Page 21 of Shadowkissed

He should. He really, really should.

“You have a hero complex,” I murmur, tracing a finger over the rim of the chipped mug he gave me. “It’s going to get you killed.”

“I don’t think this is about me.”

I snort, low and bitter. “Everything’s about you. You just don’t know it yet.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just stands there, arms crossed, tension humming through every muscle. He’s been coiled like that since I woke up—like his body knows this is a mistake but hissoulhasn’t caught up yet.

“You talk like a damn riddle box,” he says finally. “I’m trying to help, and you’re making it damn near impossible.”

“That’s the thing about help,” I reply, tone airy. “Sometimes it looks a lot like digging your own grave.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve done all week.”

His jaw flexes.

And yeah—I’m pushing him. Hard. But it’s safer this way. If I keep him annoyed, keep him guessing, maybe he won’t see how close I am to falling apart. Because he saidSeraphiel’sname like it was just another entry in a case file. No fear. No reverence. Just fact.

And that isn’t normal. It should terrify him, but yet, it doesn't.

“How do you even know who he is?” I ask, keeping my tone sharp. Accusatory. Defensive.

Dante tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “I listen. I research. I know things that most people want to pretend don’t exist.”

“That’s not something you justfindin a dusty book, wolf. Seraphiel’s not in your public supernatural databases. His name’s a death sentence in most circles.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “so’s mine.”

That shouldn’t impress me.But it kind of does.

I glance down, trying to breathe past the rising heat coiling under my skin. The ache. The one I can’t explain. It's not fear, not pain, not lust exactly—it’s need. For what, I don’t even know.

“You know,” I murmur, “most people run screaming when they hear his name. And you—you stand there like you’re planning how to stab him in the throat.”

“I am.”

My gaze snaps up.

He’s not lying.

His expression is hard, unreadable. That guardian blood—yeah, it’s there. Thorne was right, as usual. I see it now, all sharp lines and unwavering calm. The kind of calm that comesbeforesomething breaks.

And itshouldn’tmake my heart thud like this.

“You have no idea what he is,” I whisper.

“Then tell me.”

I open my mouth—and close it. Shake my head. “You don’t want that story.”

“I want the truth.”

“Fae don’t do well with truth,” I say, mouth twisting. “It’s sharp. Unforgiving. It never comes without a cost.”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “Then I’ll pay it.”

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