“No—listen to me.” She grabbed his arms, forced him to meet her eyes. “He threatened me. My pelt. He knows what I am, and he knows how to destroy me.”
Alessandro’s rage flooded through her, dark and barely contained. The dragon in his blood was screaming for violence.
“He threatened you.”
“He wants us scared. He wants us to run.”
“Then we don’t run.” His voice hardened. “We fight.”
“With what? He has the recipe. He has centuries of experience. He has…”
“We have each other.”
Neither spoke.
For the first time since their fight, Marina felt the bond surge between them, not muted, not guarded, but open. Raw. Real.
“Believe me,” she said. “Please. Just this once, all the way.”
Alessandro’s hands cupped her face. His eyes were dark with fury and fear and something that looked a lot like love.
“I believe you,” he said. “I should have believed you from the beginning. I’m sorry, Marina. I’m so sorry.”
She let herself fall into his arms.
His rage and his fear and his crushing guilt poured into her, and she let him feel her own terror, her grief for her grandmother, her desperate hope that they could still win.
“He killed her,” she whispered against his chest. “My grandmother. He admitted it. He said she was too clever, that she’d figured out the recipe, so he… he made sure she never got to use it.”
Alessandro’s arms tightened around her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Two years. I’ve been grieving for two years, thinking she died of natural causes, and this whole time…” Her voice broke. “He was there. At her funeral. He sent flowers, Alessandro. He sentflowersto her funeral.”
She’d shaken his hand. Thanked him for coming. Accepted his condolences while he stood there knowing exactly what he’d done. She could still picture the flower arrangement: white lilies, tasteful, probably ordered through some high-end Manhattan florist.
“We’ll stop him,” Alessandro said, his voice low and fierce. “Whatever it takes. He doesn’t get to win.”
“The book…”
“We’ll get it back. Or we’ll find another way.” He pulled back enough to look at her, and she saw the dragon in his eyes, not the controlled, careful man she’d grown accustomed to, but something older and more dangerous. “He threatened you, Marina. He threatened the woman I love. That was his last mistake.”
The woman he loved.
The words settled into her heart like a warm ember.
“We need a plan,” she said.
“We need allies. Dante. Bea. Estelle. Everyone in this town who’s ever distrusted Malachar’s charm.” He cupped her face again. “But first, we need to rest. You’re shaking.”
She was. Now that the adrenaline was fading, her whole body trembled.
“Stay with me tonight,” she said. “Not on the couch. With me.”
“Marina…”
“I need to feel you close. I need to know you’re here.”
He didn’t argue. He just led her upstairs, to the small bedroom that had become theirs without either of them quite acknowledging it. They lay down together, still clothed, still terrified, but finally united.
