Dante crouched beside him, his wings fanning, then closing, and nearly unbalancing him in the process. “I’ll share whatever I want, with whoever I want,” he said. “We clear?”
Sweat popped up along Gabriel’s hairline, but fury slashed across his face. “You’re too young to know what you want,” he said, pushing himself up onto his knees. “Or even to know what’s in your best interests. You can’t be bound to a mortal.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It isn’t done. Simply not possible.” Gabriel’s gaze flicked past Dante to Heather. “Or shouldn’t be, anyway.”
“Anything’s possible,” Dante said. “For instance, you’re gonna break the spell you placed on Lucien—my father—and you ain’t gonna send anyone after me again.”
Gabriel’s gaze flew back to Dante. “Your father,” he breathed. “I knew it.” He frowned, replaying Dante’s words. “After you again? Are you saying that you’re leaving? But your place is here in Gehenna on the Chaos Seat.”
“Ain’t interested. I’m only here for Lucien.”
“Perhaps you might consider infusing new life into the land,” the Morningstar said, voice low and smooth, “once you’ve taken your father home and gotten him settled.”
Gabriel looked at the Morningstar, his head tilted.
“Maybe, yeah.” Dante pointed down the corridor to the cooling hole/gate in the marble wall, capturing Gabriel’s attention once more. “You wanna talk to me, just ask nice. But it’s gonna be on my terms, my time. Ain’t gonna play games.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Gabriel said. “You are all we’ve dreamed about for millennia. We can’t just let you walk away. You need to be bound—“
“Ain’t binding me. Not now. Not ever.” Dante reached out and pushed Gabriel’s whiskey-colored hair away from his ear and whispered into it. “If you wanna push things, you wanna fight me, call me out, and I’ll be right fucking here.” Blue flames pinwheeled along his fingers. “We clear now?”
A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s jaw. When he spoke, his voice was pure frost. “Very clear.”
“Now break that fucking spell.”
WINGS FANNED THE PIT’S sulfurous stench and smoke into the air and through Lucien’s fevered dreams. Hot hands pushed his hair back from his face. Held him as others unscrewed the barbs from his shoulders and unclipped the bands from his wings.
Held him tight. Held him close.
Lucien dreamed of Dante. Smelled him, burning leaves and evening frost.
Heated lips kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. Lucien awakened and looked into eyes of deepest brown, blue flames flickering in their depths.
His son’s eyes.
“Found you, mon cher ami, mon père, and I ain’t never losing you again,” Dante said, voice husky. “We’re going home.”
“I’d like that, mon fils,” Lucien whispered. “I’d like that very much.”
Adrian Phoenix, Beneath the Skin
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