The Traitor's Price

The black armored SUV tore down the cliffside road, the engine roaring like a wounded beast. Outside, the storm had finally broken, drowning the world in a torrential downpour that turned the jagged rocks into lethal slides. Inside, the silence was even more suffocating than the storm.

Dante sat in the back with me, his body vibrating with a suppressed violence that made the very air in the car feel heavy. He wasn't looking at me. He was watching the GPS on his phone, his jaw set so tight I thought his teeth might shatter.

"He won't be at the manor," I said, my voice small against the hum of the tires. "My father. If he gave them the wards, he knew you’d come for him first. He’s a coward, but he’s a fast one."

"He can be as fast as he likes," Dante replied, his silver eyes flashing in the dark. "He can crawl into the deepest hole in Oakhaven, and I will still find him. I will pull him out by his marrow."

I looked down at my hands. They were still shaking. "Why? Why did he do it? He already sold me to you. He had the money. He had the safety."

"Greed is a bottomless pit, Elara. The Void-Walkers likely offered him something more than gold. They probably offered him his 'legacy' back. They promised him they could kill me and put him back on the throne." Dante turned to me, his gaze softening by a fraction of a degree—not out of kindness, but out of a dark, shared understanding. "He didn't just sell your hand in marriage. He sold your life."

The car suddenly swerved, the tires screeching against the wet pavement.

"Don!" the driver yelled. "Two vehicles on our tail. Blacked out. No plates."

"Drive," Dante commanded, his voice dropping into that terrifying, inhuman register. "And don't stop until we hit the reinforced gates of the Foundry."

I looked out the back window. Two sets of headlights were gaining on us, weaving through the rain with impossible speed. A window rolled down on the lead car, and the glint of metal appeared.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

Bullets hammered against our armored rear, sounding like hail on a tin roof. I ducked, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Stay down!" Dante growled. He didn't duck. He reached out his hand toward the back window. He didn't touch the glass, but a pulse of violet energy erupted from his palm.

I watched, mesmerized and terrified, as the shadows outside the car seemed to detach themselves from the trees and the road. They rose up like giant obsidian hands, slamming into the lead pursuit vehicle. The car flipped mid-air, a crumpled heap of metal and screaming men, before tumbling over the cliffside into the churning sea below.

The second car veered off, terrified by the display of power, and disappeared into the treeline.

Dante pulled his hand back, his chest heaving. His skin looked paler than usual, almost translucent. For a second, he looked... exhausted. Using that much power clearly had a price.

"We’re clear," he wheezed.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the Foundry—a converted industrial warehouse in the heart of the Iron District. It was a fortress of rusted steel and humming machinery, hidden behind layers of magical and physical security.

"It's a safe house," Dante explained as we stepped into the humid interior. "The wards here are tied to my own heartbeat. No one gets in unless I’m dead."

He led me up a flight of metal stairs to a small, lofted living area. It was a far cry from the luxury of Vane House. There was a single bed, a small kitchen, and a wall of monitors showing the perimeter.

"You'll stay here," he said. "I have to go back. I have to rally the Syndicate and find out which of the Council members helped your father."

"No," I said, grabbing a nearby iron railing to steady myself. "You can't go alone. If they have the Shadow-Heart, or if they're close to it, they can kill you, Dante. You said it yourself—you need a Scribe."

Dante stopped, his back to me. "It's too dangerous."

"It's dangerous everywhere!" I shouted. "My father is the key. I can track him. If I can touch something he’s handled recently—something he wore or held—I can find his scent in the history of this city. You need me."

Dante turned slowly. He looked at me for a long time, his silver eyes searching my face. Then, he moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, pinning me against the wall. He didn't touch me, but his arms were on either side of my head, trapping me in the heat of his shadow.

"Do you have any idea what you're offering, Elara?" he whispered. His face was so close I could feel the cold mist of his breath. "If we go after him, there is no turning back. You will see things that will haunt you for the rest of your short, human life. I will have to kill men you grew up with. I might have to kill your father in front of you."

"He died to me the second he let those things into your house," I said, my voice cracking but holding firm.

Dante’s gaze dropped to my lips. The tension in the room shifted from violent to something else entirely—something electric and forbidden. The "Almost Touch" was a physical weight between us. I wanted to reach out, to see if he was as cold as he looked, or if there was a fire buried under all that ice.

"You are a strange creature, Elara Vance," he murmured. "Most people run from the dark. You’re trying to build a nest in it."

He stepped back, breaking the spell. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, leather-bound wallet. "This was recovered from the dining room floor. Your father dropped it when he fled."

He tossed it onto the table. "Do your thing, Scribe. Show me where he is."

I walked to the table, my heart racing. I took a deep breath and placed my bare palm flat against the worn leather.

Static. Violence. Wind.

I wasn't in the warehouse anymore. I was in a basement. It smelled of damp salt and fish. The Docks. I saw my father, his face bruised, talking to a man in a white suit—a Valerii enforcer. 'He’s at the Old Pier,' my father was saying. 'Warehouse 9. The seal is there. Just bring the girl to me, and we can end this.'

I pulled my hand back, gasping. My palm felt like it was burning.

"Warehouse 9," I choked out. "The Old Pier. He’s with the Valerii. They’ve betrayed you, Dante. Ligeia was in on it from the start."

Dante didn't look surprised. He looked ready. He reached for a heavy black coat and checked the magazine on his pistol.

"Ligeia always did have a taste for salt and betrayal," he said, a lethal smile touching his lips. "Load your dagger, Elara. We’re going to the docks. And tonight, the sea is going to run red."

As we headed back to the car, I realized I wasn't the same girl who had left the Vance manor only twenty-four hours ago. I was standing next to the King of Shadows, preparing to hunt my own blood.

And the terrifying part? I wasn't afraid. I was hungry for it.