Page 82 of Shadowkissed

They don’t know what I did. Not all of it. Dante hasn’t told them. Yet.

Gods, he should.

My fingers twitch with residual magic. My skin still glows faint beneath the surface—like starlight stitched into flesh. I remember itallnow. The way the world cracked around me. The way Thorne’s blood soaked the ground. The way Ibrokereality.

And I remember Seraphiel’s voice like it’s still echoing in my chest.

Thank you for making the wait less than I thought.

He wanted this. And I gave it to him. That’s something I can’t get over.

I slide out from under the blanket Dante wrapped around me—too soft, too warm—and pad across the floor. Bodies are tucked into corners, rebels curled under coats and bedrolls. Some snore. Some twitch. All breathing. Still alive.

Because of me?

Ordespiteme?

My bare feet make no sound on the old wood. I brush a hand over the warded door. It pulses faintly—his magic layered over mine. It resists, but I know the backways through it. I’ve always known how to slip between cracks. That’s what fae do best.

The wards part like mist, and the dawn hits me full in the face as I step outside.

Cool air. Gold-pink sky. It should feel like peace but instead it feels like goodbye.

I know I promised I wouldn’t run again, but I can’t submit so many to my destruction. I can’t control it, so why should they follow a faithless leader who is more rage than courage.

But I don’t get far.

Two steps past the line of protective runes and a voice slices through the quiet like a blade wrapped in velvet.

“Going somewhere?”

I flinch. Turn. And he’s there.

Dante.

Leaning against the porch post like heknew.And maybe he did. Of course he did. He always does when it comes tome.

I square my shoulders, try to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he says. “The wards did.”

“Right.” My lips twist. “Guess I’m losing my touch.”

“Losing yourmind,more like.”

His words are soft, but the steel beneath them is sharp.

I look away. “I’m doing what I have to.”

“No,” he says. “You’re doing what youthinkyou deserve.”

The truth of his words hit harder than I expect.

“I can’t be here when it happens again,” I say, staring out at the woods. “Not when the next time might be worse.”

He steps forward, boots crunching in the frostbitten grass. “You mean when you lose control.”

I nod.

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