Page 23 of Shadowkissed

“Only the pretty ones.”

I glance over my shoulder.

He’s smirking for the first time. But there’s heat in his eyes. And somethingelse—something softer.

“Careful,” I say. “Fae don’t like compliments. They usually mean you’re trying to steal something.”

“What would I steal from you?”

My smile fades.

Everything.

10

DANTE

She’s gone.

No note. No trace. Nodamn warning. Just... gone.

I wake up half expecting to hear her voice, to find her standing at the window, backlit by sunrise and looking like temptation wrapped in danger.

But the loft’s quiet. Cold.

And the mug she drank from last night is still sitting on the edge of the table—half-full, faint lip print on the rim. That’s all she left behind. A ghost in ceramic.

I stare at the spot where she sat like it might explain something. It doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course she ran. Of course she left before I could ask the questions that matter. Before I coulddoanything.

The worst part is I let her.

Something in me knew she’d go. Knew she’d vanish before the sun hit her skin. And I didn’t stop her. Because Ican’tmake myself hold on to her. Not when she’s this wild. This hunted. This dangerous. And yet Iwant to.

Goddamn it.

I scrub a hand down my face, but the scent of her still lingers—rain, shadow, something old and wrong and so goddamnbeautifulit makes my gut twist.

I should let it go. Ishould.

But a couple hours later,I’m called in.

PEACE HQ. Sector Four.

They don’t tell me why over the line, just that it’s “urgent” and “sensitive.”

Which means it’s either a body or a breach. Or worse—something to do withher.

By the time I walk into the briefing room, I already feel the weight of it.

Clara’s there, tight-lipped and pale under her usual swagger, and Tamsin’s standing by the wall with her arms crossed, brows drawn low. They’re not looking at each other.

Never a good sign.

The room smells like tension and recycled air. No one’s laughing. No one’s joking. The rogue is sitting at the table.Cuffed. Shackled. Wards humming under his chair.

He looks worse than when I dropped him off—eyes sunken, lips cracked, like whatever he tapped into to juice himself up is eating him from the inside out.

“You brought him in three nights ago,” Tamsin says, nodding at the file. “You said he was alone when you found him.”

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