POV: Aurora
Ever since Dante came back with someone else's blood on his knuckles, something in my head rearranged itself without asking my permission.
I try to focus on the screen, but my mind keeps replaying the same scene: his fingers intertwined with mine, his mouth brushing against my knuckles, his words:
"If I have to be the monster to keep you alive, I will be."
It's not the kind of statement any sane person would dream of.
My omega, on the other hand, keeps it as if it were a promise.
The panel says "tomorrow." I take a quick shower, get dressed in leggings and a T-shirt, and sit down at my desk. Umbra is already loaded: maps, tables, draft graphs.
I'm reviewing a database when the door beeps.
"I'm coming in," he announces.
"Come in," I reply.
He enters with two cups. He smells of coffee, soap, and the street that still clings to his skin.
"How's the parallel world?" he asks, setting a cup next to me.
"Same as always: bad, but with data," I reply.
