Page 84 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

His gaze dipped to the bruises around my throat, and his anger swelled, rolling through the bond.

"How do you feel?" His words were clipped.

"Like I lost a fight with a dragon, but otherwise, fine." The power I'd exerted hadn't restored completely yet, but it was coming back. I already felt nauseous about the intense level of darkness that was now living within me again.

Dante's nostrils flared. "Tell me exactly what happened before I got there."

It was a command. Not a question.

I was aware that I had fucked up, so I wasn't going to resist answering.

Turning my head, I looked around the room. It was my bedroom in the mansion, and we were alone inside it.

I tried to slide off his chest, to put some space between us before I explained.

He didn't let me go.

His hand pressed harder to my lower back, holding me firmly where I was.

Guess we were cuddling while I told him everything.

I quietly told him about everything he hadn’t been there for.

"How bad is the structural damage to the magic?" he asked.

He'd had a conversation or two with River, to be asking me that question.

My chest tightened.

"Reaper has been tearing it away slowly. It's pretty bad. With all of the unraveling I just did, I'd say there's a decent chance he's already destroyed the rest of the rules I built into the prison. The elevator is our last defense."

"Is there any way to repair it?"

I shook my head slowly. "We're going to have to move the prisoners. With enough time, Reaper can get through the elevator. If I go down there again, I can probably⁠—"

"No." Dante interrupted me.

His voice wasn't hard, or cruel, but it was really fucking blunt.

I blinked.

"You're not going back down there," he said, his gaze not leaving me. "Not until it's empty. I'll lead the group myself to deal with Reaper. You're not going back."

"I'm the best weapon we have in that place. I⁠—"

"You aren't going back in, so it doesn't fucking matter."

I gave him a minute to cool down.

He didn't cool. Not even a little.

"How mad are you, on a scale of one to ten?" I asked.

"A solid nine."

"Oof."

"I was an eleven before I made it down that elevator."