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Dante went eerily still, and fuck if my stomach didn’t drop. Just a little. There were no signs of the joking asshole to be found. This was the ruthless hunter who had crafted a reputation of having the most kills in North America, with no mercy.

“You went hunting for the werewolf without me.” His voice was flat, dangerously so.

I put my hands on my hips, even though it made me wince. The wound on my stomach had needed to be stapled, but I’d made do with a needle and thread.

“You’re not my babysitter, protector, or partner, so yes, I went out on the hunt without you.”

Before the last word even left my mouth, Dante advanced. I didn’t even make the active decision to scuttle back; it was my only option. My back hit the wall with a thump, a clatter sounding beside me as a picture fell from the wall.

I cringed at the impact, every one of my bones aching and tender. Mercifully, the stitches in my torso held.

Dante didn’t stop until his hand was circled around my throat, squeezing almost hard enough to obstruct my airway but not entirely.

My heart rate spiked as I took in this version of Dante, fascinated by the sheer magnitude of his anger. I’d so easily brushed him off as an annoying asshole—a rival at times, maybe a lover—but never a threat. And now it was clear Dante was a violent man with few morals.

“You went hunting for the fucking werewolf without me?” he yelled, his other fist pounding on the wall beside my head, driving straight through the drywall.

I didn’t flinch, though my eyes widened, and another picture smashed to the ground.

“I hunt plenty of werewolves without you, Dante,” I whispered, my voice rough, barely able to get the words out with his hand around my neck. “And I’ve survived to tell the tale thus far.”

As his furious gaze slid across my body like molten fire, I knew he was focusing on my many wounds. When his eyes met mine, they were no less feral—if anything, more so. “You know this werewolf is different, Hadley. Older. Smarter. Stronger. You almost fucking killed yourself. Do you know what⁠—”

He cut himself off, visibly shaking himself as I watched him try to swallow his rage, to regain his composure.

I don’t know what happened—what he told himself—but all of a sudden, his face went blank. Cold. Eerie. “You have a death wish, Hadley Harris.” He nodded slowly, speaking quietly. “Is it really that fucking hard to accept help?”

“Not when it comes with strings I’m not prepared to have attached to me,” I rasped back. “Now get your fucking hands off me, then get the fuck out.”

His eyebrow raised, and his hand flexed at my neck. “Or what, Hadley? You’re far too injured to be a match for me.” His other hand ghosted up my hip, in direct opposition with the savagery he was circling my neck with.

My body woke up—not from pain, anger, or surprise—with visceral desire. Even though I was exhausted, hurting, and fucking livid at what I’d found out, I needed to feel alive. Anchored. I needed to feel good, for fuck’s sake.

And Dante’s touch—both barbaric and caressing—promised that.

It took all my willpower to continue to glare at him, to not give in to my body’s need.

“You see, that’s what happens when you make stupid, reckless decisions that get yourself hurt.” Dante leaned forward so his lips almost brushed mine. “You’re defenseless to anyone else who wants to hurt you. Which is quite a lot of people and creatures, by my count.” He choked me harder. “I don’t intend on hurting you … much.” His lips feathered my ear. “But I’ll make you scream.”

My pussy clenched at his words, at his nearness, his scent. I squeezed my eyes shut, instead focusing on pain. In my wounds, my bruises, and the inside of my very fucking soul.

Adding Dante to my list of problems would only cause greater hurt, that I knew.

So I grabbed the knife that was strapped to my belt, lifting it to Dante’s throat. “I’m not defenseless,” I whispered back, drawing blood. “And I’ll be on my deathbed before I let a man or creature overpower me. Now get the fuck out.”

Dante didn’t move right away. In fact, he edged even closer, into my knife, causing more blood to spill. My heart thumped hard in my chest.

Dante’s eyes blazed as he searched my face.

Then, on a rough exhale, he let go of me and stepped back. My arm holding my knife fell limply to my side, my eyes locked on his.

“You’re not defenseless,” Dante agreed, running his hand through his hair. “But you’re not immortal either, Hadley. Don’t let your anger or need for vengeance be what kills you. Your parents wouldn’t have wanted that.”

My stomach bottomed out at his mention of my parents, at his soft tone. I didn’t have the capacity to shoot something back at him. I felt like an exposed nerve.

“Get. Out.” My lips barely moved, my jaw so rigid, it felt like it might snap.

Dante nodded. “I’m not leaving you here to die, Hadley. You’ll have to kill me to get rid of me.”