Legendary (Caraval #2)(76)
She was tempted to ask, to throw what she’d overheard back in his face and see if he flinched or if he softened.
The words weighed down the tip of Tella’s tongue.
But none of them came out.
Tella didn’t really want his answer because no matter what he said, there was no good way for their story to end. Tella still wasn’t sure whether Dante or Julian was Legend. Her conversation with Scarlett had sown threads of doubt. But if Dante turned out to be Legend, then Tella needed to make sure any feelings she had for him were turned off.
After watching the play last night and concluding that Jacks intended to free all the Fates, Tella had debated her plans. She didn’t want to be responsible for releasing the Fates back into the world so they could reign over the Empire like cruel gods. But she didn’t want to die again, and she also couldn’t come this close to saving her mother—and finally asking her all the questions that had been building since the day she’d disappeared from Trisda—only to fail.
Tella wasn’t going to be a coward and pretend she didn’t have choices just because she didn’t like them. She did have choices and she’d made hers. At the end of the game Tella would give Legend over to Jacks.
It made her hope Dante wasn’t Legend. But even if he wasn’t, there was still no future for him and Tella.
Tella wasn’t proud of herself for this choice, or for avoiding the unsaid things between them. She knew she was taking the lesser path by not even hinting at how she’d almost died and how Dante had saved her. But he’d not said a word about it either. This was probably what he wanted as well.
“All right.” Tella tossed him both ends of the rope. She could let him do this one thing and then she’d send him on his way. “Just be quick about it.”
She wrapped her own hands around the upper half of her sheet. She reminded herself she wasn’t modest. Yet Tella felt as if she were holding herself together rather than merely keeping her sheet in place. Every inch of her skin turned more sensitive, prickling with awareness as he drew closer. He smelled of ink and other dark, seductive things.
She clutched her flimsy fabric tighter while he found the knot at her waist and slowly began to undo it. He tugged and pulled until Tella stood so close to him that all she could see were the ridges of his tattooed chest. His arms were covered in symbols, but his chest seemed to tell a story. A wrecked ship with ripped sails crashed on his abdomen, while broken stars looked down from above. A forest on fire covered one side of his rib cage. Beneath his collarbone, a black heart matching the one on his arm wept blood so real she thought she heard it beating. When he turned slightly she glimpsed tips of blue-black feathers that belonged to the beautiful wings tattooed across his back.
Tella told herself not to stare. But when she closed her eyes, everything intensified. The brush of Dante’s knuckles against the curve of her hip sent her heart racing. The wide thumb gently digging into her waist made her breath catch as he continued to work with the cord until the rope was sliding from her waist into his hands. Leaving her in just the sheet.
Tella’s eyes flashed open.
Dante ran his tongue over his lips, like a tiger that had just bested a kitten.
Tella gripped the fabric tighter. “Don’t you dare walk away with that cord!”
He hitched an eyebrow. “You honestly think I’d leave you on these steps like this after working so hard to gain your trust?”
“I thought you were working for Legend.”
He eased closer. “Think whatever you want, but if you honestly believe that’s the only reason I’m here right now with my hands all over you, you’re not nearly as clever as I thought.”
Then the rope was sliding around her.
A fevered rush of blood raced around her heart as Dante’s arms wound behind her, and he tugged on the rope, pulling it taut beneath her chest.
“Too tight?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? For a moment you stopped breathing. Or do I just have that effect on you?” His lips brushed past her ear, tickling the tender space near the edge of her jaw as he let out a low chuckle.
She would have smacked him if her dress wouldn’t have fallen to the ground. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Would you prefer it if I hated putting my arms around you?” Dante’s hands wound around her again, and this time he did a little more than merely skim the fabric of her gown. Tella felt the pressure of his fingers sliding over her rib cage as he wrapped the cord all the way around until it crisscrossed just above her navel.
It shouldn’t have made her flush all over. This was where their story ended, not where it became interesting again.
Dante dragged the cord behind her once more, hands now lingering over her waist. “How does that feel?”
“Good.”
“I meant the cord.”
“That’s what I meant too,” Tella said. But she was fairly certain her breathless words betrayed that for the lie it was. “Tell me about your tattoos,” she said, hoping to distract herself as he finished. “Do they mean anything or are they just pretty pictures?”
“Did you just call them pretty?”
“Do you have something against the word?”
“Not if you’re using it in reference to me,” he answered. But Tella swore he tied the rope at her back a little tighter than necessary as he said, “I play so many roles the tattoos help me remember who I am. Each one tells a true story from my past.”