He straightened, shadows flickering like living tongues of black fire behind him.
"Listen carefully," he said, his tone dropping into a coldness that shook the room. "If I ever take a mate, it will be her. And only her."
Not a single elder dared lift their head.
"If any of you suggest I take another woman," Dante continued calmly, "I will assu you are trying to insult my chosen mate. And I will act accordingly."
The shadows surged across the floor.
"And if any of you attempt to interfere again, your titles, your seats, your hos, and your families will be gone before the sun touches the horizon."
Every elder swallowed in unison.
Dante turned away, his cloak sweeping behind him like a moving storm.
"Consider this," he said as he walked toward the exit, "your final lesson."
He did not look back when he left the hall.
But all the elders stayed frozen in their seats long after he was gone.
When Dante finally stepped inside the house, the sky outside had already dipped into a quiet shade of evening blue, and a deep, irritated heaviness clung to his steps. Elders. Those stubborn ancient fools who had nothing better to do than poke their wrinkled noses into his decisions. It was the one thing he despised more than war, soone trying to think on his behalf.
He shut the door a little too sharply.
"Dante?"
Her voice floated from the living room, soft and warm like a lantern in a cold corridor. He lifted his head, and the mont his eyes landed on her, standing there with her gentle smile, her hair tied in a loose ponytail, her hands drying from washing sothing in the kitchen, every fraction of anger he carried dissolved like smoke.
"You’re back?" she said, walking toward him with a brightness that wrapped around his chest.
"Yeah," he murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Had a rough day."
The way her face softened made his breath lose its rhythm. Before he could say anything else, she ca closer, held his arm with both hands, and gently tugged him toward the couch.
"Sit," she whispered, as if soothing a child. And Dante obeyed, lowering himself onto the soft cushions while watching her with confused fascination.
Then she moved behind him.
"What are you doing?" he asked as she touched the back of his head.
"Giving you a quick stress relief massage. I saw it in a video," she said lightly, as if this wasn’t the most intimate thing anyone had done for him in centuries.
Her fingertips began to move gently over his temples, tracing soft circles. Dante exhaled before he could stop himself. Then she slid her thumbs down to the bridge of his brows, smoothing away the tension he had carried since morning. Slow, caring strokes that made his muscles lt and his heartbeat quieten.
"You know," she murmured softly, "we store a lot of tension in our face. And our head holds everything all day. So massaging it helps calm everything down."
Dante wanted to laugh, not because she was wrong, but because the way she said it, the way she touched him, made sothing warm shiver inside his chest. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need a massage to help him. Her presence alone erased every dark thought and heaviness he had.
But he did not say that. He just let her continue, closing his eyes as her fingers moved to his jaw, gently rubbing the tight muscles there, then sliding up to his scalp. Her touch was light yet grounding, like she knew exactly how to ease the heaviness sitting behind his eyes.
His voice ca out lower than usual. "Where are Sable and Lucien?"
She smiled, still massaging him. "They’re playing in their room. I ca down to drink so water and I saw you coming in." She paused, her voice turning shy. "I’m happy I was able to receive you on ti."
The words sank into him like warmth. His lips curved without him aning to, the tension in his shoulders dropping completely.
He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at her from where he sat. She was leaning slightly forward, concentrated on loosening the last bit of tension in his forehead, her expression soft and gentle in the low light of the living room.
And Dante thought, she has no idea how easily she can undo .
"Thank you," he said softly, more sincere than he expected.
She looked flustered, a blush warming her cheeks. "Did it help?"
"It helped," he murmured, "more than you know."
Her hand paused. He caught her wrist gently and pressed her fingers to his lips, a silent and grateful kiss that made her breath catch.
"Co here," he said next, his voice deep and warm, patting the space beside him.
Alina walked toward him almost without thinking. She slipped onto the couch beside him, and Dante did not waste a second before pulling her close, his arm wrapping firmly around her waist as if she belonged exactly there.
The warmth of his body pressed against her side, and she felt her breath lighten as his fingers brushed the fabric of her dress.
"How was your day?" he asked, his voice low and smooth near her ear. "Did Jordan cause you any trouble?"
She blinked, rembering the silent demon with the long black coat who had escorted her ho earlier. "Jordan, the demon who dropped ?"
"Yeah," Dante said, a faint tightness in his tone.
"Oh. No, he didn’t cause anything. He was very quiet. He didn’t even talk." She shrugged lightly.
Dante’s expression shifted instantly. A subtle, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. "Good," he muttered under his breath.
"You should freshen up," she said gently, placing her hand on his arm.
He looked at her for a long mont, as if he was still soaking in the fact that she was beside him, touching him, worrying about him.
Then he nodded once, slow and lazy.
"Hm," he replied.
But he did not move.
Instead, his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her a little closer, letting his forehead rest against the side of her temple for a brief second, just long enough for her heart to skip wildly.
Only after that tiny stolen mont did he finally rise from the couch, a faint smirk touching his lips as he made his way toward the stairs.
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