Legendary (Caraval #2)(38)

“I really don’t need your assistance.” Tella yanked her hand away, freeing it from the silk and spattering her lacy gown with blood as she broke Dante’s spell before it could be fully cast.

He looked as if he wanted to reach for her. If her unsteady legs so much as swayed his way, she imagined he’d capture her in his arms and hold her so close she’d willingly confess her every sin and secret.

But he didn’t honestly care. He was just acting. Playing a role.

She forced herself to take a step back.

A vein throbbed in Dante’s neck. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!”

Another bead of blood dripped to the floor.

Stars joined the spots in front of Tella’s eyes. And before she could take more than one step back, Dante was there, holding her wrist once more, and maybe he was holding her a little more together, as he finished the job he’d started. Tella wouldn’t admit it to him, but she felt a little less light-headed as his wide, warm hands wrapped her bloody fingers inside his cravat.

“I’d let you go, but you just admitted you need help.” His voice was softer than before. “Tell me what that murderer wants from you.”

Why did he have to be so stubborn? Couldn’t he just wrap up her fingers and leave her alone?

“Can’t you just let this go and pretend you believe it?” she asked. “You’re worried about me, but this endangers you, too. If Jacks finds out you know the truth, he’ll hurt you in ways that not even Legend can fix.” She said it like a threat, but rather than releasing her, Dante gave her a flash of teeth that looked a lot like a smile.

“I didn’t think you cared about me,” he said.

“I don’t,” Tella snapped.

It would have been more convincing if she’d pulled her hand away.

She didn’t need his help to win the game, and she didn’t trust him, but she unfortunately liked the feel of him. The bleeding had brought a chill that hadn’t been there before, but Dante managed to erase it as he cradled her hand and leaned in closer, until Tella’s back was against the door, and Dante’s body was moving closer to hers.

There was still enough room for her to grab the handle, to escape if she wanted. And she told herself that’s what she wanted. But her fingers were as stubborn as he was—they refused to reach for the exit.

“Tell me what he wants from you,” Dante said roughly.

“He wants to marry me, that’s it.”

Dante shook his head.

“You know, it’s starting to feel really insulting that you keep refusing to believe that.”

“Maybe I just don’t believe that’s all that he wants.” Dante’s free hand found Tella’s cheek and tilted her face toward his.

A flush went down her neck all the way to her toes as he slowly stroked her jaw.

“If you don’t tell me, I will figure it out,” Dante said.

And doom himself in the process—or reveal her plans to Legend and damn Tella as well as her mother.

Tella forced herself to remove his hand from her cheek. “I don’t dislike you, Dante. In fact, if you weren’t a mere actor, I would probably really like you. You’re almost as good-looking as you think you are. But I want more than a pretty face. Jacks can give me that. He can give me everything I’ve ever desired.” Tella pressed her lips together and briefly closed her eyes, as if imagining the kiss she’d shared with Jacks on the dance floor.

When she opened her eyes again, Dante’s face was a bare inch away, and his eyes were as black as spilled ink.

Heat uncurled low in Tella’s stomach.

“Either you don’t want much, or you’re lying,” Dante said. “I might believe you’ll actually go through with marrying him, but given what I know about you, I doubt someone like him can fulfill your every desire.”

When he finished, his lips were so close, one careless move and her mouth would brush his. Tella raised her chin slowly, aware she was walking a treacherous line as she gave him a look made of pure heat. “Maybe there are things you don’t know about Jacks.”

Dante answered with a grin, but it wasn’t kind or warm or soft like grins were supposed to be. It was calculated, the slow, teasing way someone curved his lips just before he turned over a winning hand of cards. “Are you saying that because he’s the Prince of Hearts?”

Tella froze, and even the blood spilling from her fingertips stopped as everything inside her panicked, sharpening her senses further. If she wanted to persuade Dante that she had no idea what he was talking about, she’d need to recover quickly, but playing naive would only convince him she was in over her head. And maybe Tella was. She was cursed, her mother was trapped inside a card, and to save them both, Tella was now playing a game involving two infamous immortals—one of whom wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.

Yet even before reaching Valenda, Dante had talked about the Prince of Hearts as if he was still alive. It seemed oddly coincidental, especially as she recalled the opening of Jovan’s welcome speech:

Elantine has invited us here to save the Empire from her greatest fear.

For centuries the Fates were locked away, but now they wish to come out and play.

What if Jacks was one of the Fates who’d come out to—