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They kissed as if the world were ending, lips crashing together as if the heavens were breaking and the ground was crumbling, as if a war raged all around them and this kiss was the only thing mighty enough to stop it. As long as they kissed, only she and Dante existed.
Tella never wanted to open her eyes; as soon as she did, the world would shift. Dante would be gone and there would only be Legend.
It was so brutally unfair. She’d only just decided how much she wanted Dante, but even if he made it through the night, Legend was someone she could never have. He was like a moment in time; he could be experienced but never held on to.
His lips pressed harder as one hand threaded through her hair and the other went lower around her hips, digging in and pulling her closer, as if he didn’t want the kiss to end, either.
But it had to stop. No matter how good of a distraction it was. The longer it lasted, the more danger she was in.
Tella leaned in toward him for one spectacular heartbeat, tasting his lips a final time. Then she forced herself to let go. She’d never be able to do what she needed if she fell any farther.
Her eyes opened reluctantly.
She wanted him to look different. She wanted his gaze to be cold and distant. She wanted him to look at her as if he’d really been the one to win this game. She wanted his lips to curve cruelly as he tried to steal the deck of cards from her grip. But he didn’t even look at them. He only stared at her. One hand was still on her waist. It was hotter than it should have been on such a cold night.
“You won the game,” he said. He lifted his other hand, as if reaching for her face.
She caught a glimpse of the black rose inked upon his skin. She might have laughed at how obvious that image had made his identity all along. But then his arm twisted and Tella caught a glimpse of the underside of his wrist, just beneath the scar he’d earned in the last Caraval.
She grabbed it. He winced, but he didn’t fight her as she pushed up the cuff of his sleeve.
She gasped so sharply it hurt. “God’s blood.”
On the underside of his wrist, marring one of his lovely tattoos, was a violent star-shaped brand, exactly like the one on Theron’s face.
She told herself he had only done it for the cards, not for her. This was about the Fates’s power, she reminded herself. But it still felt wrong that he’d let himself be branded in such a permanent way.
“What did you promise them?” Tella asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I did it for you and I’d do it again.” Dante rotated his wrist until somehow he was holding her hand. He still hadn’t even looked at the cards. He dark eyes stayed fixed on her as if she were his prize.
And, damn her, she believed him.
It was so very wrong.
If he was Legend, he wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to still gaze at her as if she’d just shattered his world with a kiss. He was supposed to laugh at her for being foolish enough to fall for him. He wasn’t supposed to lean in closer, as if he’d fallen for her, too. He was supposed to rip the cards from her hands and abandon her on the moonstone steps. He was supposed to break her heart.
She wasn’t supposed to break his.
Finally Tella’s heart stopped racing. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take more away from him than she already had. Jacks would have to find another source of power to free her mother and the Fates.
“You need to leave. Immediately.” Tella ripped her hand from his. “I used Jacks’s luckless coin right before you arrived. He’s on his way here now. When he arrives he’s going to steal your powers and free all the Fates.”
Dante’s eyes finally dropped to the cards clutched in Tella’s hands. She still wasn’t entirely ready to think of him as Legend. Legends were supposed to be better than the truth. Perfect, idealized dreams and crystalline hopes that were too flawless to exist in reality. And she might have described him that way just then, if the naked expression that crossed his face didn’t cut deeper than disappointment. “You want to give the cards to Jacks?”
“I’m sorry,” Tella said. She clasped the deck tighter, but Dante made no move to take it, though a muscle jumped in his jaw and his knuckles turned white as if everything in him fought against the urge.
“This is about your mother, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I thought I could let her go, but she’s my mother. I have so many questions for her, and despite everything she’s done, I can’t stop loving her.” Tella’s voice cracked. “I can’t allow you to destroy her along with the Fates.”
His expression split, as if it had been ripped in half, a two-sided mask formed of regret and determination. “If I could free your mother, I would. But the only way to release someone from a card without breaking the curse is to take their place.”
“I’m not asking you to free her,” Tella said. “I’m asking you to go before Jacks gets here.” She shoved against Dante’s chest, but he was indomitable. He wouldn’t move. Her panic increased and she shoved him again. But he wouldn’t fight back and he wouldn’t flee. He wasn’t afraid. He was something far worse. He was hopeful that she would choose him. He didn’t leave and he didn’t take the cards because he wanted her to give them to him.
And maybe he imagined that if Jacks arrived he could beat him in a battle. Either way, Tella still lost her mother or she lost Dante.
Unless she saved them both.
