The storm raged outside, but inside Dante's chamber, the war was quieter, sharper.
Ishani lay stiff on the vast bed, every muscle rigid. Her back was to him, her fists curled tight beneath the blanket. She tried to focus on the thunder, on anything but the warmth radiating from the man lying just inches away.
But Dante didn't let silence win.
"You're trembling again," he said softly, his accent dripping over the words.
Her jaw tightened. "I'm not."
He chuckled, low and dangerous, his breath ghosting against the back of her neck. "Liar. I can feel it."
Her skin prickled. He hadn't touched her, not once, but the awareness of his body—the heat, the weight, the way the mattress dipped beneath him—was torture enough.
She sucked in a sharp breath. "If you think sharing a bed will break me, you're wasting your time."
"No," Dante murmured, his tone velvety, intimate. "Breaking you would be too easy. I'd rather bend you. Slowly. Until you can't remember where your hate ends and your hunger begins."
Her throat went dry. Rage and something hotter tangled in her chest. "I will never hunger for you."
Lightning split the sky, throwing his shadow across the room. In the sudden brightness, she saw his profile—smiling, not cruelly, but knowingly.
"You already do," he said.
Her breath caught, fury clawing at her ribs. "You mistake disgust for desire."
"Do I?" His voice lowered, husky, teasing. "Then why haven't you moved away? Why are you still here, frozen, pretending not to feel me?"
Her body betrayed her—her chest rose too fast, her pulse hammered too loudly. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be stone.
Dante shifted closer—not enough to touch, but enough that the heat of him bled through the thin barrier of air. His presence wrapped around her like a second skin.
"You see, bella," he whispered, his lips close enough that she felt the vibration of his words along her spine. "The body never lies. You can scream hate with your mouth, but your silence… your shivers… your heartbeat… they tell me the truth."
She clenched her jaw. "The truth is I want you dead."
His laugh was soft, dangerous. "And yet, you dream of me."
Her stomach knotted. "I don't—"
"Yes, you do." His words brushed her like a caress. "I hear you at night. The way you turn in your sheets. The way you murmur my name when you think you're asleep."
Her blood ran cold. "You're lying."
He smirked in the dark, savoring her reaction. "Am I?"
The silence between them pulsed like a heartbeat, thick with unspoken truths and unbearable heat.
Finally, Dante exhaled, the sound curling against her skin. "Sleep, bella. Tomorrow, you'll deny everything again. But tonight… tonight you know I'm already inside your head."
She lay rigid, eyes burning, her body betraying her with every trembling breath. The storm outside raged, but the real storm was in the bed—the storm he had planted inside her, growing stronger with every word.