On the evening of the following day, Helios was freshly showered, dressed in a more elegant outfit, and on his way to the Sinclair family estate with the gift for his best friend. He had also dressed up Dante—not because it was necessary, but simply because, after the intense week in Soley, he felt like it.
On the one hand, he was yearning to wear clothes that aligned more closely with his usual style—even if they weren't his custom-tailored suits. On the other hand, he knew that Penelope had an eye for fashion, and the thought of the ironic contrast between his stylish appearance and the garishly colorful gift wrapping amused him too much to forgo it.
Besides, he knew Penelope would appreciate it. She had mentioned more than once that she found the Guardians of the Vales very attractive, and Dante truly made an impression in his outfit.
He wore a well-fitting shirt and trousers that were a bit too tight—for his taste, at least. He had loudly complained that one could hardly move in such clothes. But Helios had to admit that the look suited him exceptionally well.
He had prudently wrapped a scarf around his neck again; the shirt collar wasn't enough to hide the dark strangulation marks he had sustained.
With Dante in tow and the gift in hand, they now stood before the estate's artfully wrought gate—and were not let in.
They had to wait outside until the butler came to fetch them. As if they were strangers. As if he, Helios, were a damn stranger. He couldn't understand why they'd been left standing outside the gate. Maybe Penelope had been found out—and this was some kind of punishment. Or perhaps it was Penelope's subtle revenge for having to walk around disguised as him for a whole week.
Either way, Helios was annoyed. Even if he didn't show it.
"Do you think she's really mad at you?" Dante asked quietly.
Helios snorted softly. "Probably. But somehow, this doesn't feel like Penny," he murmured.
The gatekeepers eyed him openly, their expressions as blank as statues.
Helios glanced at his watch. Half an hour had already passed without anyone showing up. He yawned deeply—it was late, and they had barely taken any breaks since leaving Soley. Dante looked tired too; he had driven the whole way.
Helios had offered to take the wheel, but Dante had bitterly regretted that decision within minutes. Since then, he had stubbornly clung to the steering wheel without saying another word about it.
And now they were standing here. In front of a gate that refused to open until the butler came back.
Helios felt a peculiar tension spreading within him – a mix of anticipation, concern, and growing irritation. He could only hope that Penelope had a damn good explanation for this whole charade.
Dante caught Helios' yawn. Tiredly, he rubbed his eyes, but his watchful gaze continued to scan the surroundings. The tension in his shoulders hadn't eased for a second – after all, they could be attacked at any moment, even here in front of what was supposed to be a secure estate.
Just because things had been quiet in Soley recently didn't mean they were off the assassins' radar. On the contrary – their enemies had likely already set their sights on them again.
"Once we've greeted Penny, you can get some rest," Helios said, turning slightly toward Dante. "I think we'll be talking about the trip for a while anyway. And the estate is well protected."
Dante eyed the estate skeptically. "Compared to your place, everything else is poorly guarded," he muttered, not bothering to hide his tone.
But the Sinclair guards seemed to have heard him and shot him a dirty look. Helios held back another comment and offered only a cool smile that could only be described as mocking.
Dante was right. The Vale estate was more heavily guarded than a prison.
No matter how nasty the looks the guards gave them were. It didn't change the facts.
Helios glanced toward the estate – he just wanted to see Penelope already. Standing out here in front of the gate was starting to seriously get on his nerves. It was dark, cold, and uncomfortable. His legs were getting sore from all the standing around.
But just as he was about to look away, the front door opened, and the butler stepped out, closely followed by Penelope's father. Who looked more than furious.
Oh crap, Helios thought.
Penelope's father seemed to have found out what Penelope had been up to over the past week. This was going to mean serious trouble. Helios braced himself for a harsh lecture. It didn't matter that he was a grown man – Penelope's father had known him since he was a little boy, and whenever he felt the need to scold him, he did. Just as he never missed a chance to praise him – like a father typically would, it seemed.
He put on a calming smile, but that only seemed to make Mr. Sinclair even angrier.
"You…!" he growled with so much fury in his voice that even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Oh yeah, this was going to get ugly.
Dante instinctively stepped between Helios and Penelope's father, ready to intervene if necessary. At that moment, the gate creaked open.
