In The Hand Of Dante Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

My hands trembled as I opened the folder. Tucked inside was a faded photograph. The church, fifteen years ago. A picture of me and a little girl... but the face wasn't Sophia's. It was Isabella. The words on the back twisted in my gut like a knife: The one who really saved you was never Sophia. The memory hit me like a freight train. The rain, the fear, her small hand in mine. It was Isabella. It was always Isabella. "No... no, it can't be..." I collapsed onto the blood-stained floor.

The oldest man in the group spoke. Dante walked towards the circle. “Kneel!”the old man said and Dante got on his knees, then the old man walked out of the circle, and the man holding the book came forward. The sacred text lay open in front of Dante — an ancient ledger bound in cracked leather. Its pages bore the ink of countless oaths, the names of those who had risen and fallen.. “Repeat after me,” the old man intoned, his voice a low rumble. For the first time, I saw Dante’s hands tremble. He was scared. He placed his hand on the ledger. The silver knife glinted, its blade etched with symbols—the head of a lion, which a dagger pierced through.

Dante moved his hands from her waist to her face, his thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones with a terrifyingly gentle touch. "I can feel you thinking about the world outside these walls," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous rasp. "Don't. There is no one else. There is no Arthur. There is no Trust. There is only the rhythm of this house and the weight of my hand on your skin."

“To become human, you must have sex with many humans and drain their energy. This will make you human… and stop you from drinking human blood.” I froze. My stomach clenched so hard I almost dropped the book. What the hell was this? I turned it to the front page, but before I could finish reading, a voice thundered through the room. “What the hell are you doing here!” My body jerked. The book slipped from my fingers but he was faster. Mr. Dante’s hand shot out and snatched it midair, the veins in his forearm tightening. His jaw was locked, and his blue eyes burned into me, sharp and furious.

Dante. The man motioned his dagger with the aim of digging it into the girl's neck. But being just a second late, had him lying on the floor dead with another dagger stuck in the middle of his eyes. Dante was faster, and just as Vincenzo let go of his hand, he immediately struck his dagger right in the man’s forehead. And of course the weapon met its aim. How could it not?

He asked about my day, my dreams, my fears, and when I hesitated, unsure whether to share, he waited, patiently, like he had all the time in the world for me. Slowly, I told him about Drew, although not everything, but enough, and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t offer clichés or empty sympathy. He simply reached across the table and took my hand in his, and that single gesture just spelled out the words, ‘I'm here now.’ Later that night, as I lay in bed, I replayed the moment over and over. His touch, his voice, and the sincerity in his eyes. I felt the butterflies again, stronger now. Not chaotic, but certain.

His finger pulled me by the chin to meet his gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I stared into his forest greens, calming instantly as they traced over my features. His lips turned into a smile as he shook his head, as if he could read what I was thinking. “I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers stroked my cheek and I relished in the calmness it brought to me. Placing my head back on his chest, I felt Giovanni shift beneath me before holding out his book. He pulled the pages open and began reading ‘Dante’s Inferno’.

She did not know where she saw this stone. She sighed strongly to hold that small necklace in her hand and kept looking at it for a while, vaguely.. She did not know why she had doubts, nor did she know why she imagined strange things.. She also imagined a little girl holding the necklace, and next to her was a tall young man dressed in black and his facial features were unclear.. For a moment this came to her Imagination.. She closed her eyes tightly to put her hands on her head and her facial features shrunk.. She calmed her down a little to sigh strongly and begin to open the small leaves and the content of the first paper was in a handwriting that seemed to someone who was novice in writ

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.