Rain hadn't touched this part of the world in weeks, yet the ground beneath their feet squelched with blood and mud. Selena's boots were soaked, not with water, but with the residue of war. The aftermath of the Council's ambush lay behind them—bodies, broken weapons, and shattered dreams. And still, Dante hadn't let go of her hand.
"Where are we going?" she asked, breathless, struggling to keep pace with his inhuman stride.
"Somewhere safe," he growled, his eyes scanning the treeline, always watching, always waiting.
"You said that before," she snapped. "And look what happened."
He stopped so suddenly she nearly crashed into him. Turning, he cupped her face between bloodstained hands. "I made a mistake. I thought I could hide you in the shadows. But you shine too brightly."
Selena's chest heaved. Her skin tingled under his touch—infuriating, unwanted, intoxicating. "That's not an answer."
"It's all I can give you right now," he said, voice softer. "There's a place beyond the borders of their reach. Ancient magic lingers there. Old allies. Ones who remember the true order of things."
"You mean monsters."
"I mean survivors."
Their journey stretched into the night, through forgotten woods and broken roads. Dante didn't tire. Selena did. But she refused to be carried. She was many things, but weak wasn't one of them.
Finally, as dawn cracked over the horizon like a broken egg, a silhouette emerged from the mist—a towering fortress carved into the side of a black mountain.
"The House of Ashes," Dante murmured.
"Sounds welcoming."
"It's the last place the Council will look. They believe this place fell centuries ago."
"Why?"
"Because they burned it."
A shiver ran down her spine.
Inside, the fortress was a cathedral of stone and shadow. Black pillars rose like skeletal trees, and flames danced in sconces that hadn't seen light in a hundred years. A single figure stepped forward—tall, robed in silver and bone, with eyes like melted moonlight.
"Valerio," the man said, voice like thunder in a cave. "I hoped I'd never see you again."
"I don't have time for pleasantries, Alaric. I need sanctuary. For her."
Alaric's eyes slid to Selena. He studied her, like a relic, a curse. "The mate."
Selena bristled. "Do I not get a say in who I am?"
He raised a brow. "You already did. When you didn't run."
Dante stepped between them. "We'll stay only as long as it's safe."
"Then you'd best not unpack," Alaric said, gesturing them forward.
As they walked, Selena whispered, "Who is he?"
"An old ally. Once a high priest. Now… something else."
The room they were given was carved from obsidian and moonstone. It glowed faintly in the dark, casting strange reflections on their faces.
Dante stood by the window, silent. Selena sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of everything crash down again.
"What happens now?" she asked.
He turned, eyes dark. "Now, you train."
"Train?"
"They'll come again. Stronger. Smarter. And you need to be ready."
"I'm not a warrior."
"You're my mate. That makes you a target. And a weapon."
She rose, fire sparking. "I'm not yours."
He crossed the space between them in a blink. "You are. Deny it all you want. But you felt the bond. You see it in your dreams. Hear my voice even when I'm silent."
"You're a curse."
"I'm your fate."
Their lips almost met—but she turned away at the last second. "You think obsession is love. It's not."
He didn't argue. "I never claimed to be a good man."
Days passed.
Selena trained under Alaric's watchful eye. Magic surged in her veins—wild, ancient, untamed. She could bend shadows, command light. But the power frightened her.
"You're unlocking her," Alaric warned Dante one night. "She's more than a mate. She's a key."
"To what?" Dante asked.
"To the end of the curse. Or the beginning of the end for us all."
That night, Selena found a journal in the archives. A book bound in skin, filled with symbols that bled when touched. It told a story—of two souls bound across lifetimes. One cursed to destroy. The other cursed to love him anyway.
It felt too real. Too close.
"Why me?" she asked Dante by firelight. "Why not someone stronger? Someone who wanted this?"
He looked at her, haunted. "Because I never wanted love. I wanted peace. But fate gives us what we need. Not what we want."
She reached for his hand. Not out of love—but understanding.
"We'll fight them," she said. "Together."
He smiled, for the first time without cruelty. "Together."
But even as they shared that fragile moment, in the deepest cell of the House of Ashes, something stirred. Something ancient. Watching. Waiting.
And it whispered…
She is the beginning.
He is the end.
Together, they will unmake the world—or save it.