almost like a soothing lullaby.

“There’s no telling how long it will last,” Dante says, removing his soaked coat and hanging it by the door. “We should settle in for the night.”

Fuck.I know he’s right. I’ve seen storms like this. Accepting defeat, I nod in agreement, feeling the chill of the night seeping into my bones. I’m soaked to the skin, my clothes heavy with rainwater.

Dante wastes no time in starting a fire, the flames dancing to life under his expert touch. The crackling warmth casts flickering shadows across the room, dispelling the cold that had settled in my bones. The angles of Dante’s face are illuminated by the glow of the flames, and the scent of burning wood fills the air, mingling with the damp earthiness of the storm outside.

“How do you know about this place?” I inquire, curiosity piqued as Dante moves around the room like he’s familiar with it.

He pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable as he glances back at me. “I stumbled upon it during my travels.”

Before I can question him further, Dante strips his shirt off.

“W-What are you doing?” Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes off the firm muscles of his chest, the sultry, tan color of his skin, and the bulge of his biceps.

“We can’t stay in these. They’re soaked through. We’ll put ourselvesin danger of illness if we don’t dry off.” Dante rings his shirt out, letting the rainwater drop to the floor. Every move he makes accentuates the contours of his pecs and shoulders. He gestures toward the other room. “You can undress in there, if that makes you more comfortable.”

I arch an eyebrow, feeling a hint of defiance. “And change into what?”

“I don’t think you’ll find any clothes here. You’ll have to use the blanket for now.”

With a huff, I gather my resolve and head into the other room to undress. I glance over my shoulder at him as I step into the other room, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.

The room greets me with a chill, sending a shiver down my spine. I quickly peel off the damp layers, feeling the cold fabric cling to my skin before I discard the clothing onto the floor in a heap. I rake my fingers through my wet hair, brushing it all back from my face.

As I slip the blanket around my naked form, my thoughts drift back to Dante, and I can’t help but wonder why he intrigues me so. There’s an enigmatic quality about him, a complexity that draws me in despite my better judgment. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself, with an air of confidence that borders on arrogance, or the intensity in his stormy-grey eyes that seems to pierce through the walls I’ve built around myself.

Though I’m loath to admit it, there have been moments when his presence offered solace amidst the turmoil, his quiet strength a reminder that I was not alone in my struggles.

But there’s more to it than that. And there’s a part of me that’s too afraid to question what it might be.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize how much time has passed until I hear Dante moving about in the other room, breaking through the silence of the cabin. With a steadying breath, I push aside my inner turmoil and snugly wrap the fabric of the blanket around me. A pang of guilt gnaws at my conscience. Why am I thinking about Dante when I should be concentrating on finding Torbin?

I pick up my wet clothes from the floor and open the door.

When I come back into the main room, Dante’s back is turned tome. His shirt hangs by the fire. I can’t keep myself from gazing at the taut muscles of his shoulders, the firm lines of his back, and for a moment, I’m jealous of the firelight that touches his bare skin.

Gods, what is wrong with me?

My feet pad across the room, and he turns to face me. His eyes move up and down my body before finally landing on my handful of wet clothes.

“I’ll hang these,” he says. “They should dry before morning.”

“Thank you.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

I watch as he props my garments over the edge of the mantel so that they dangle in the heat of the fire. The brightness of the flames causes the room to dim in contrast. It somehow makes the space around us disappear, as if Dante and I exist alone together in this small circle of light.

Dante turns to me, studying my face. “Are you warm enough?”

“Getting there.”

As I shiver, Dante comes closer and touches the blanket, tugging it more tightly around my shoulders with a tenderness that takes me by surprise. Our eyes meet, a silent understanding passing between us in the glow of the fire. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if the world outside ceases to exist, leaving only the two of us in this quiet sanctuary.

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