Page 54 of Fever

Dante freezes. His jaw works and a visible tremor powers through his arm to the balled hand hesitating between the king and his pathetic subject. Another barb of blinding light illuminates the subdued atmosphere.

The snarl rupturing his chest is more thunderous than the deafening rumbles now high above the oasis. I clutch my stomach as Dante repeatedly smashes a tight fist into the man's face. I hear the splintering crack of bones shattering. I wipe tears with trembling fingertips when my attacker's body goes limp. A trickle of blood drips from his nose, nestling in redundant bandages.

When Dante pivots, my entire body quakes. With his shoulders set for war, his rigid posture vibrates with violence. Showing limited control, he drags the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

Thick brows knit together as his chest heaves. “Is it true?” he grits out, glaring down at me.

“No,” I choke out. “It’s not how it sounds.”

A gloved hand flicks up to silence me. His eyes flash like lightning in cut glass. “Did you give him a letter with your home address on it to send outside of my oasis?”

“It wasn’t a letter . . . it was a brief message.”

The backdrop of a deadly storm fades when he takes a sharp breath and splays a palm over his heart like it’s fractured. “Fuck!” His vicious snarl spikes my soul with horror.

I scramble to stand. Power and fury lunge in a whirl of body mass and brawn. An unforgiving grip snatches the unkempt locks pouring over my shaking arms, restraining me at his hip level. “Stay on your fucking knees.”

He unclips a radio from his belt and brings it to his mouth. “Luiz,” he barks out. “Cabin thirteen. Now. Bring my gun.” The second he gives the order, he tosses the radio to the floor and drags a hand down his face.

“Listen to me, Dante. It’s not what you think.” My eyes burn. “I . . .”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells over a boom of thunder. His voice explodes louder than the violent weather disturbance. Muscles flex, and any compassion that once lived in his eyes dissipates into a flicker of abhorrence. Disorderly hair falls in curtains when his eyes squeeze shut, blocking out my tears. Quick breaths steady and lashes lift like poisonous darts, pinpointed at my mouth. “Never use that name again. It’s el Fantasma to you.”

“No, please, it’s not what you think. Let me explain. You’re scaring me,” I sob, locking my pleading gaze to a distant, baron wilderness of green where even the bonniest flowers perish.

He lowers his face to mine. “You should be scared. I’m going to fucking destroy you, traitor.”

To be continued…