This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(68)

Kaleb skulked over, and Alessa touched his palms, searching his face for any sign it was different this time. His expression cycled between dread, confusion, and skepticism, but he didn’t yank his hands away.

Dante dipped his chin in a subtle nod of encouragement.

“What’s the deal?” Kaleb asked. “Why is it better this time?”

Only Kaleb would be equally annoyed when she didn’t hurt him.

Alessa shrugged. “Practice?”

Now came the hard part.

“I’m going to try to tap into your power this time.”

A deep inhale, breathing life into her gift, and Alessa’s hair drifted up in an electrified cloud, crackling with Kaleb’s power.

He yanked free.

“Sorry,” Alessa said, but she couldn’t hide her delight. Kaleb was frowning, not screaming. Progress.

She refrained from celebrating, but by the final round, she was sure of it. She was getting better. She could harness the urge faster and more completely, until she felt more like a ship’s captain and less like a prisoner roped to the mast.

“Today went well, right?” Alessa said when the lesson was over, standing on one foot to put her shoes on outside the training room.

Dante grunted an affirmative.

Glancing up at him, she lost her balance. With her finger hooked on the back of the slipper, she couldn’t put her foot down, so she threw her free hand out to catch herself but misjudged the distance and smacked it against the wall instead. Wincing, she examined her throbbing knuckle.

Dante dropped to a crouch with an exasperated sigh and curled her fingers over his hand. Discomfort flickered across his face, but his expression cleared as the last of her pain vanished.

“There. Try to be careful,” he said. “And don’t scowl at me for fixing you.”

“You said it didn’t hurt anymore!”

“It doesn’t. Unless you’re injured. When you use my power, I feel that.” He seemed to realize he was still holding her hand and dropped it.

“Oh. Right. That makes sense. In that case, help me up.” She raised her arms, and Dante hauled her to her feet. “Touching is a start, but I need to use their gifts, too. You saw what happened with Kaleb.”

Dante smirked.

She wagged a finger at him. “Not nice.”

“I keep telling you I’m not a nice person.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t believe that. Didn’t you take this job because I cried?”

“That makes me a sucker, not a saint.” Dante rubbed his stubbled chin. “And it wasn’t the only reason. If there’s anywhere to find the information I’m looking for, it’s here.”

“Is that why you were creeping around the night of the gala?”

Sheepishly, Dante tugged his ear. “Guilty.”

He no longer trusted anyone to bring food without poisoning it, so they stopped by the kitchen on their way up. Covered dishes wafting steam behind him, Dante took the lead, and Alessa hurried after, her mouth watering at the aroma of garlic and pancetta.

“How am I supposed to practice the next part, though?” Alessa said as she unlocked her door. “It’s like trying to draw something I’ve never seen.”

Dante put the tray on the table, brows drawn together in thought.

“What’s that old saying?” Alessa continued. “About blind men and elephants? That’s me, trying to sort through a dozen sensations in the half second I experience them without killing someone at the same time.”

“It feels different when you’re trying to use someone’s power, though, right?”

“Sort of. It’s like absorbing a gift is my default—with them, at least—and I have to actively stop myself. With you, it’s not as … insistent? Wait, that’s not true. In the alley, it hit hard.”

“Because you were dying. You needed my power.” Dante divided up the plates and arranged silverware as Alessa fetched a chilled bottle of limoncello. “Not sure how to work on that, since you aren’t hurt.”

The first taste of pasta distracted her momentarily, but she was a dog with a bone, and even the most enticing meal couldn’t deter her for long.

“If I broke my thumb—”

“Do not injure yourself. Eat.”

“I can only practice with a healing gift if I’m hurt.”

“No. I’m not enabling this.”

She kicked the table leg, but only scuffed the toe of her slipper.

“Broken toe?” Dante said in a monotone.

“Unfortunately not.” She narrowed her eyes before lunging for his belt.

“What are you—” Dante danced out of her reach. “Do not stab yourself!”

“I’ll just prick my finger.”

He scorched her with a glare. “I’ll let you bleed to death.”

“No, you won’t. Give it to me.”

He slapped her hand away and stepped behind the table. She feinted left, jumped right, and her skirt caught on the corner of the end table. Dante stopped it from tipping, but a small statue tumbled over the edge and landed directly on her foot, its sharp corner breaking the skin.

Half laughing, half crying, Alessa pressed her other foot on top of the injured one. “There,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m hurt anyway. I win.”