Page 101 of Shadowkissed

We’re no longer hiding.

And maybe the world still fears us.

But the truth?

We don’t fear it back.

49

LIORA

The Veil doesn’t hum anymore. Itbreathes.

Six months of slow, stubborn healing, and the air tastes less like ozone and more like possibility. The club’s neon sign flickers violet tonight, casting shadows that don’t quite cling to the corners like they used to. Even the drunks at the bar seem lighter, their laughter sharp but not desperate.

I arch my spine to the bassline, sweat painting my ribs as the spotlight licks gold across my skin. The crowd blurs—faceless, harmless—except forhim.Dante leans against the back wall, arms crossed, gaze a brand. His jaw flexes when I drag a hand down my stomach, slow, deliberate. A dare.

“You’re playing with fire, starling,” he’d growled this morning, teeth grazing my hip as I pulled on fishnets.

I’d laughed. “You’re the one who lit the match.”

Now, his eyes track the sway of my hips like a sniper’s scope. I spin, hair whipping, and catch his smirk.Hungry. Possessive. Proud.The music swells, and I drop low, thighs trembling, fingertips skimming the stage. Whistles erupt. I don’t hear them.

Only his heartbeat.

Only ours.

The dressing room reeks of hairspray and ambition. I’m peeling off my gloves when the door slams.

“You’re a menace.” Dante’s voice is gravel, his hands already on my waist, spinning me into the wall. The mirror rattles.

I grin, breathless. “Took you long enough.”

His thumb brushes the lace edge of my bra. “Intel first.”

“After.” I hook a leg around his hip, pulling him flush. His groan vibrates against my throat.

“Liora.”

“Dante.” I nip his earlobe. “You really think I’d let you walk in here without a prize?”

He stills. “What’d you get?”

I press closer, lips grazing his. “Three warlocks. Underground fight ring. They’re moving something through the old subway tunnels tonight.”

His grip tightens. “Where?”

“Mm. Payment first.”

He growls, slamming his palm against the wall beside my head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Promises, promises.”

He crashes into me, all heat and teeth, and I laugh into the kiss—wild, victorious—as his hands map every inch the crowd didn’t get to see.

The brick bites into my shoulder blades as Dante’s teeth find my collarbone. His hands don’t ask—theytake—snapping the bra’s lace like violin strings. Cold air hits my chest a heartbeat before his palm does, calluses scraping.

“Still think I play too nice?” I gasp, arching into him as my shorts hit the floor.

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