After so ti...
They had just reached the bottom of the stairs, the house still wrapped in that early-morning quiet where everything felt softer and slower, when he spoke so casually that it took her a second to process his words.
"You really don’t rember anything?" Dante asked, glancing at her as they walked side by side into the living area.
She hesitated, rubbing her temple lightly as if it might coax the mories back. "Not really," she admitted, her voice a little sheepish. "My head feels... ssy. Like soone shuffled everything and forgot to put it back in order." She paused, then looked at him properly, guilt creeping into her expression. "I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. It’s just... I drank after a long ti."
He humd, thoughtful, far too calm.
"It’s fine," he said easily. Then, with the faintest curve of amusent tugging at his lips, he added, "You didn’t do much. Except glare at a waitress, kiss my neck, and then declare ’mine.’"
She stopped walking.
Completely.
Alina stared at him as if he’d just spoken in an alien language. Her eyes widened, her mouth parting slightly, disbelief written so clearly on her face it was almost comical. "I—what?" she said faintly.
Dante took two more steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned back and found her frozen on the spot, looking scandalized, mortified, and deeply confused all at once.
"I... kissed your neck?" she repeated slowly, as if testing the words to see if they made sense. Her hand flew up to her face, cheeks flushing a deep, dangerous red. "In public?"
"And the mine," he reminded her helpfully, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Her embarrassnt escalated instantly. "I said that out loud?" she whispered, horrified. "With words?"
"Yes," he confird. "Very clearly. With conviction."
She groaned softly and covered her face with both hands, shoulders slumping as if her soul had temporarily left her body. "I want to disappear," she muttered. "Please tell I didn’t threaten anyone."
"No threats," he said thoughtfully. "Just... a very sharp glare. Possessive energy."
She peeked at him through her fingers. "You’re making this worse on purpose."
"Maybe," he admitted, a low chuckle slipping out. "But you should know—" He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her heart stumble. "—I didn’t mind."
That made her look up fully.
Their eyes t, and for a brief second, the teasing faded into sothing warr, quieter. Her embarrassnt softened into sothing else entirely, a shy warmth blooming in her chest as she searched his face, trying to see if he was joking.
He wasn’t.
She swallowed, then huffed a little, trying to regain so dignity. "Next ti," she said firmly, "you’re stopping after the first drink."
He smiled, slow and knowing, leaning closer as the word "Noted" left his lips.
Warmth rushed to her cheeks as his presence closed in, close enough that she could feel the faint brush of his breath and the quiet heat of him settling into her space. Her lashes fluttered before lowering on their own, her heart slipping into an uneven rhythm as she tilted her face up without realizing she’d done it. The mont stretched, gentle and full, the world narrowing to the space between them, and she closed her eyes, certain his lips would find hers any second now.
However—
"Mom! Dada!!!"
The sharp, panicked cry shattered the mont like glass.
Alina startled, her heart jumping into her throat as she turned just in ti to see Sable running toward them, his little legs moving as fast as they could carry him. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear, breath uneven as if he’d been holding it in for too long.
"Sable?" Alina dropped instinctively, scooping him up into her arms, worry flooding her chest so fast it almost hurt. "What’s wrong, sweetheart?"
He clutched her shoulder tightly, his small fingers trembling as he pointed back toward the open door with frantic urgency. "Lucien... Lucien..." he hiccupped, eyes shining. "Lucien is hurt."
Alina’s eyes widened, the color draining from her face. Dante’s expression shifted instantly, all warmth stripped away and replaced by sharp focus and worry as they broke into a run.
Outside, the morning air was cool and tense, the kind that made every sound feel louder. Georgia was crouched near the steps, gently holding Lucien’s hands while Aunt Lyla hovered beside her, her face drawn tight with worry. The sight made Alina’s chest clench painfully.
Lucien stood there quietly.
"What happened?" Alina asked the mont she reached them, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady.
Georgia looked up. "He fell," she said quickly. "On the gravel near the side path."
Alina’s gaze snapped to Lucien’s hands, and her breath caught.
His small palms were red, scraped raw in places, tiny flecks of dirt still clinging to his skin. It wasn’t a deep injury, but to her it looked unbearable. Too much for hands that small. Too much for a child who never complained.
"Oh my god..." she whispered, gently setting Sable down and moving closer. "Lucien, look at your hands. They’re so red."
Lucien lifted his chin slightly, eting Dante’s eyes instead of hers. "It’s a small injury," he said calmly, too calmly. "I fell. Nothing else."
Dante knelt in front of him.
He didn’t touch him yet. He just looked. And in that single glance, he understood everything his son wasn’t saying.
Lucien was trying to be strong.
Trying to be composed. Trying not to worry anyone. Trying to be exactly what he thought he was supposed to be.
Dante’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
He had told him before. Again and again. You don’t have to hide. Not with . Not ever.
And yet... here he was, standing straight, hiding his pain so he could appear strong.
"It will heal," Lucien added quietly, as if that settled everything. As a shadow demon, as the son of a goddess, his healing ability was already working. The faint warm shimr beneath his skin proved it.
But Alina didn’t care about that.
She crouched in front of him without hesitation, her hands hovering before carefully cradling his injured ones, as if they were made of glass. Her eyes softened instantly, shining with unshed tears.
"It doesn’t matter if it heals," she said gently, her voice thick with emotion. "It still hurt, didn’t it?"
Lucien’s lips parted.
Just a little.
Sable shuffled closer, his small body pressing against Lucien’s side. "Does it hurt a lot?" he asked in a tiny voice, guilt and worry twisting together in his expression.
Lucien looked down at his brother.
Sothing in him finally wavered.
"...a little," he admitted.
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