After The Blood

“Sit down.”

Dante’s voice left no room for resistance.

Aruna stood frozen near the bed, her eyes still fixed on the dark stains splattered across his sleeve. The smell of metal lingered faintly in the air, sharp and real. This was no longer an abstract danger. It had spilled into the room with him.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

He glanced down at his arm. “It’s not mine.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It does,” he replied calmly. “For you.”

She obeyed, sitting slowly as if her legs might give out at any second. Her heart was still racing, the echo of gunshots ringing in her ears long after the silence had returned.

Dante removed his jacket and tossed it aside. There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign that what had just happened affected him beyond logistics.

“How many?” she asked quietly.

“Enough to send a message.”

Her stomach twisted. “What message?”

“That you are not negotiable.”

The words sent a chill through her.

He crouched in front of her, finally at eye level. His gaze scanned her face carefully, as if checking for injuries she might not even feel yet.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Dizzy?”

“No.”

“Breathing?”

She frowned. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Shock comes later.”

That frightened her more than the gunfire.

“You talk about this like it’s routine,” she whispered.

“For me, it is.”

“And for them?” she asked.

“They underestimated me.”

She swallowed. “Because of me.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Because they touched what’s under my protection.”

She hugged herself. “I never wanted anyone dead because of me.”

“You didn’t cause this,” he said firmly. “They did.”

She looked away. “That doesn’t stop me from feeling it.”

For a moment, Dante said nothing. Then he reached out, hesitating just a fraction before placing his hand over hers. His touch was warm, grounding.

“You feel it because you’re human,” he said. “Don’t lose that.”

Her breath hitched at the contact. “You don’t sound like someone who believes that.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “Before you.”

She looked up at him sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means you complicate things.”

His hand lingered a second longer before he pulled away and stood.

“You won’t sleep tonight,” he said. “Neither will I.”

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now we disappear.”

Her eyes widened. “Disappear where?”

“Somewhere even fewer people know about.”

She stood abruptly. “You can’t just keep moving me like luggage.”

Dante faced her fully. “I can if it keeps you alive.”

“I’m not an object,” she snapped.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re a responsibility.”

“That’s not better.”

“It is to me.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t understand what it means to protect someone in my world.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“It means,” he said, “that once I claim you, there is no halfway. No safe distance. No pretending this is temporary.”

Her chest tightened. “You keep using that word. Claim.”

“Yes.”

“And what if I don’t want to be claimed?”

His eyes searched hers. “Then you shouldn’t look at me the way you do.”

Her breath caught. “How do I look at you?”

“Like someone you’re afraid of,” he said. “And someone you’re starting to trust.”

She looked away, shaken.

They left the estate before dawn.

This time, there was no conversation in the car. Aruna watched the city fade behind them as the roads grew narrower, the lights fewer. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, but sleep refused to come.

They arrived at a secluded house hidden among trees. Smaller. Older. Quiet in a way that felt intentional.

“This place doesn’t exist,” Dante said as they entered. “Not on any record that matters.”

Inside, the atmosphere was simpler. No luxury. Just solid walls and clean lines.

“This is temporary,” Aruna said.

“Yes,” Dante replied. “Everything is. Even wars.”

She dropped her bag near the door. “I don’t know how long I can live like this.”

Dante watched her carefully. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

He stepped closer, his voice lower. “You can be weak here.”

Her eyes burned. “I don’t trust weakness.”

“You will,” he said. “Or this will destroy you.”

She took a steadying breath. “Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Letting me walk out of that bar.”

Dante did not answer immediately.

“Yes,” he said finally. “And no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he replied. “I regret the danger I brought into your life. I don’t regret choosing you.”

The words hit her harder than any threat.

Before she could respond, a soft chime echoed through the house. Dante’s head snapped up.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

She followed him anyway, stopping just short of the doorway as he checked a screen on the wall.

“What is it?” she asked.

Dante’s expression darkened.

“They found us faster than expected.”

Her heart slammed. “How?”

“They didn’t track me,” he said slowly. “They tracked you.”

Her blood ran cold. “I didn’t tell anyone where we were.”

“You didn’t have to,” Dante replied. “Someone else did.”

She shook her head. “Who?”

Dante turned to her, eyes sharp.

“That,” he said quietly, “is what I’m about to find out.”

She swallowed. “And if it’s someone close to me?”

His gaze did not soften.

“Then we will deal with them,” Dante said.

“No matter who they are.”