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He blinked, and she exhaled.
Adrick pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight and hauling her off the ground. “You did it, little sister.”
“Put me down, you fool.” She slapped him lightly on the back. “I’m still dangerous. And for Dea’s sake, you’re two minutes older than me. Enough with the little sister nonsense.”
Adrick laughed and lowered her to the ground. “Don’t want you getting a big head just because you saved us all. Now, tellthis handsome demon to take the damn medicine, will you? He’s more stubborn than you are.”
She sank to her knees, pulling off one glove. “Dante—”
His entire body spasmed as her hand found his.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped and pulled away, fumbling to put her glove back on. She cursed silently. Of course, he was still too weak to tolerate her touch.
“You won’t take the medicine until you tell me something, huh?” she asked, smiling through her tears. “So speak. Then I’m pouring it down your throat.”
“Crollo,” Dante wheezed. A tear slid from the corner of his eye, and she had to fight the urge to brush it away. “He’s not finished. I saw—I heard—” He stopped to take a short, shuddering breath. “It’s all connected. Your power. The end. It’s not over.”
She shushed him. “But it’s over for right now, yes?”
A tight, pained nod.
“Then get some rest, so you can heal. And for Dea’s sake, Dante, take the medicine.”
Adrick measured out a dosage and helped Dante raise his head enough to swallow. Alessa beckoned to the nearest medic.
“You know what he is, right?” she asked, daring the middle-aged woman in spectacles to have a problem with Dante’s identity.
The woman nodded, eyebrows drawn. “I do, and I’d be fascinated to hear about what you’ve witnessed. But as for right now, he’s stable, but not improving. These things take time, though.”
“But you’ve seen some improvement, right?” Alessa said. “Small cuts healing, bruises fading?”
It wasn’t unusual for someone to waver on the verge of death for days or even weeks after a grievous injury. It was, however, unusual for a ghiotte.
“I’m afraid not, Finestra. If anything, he’s had a bit of backsliding, but we caught it before it got too bad.”
Alessa frowned. Itwasstill early. And hehadcome back from the dead. It was a lot to ask of one man. It wasn’t much to cling to, but she held on to a sliver of hope.
Fifty-Six
Tutto sapere è niente sapere.
To know everything is to know nothing.
“Porca troia,” Dante cursed, waking with a start—the only way he woke these days.
Every time he closed his eyes, he died all over again, and every time he opened them, it felt like being born from the fire again.
Asleep, awake, it didn’t matter. There was no relief.
The never-ceasing noise plucked at his nerves. Labored breathing, soft moans, low-pitched voices. One more day on this cot, inhaling disinfectant and waking to other people’s misery, would kill him.
“Puttana la miseria,” he said through gritted teeth.
Dottoressa Agostino shot him a dark look.
“Mi scusi,” Dante said, only half sarcastically. He’d heard worse from other patients in the common tongue every damn day, but she held this against him?
He didn’tfeelpain, hewaspain. Every damn hair on his head hurt. But he’d put it off long enough. Choking down another groan, he sat up.
