روايات وقصص ضمن In The Hand Of Dante Book

Dante wasn’t giving up. I opened the letter with trembling hands, feeling both disgusted by the message on Bright’s phone and anxious to read Dante’s words. His handwriting was elegant and meticulous. He wrote that he wanted to see me, that he had made an important decision, and that he needed to talk to me at the lookout where we had last met. Today.

That's the next question. Dante is closest to me, Ryder's back almost pressing against mine, whereas Dante faces me, his hands pulled in front of his face in a protective boxing stance. Pure. Gold. Both words are marked in ink along the plane of his fists, each specifical letter designated for a knuckle, excluding his thumbs that I suppose leave a natural break between the two, oddly specific words.

He didn’t try to hide it. Suddenly, loud animalistic howls and hoots pierced the air. It sent shivers down my spine. My heart thudded. My fingers went cold. This feeling—I would have to get used to. These creatures—I would have to get used to. This man—I would have to get used to. Dante held out his hand and helped me down from the carriage. And before me stood a long, massive crowd of terrifying wolves. Home.

I was nervous as we drove down the street Was it cold in the car or was my anxiety creeping in? I rubbed my palm together as I was very cold. Dante suddenly took hold of my hand while I stared, obviously startled at him. “You don’t have to be afraid, you can do this.” He held my hand. We finally arrived at the what looked like a company, it was actually a company, it was a tall building. The car door was opened and Dante stepped out before giving me his hand so I could help myself out.

Hands were everywhere around him, touching, carressing every inch of him. Dante gave a satisfied sigh and sank carefully into a chair behind him. Fingers undid the top two buttons of his shirt and slid in as he relaxed and gave a sigh of contentment. He put his hands on either side of him, feeling them up. As I watched, his hands crept higher, dipping into the waistband of the shorts they wore. The two ladies moaned. Whether it was real or faked, I could not tell. His hands travelled higher. With a deft movement, he flicked open their blouses, exposing breasts covered in filmy brightly colored bras that barely concealed anything. One of the girls lowered herself into his lap and sat astride

​ “I do w‌ond⁠er which n​ame Andr‌ea‌s mo⁠ans‌.‌⁠” My h‍a​nd tighte‍‌ned⁠ aro‍und th⁠e b⁠ar​ t‌o⁠wel.‍ “‍D​o n‌⁠ot ta​lk about hi⁠m like t⁠hat.” “Wh⁠y?” Dante asked softly. “H‍e talks about you.” I bl‍ink‍ed‍.‌ “‍What?”‌ “For w⁠eeks no⁠w,” Dante⁠ sa‌id,​ trailin⁠‌g h‍is​‌‌ f‌i‌ngers along‍ t​h‍e r‌im of a glass. “He’s been…⁠ d‌istracte‌d.​ Soft. Alway​s s​⁠ear‍c⁠hing f​or s‍omeone‌ in the cr⁠owd. You’ve ma‍⁠de hi‌‌‌m w​ eak,​ and you don’t e‍‍v​en understand ho‍w valuable t​hat is.” “I did‍n‌’t do an‍y‌thi‌ng.” “Exactly.” Dante’‍s eye‌s‍ gli⁠nted.​ “⁠That’s what m‌a⁠kes it​ da‍n‌g​e​rous.”​ He rea⁠ched tow⁠a​r⁠d my​ hand, clo‌sing h​i​s f‍i‌nger​s around mi​ne‍. I jerked b‌a​c‍k, but he‍ hel

My fingers trembled as I unlocked the door. The handle turned slowly. The door opened. Dante stood there. He had blood all over his shirt. On his hands. On his jaw. His expression was unreadable. “It’s clear,” he said quietly. Behind him, down the hallway— I saw movement. Not one. But several shadows were shifting at the far end of the corridor. Not his men. Too many. Too silent. My stomach dropped. Dante didn’t turn around. He was still looking at me. But his grip on the gun tightened.

He moved toward the stairs, never breaking eye contact. My mate was gorgeous. And he was looking at me like I was the only person in the room. He reached the bottom of the stairs as I descended. His hand extended and I took it, his fingers closing gently around mine. "You're stunning," he murmured, just for me. Conversations around us had stopped. Everyone was staring. I felt their eyes on me—on my size, my dress, my hand in Dante's. Dante the ruthless Lycan mafia lord who killed without thinking twice, who was never gentle with anyone, was holding my hand like I was made of glass. Leading me into the crowd like I was a queen.

"You were saying?" Dante inquired Orlando coldly. Orlando's hand is twisted awkwardly. With just some more force, his arm might break. Dante's hold is unyielding. Even when Orlando tried to pry his hand away from Dante, he failed miserably. Serene looked down at Orlando who is on his knees infront of her now. "Dante, look, they hurt my hand" she decided to show Orlando and Eugene a glimse of hell when still alive. And she knows how to do that clearly.

Autumn I shivered, and Dante noticed. He squeezed my hand gently and urged me with his eyes to stay courageous. “This is just a phone conversation, Alexa. He is not going to hurt you from wherever he is,” Dante mouthed to me. I didn’t even remember that he was still holding my hand until he squeezed it, and when he said that, I felt less afraid. “I have been awaiting your call,” Dare-Devil said after a brief second of silence. “I did send the mail some days ago, you know,” he added.