Page 32 of Shadowkissed

“Magic doesn’t care what it was supposed to mean,” Leira says. “You two connected. Bonded. That kind of union? It echoes.”

“Then un-echo it,” I mutter.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Thorne says. “The more you lean into it, the more he’ll feel you. And the more Seraphiel will twist it.”

“I’mnothis,” I snap.

“No,” Thorne agrees. “But he thinks you are. And belief, in beings like him, is a weapon.”

The witches fall into tense silence. The fire in the center of the chamber crackles, casting gold across the lines carved into the stone like veins pulsing beneath skin.

I cross my arms, shifting my weight. “So what? You called me here to scold me? Tell me to be a good little shadow and stay in my corner while he crawls closer?”

“We called you here,” Leira says, “to remind you of what’s at stake.”

Thorne adds, more quietly, “If he claims you in any form—ritual, bond, or blood—it will fracture the Veil completely. No borders. No balance. No more rules.”

“I know what happens,” I whisper. “I saw it in New Orleans.”

That shuts them all up.

Because no one forgets what happened there. Not the fire. Not the bodies. Not thepowerI couldn’t rein back in once it was loosed.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” I say, softer now. “I’m not seventeen. I’m not helpless. I’m nothis.”

Thorne steps closer. Places a hand on my shoulder. “Then act like it. Don’t let him drive you with fear. And don’t let the wolf pull you with hope. You’re stronger than both.”

I nod. Barely. But deep down I’m not sure I believe him. Because Ifeltwhat woke up in me with Dante. And I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to survive it.

Let alone control it.

14

DANTE

Ican’t stop thinking about her.

She kissed me, told me her name, cracked herself open just enough for me to feel the truth humming underneath—and then she vanished again, like a goddamn shadow on the wind.

And I let her go. Again.

But this time, it’s not just want driving me. It’sneed. Not lust. Not curiosity. It’s in my blood now. In my fucking bones.

I feel her even when I’m not trying to. A pulse just under my skin. A tug, like there’s a stitch between us—thin, frayed, but strong enough to choke. And every second I don’t know where she is, it pulls tighter.

I search the way I know how. Hunt.

The city’s loud tonight. Too many lights. Too many hearts beating too fast. I can barely think over the noise. But my instincts? They’re razor-sharp.

She was near the wards last night. That’s where the pull’s strongest. I track her magic like scent—faint, smoky, threaded with that cold sweetness only fae have. I’ve got it on my tongue. In my lungs. But it’s fading fast.

I cut through a narrow alley behind the church on 57th, heart thudding harder than I want to admit. And that’s when I feel it. Everything just... shifts. Wrong.

The air goes still. Too still. The sounds of the city vanish like someone hit mute on the world. And my gut clenches. Because I know this feeling.

Magic. Old. Predatory. Not hers.

Someone’s huntingme.

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