Page 99 of Shadowkissed

Theyknow.

But knowing andnamingare different things.

Especially here. Especially now.

Toclaimsomeone—especially a fae—isn’t just romantic.

It’s political.

It’sdeclaration.

A shifter claiming a dark fae? That’s the kind of thing that reshapes bloodlines and fractures alliances.

Because shifters don’t take mates lightly. And fae?

We don’t get claimed. Weclaim ourselves.

So when Dante steps forward in front of the council—before the witches who once threatened to bind me, before the vampires who debated using me as leverage, before the warlocks who keep their secrets like currency—and says with his whole damn chest:

“This woman… is mine.”

The air changes.

Magic stills.

Mara shifts her stance.

A vampire’s jaw tics.

Even the old fae in the back—one of the ones who hasn’t spoken since the first meeting—tilts his head with something like shock.

Because no one expected him tosayit.

Toclaim mein front of gods and monsters and rulers.

To mean it.

But Dante’s not done.

He looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters. Not a weapon. Not a prophecy. Just…me.

“And I’m hers.”

His voice carries.

Not with force, but truth.

Absolute. Uncompromising. Final.

A ripple of unease threads through the onlookers, the kind that follows a tectonic shift—the slow realization that somethingjust changed, even if they can’t quite name it yet.

Because by claiming me, Dante isn’t just declaring love.

He’s defying order.

Hierarchy.

Every unspoken rule that’s kept the powerful at bay from thetoo powerful.

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