"Step aside, Dante. It's okay," Helios said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's just angry. Even though I've never seen him this angry before."
Penelope's father looked like he had aged years in just the past week. His cheeks were sunken, his complexion pale, his eyes rimmed with red, and he reeked of alcohol. His clothes didn't sit right on him. No matter how Helios looked at it, something felt off.
Penelope's father never acted like this.
Never.
"I can explain everything..." Helios began, pushing past Dante to face the trouble he was about to receive.
Strangely, Penelope wasn't even there to stop her father. Maybe she was already in bed and didn't know he had come to visit her. It was pretty late, after all.
But before Helios could think further or say anything, the unexpected happened: without a word, Penelope's father drew back his fist and aimed at Helios' head with alarming precision. Instinctively, Helios took a step back — but Dante was quicker, catching the punch with a practiced move.
Shocked, Helios stared at the man, who had always been kind to him. What the hell had happened to this man in the past week to make him act like this? No matter how hard Helios searched for an explanation, nothing made sense.
"Get out of here, you damn bastard!" Penelope's father screamed in desperation. "I never want to see you here again!"
The words hit Helios like a punch to the gut.
Okay, that was brutal. Once again, Helios pushed past Dante.
"I don't know what Penny told you, but she agreed to the disguise," Helios said in the calmest tone he could manage.
He still had a sedative in his coat pocket. If necessary, he'd knock Penelope's father out so he could sleep off his drunkenness. Slowly, he slid his hand into his coat.
"Don't you dare say her name!" he roared again, then he sobbed. "Because of you, she's... my little girl is..."
Helios froze.
Tears were streaming down the man's face. Stunned, Helios stared at Sinclair. The man had always been like a rock — unyielding and dependable. He had never been this broken version of himself that he was showing Helios now.
He looked shattered.
Helios needed a moment to truly grasp the words.
"Did something happen to Penny?" he asked slowly. Worry for his best friend gripped his heart like a steel vise. "What's wrong with her? I can mix her anything she needs by tomorrow."
Penelope's father let out a bitter laugh. It sounded endlessly hollow.
"That won't help her anymore," he muttered, his voice distorted by grief.
Helios' insides seemed to twist into knots. A sudden, gut-wrenching feeling washed over him.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. He didn't want to hear it—but he had to.
Penelope's father looked at him with tear-reddened eyes. "She's dead. Because of you. Just because you're constantly under attack and they thought my little Penny was you!" he shouted. Then he turned his back to Helios. "Leave."
Helios felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under him. He suddenly felt unbearably empty, as if his torso had been cut open and all his organs had been removed. His hands trembled, his brain struggled to process what had just been said.
The world around him blurred. Sounds dulled, the darkness thickened. His legs felt like lead, his fingers shook uncontrollably.
He had understood exactly what Penelope's father had said—but Helios didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to believe it.
He refused to accept it just like that.
"Penny is… dead…?" he murmured in disbelief. "When? How…?"
But Penelope's father just walked away, completely ignoring Helios. The butler remained behind, watching his master with sorrow.
"Mason… what happened?" Helios asked softly.
"Leo and Lady Penelope were found dead in an alley. She… was barely recognizable. It was brutal. A targeted attack. Clearly meant for you…" Mason continued. "Go now, Helios. The Lord… won't hear another word from you tonight."
He bowed slightly—a final trace of respect—and disappeared through the door, which slowly closed behind him.
The gate creaked softly. Then: silence.
Helios felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. Dizziness overtook him. Nausea rose in his chest. He felt like he could collapse at any moment.
Penny can't be dead…
In disbelief, he stared after the butler. Until the creaking of the gate signaled it had shut, and the front door clicked closed as well. The guards ignored them, and Helios was left with no choice but to stand there and accept his fate.
___
Helios sat down on the edge of the hotel bed they had taken on a whim. Their original plan had been to stay at the Sinclair estate. But after the scene with Penelope's father on the street outside, that was no longer an option.
His guilt threatened to tear him apart.
He couldn't even say how he had gotten to the hotel. Everything was strangely distorted and felt unreal. He was sure this had to be a nightmare and that he'd wake up any moment. All he remembered was that Dante had more or less brought him here while he had been frozen in shock.
His ears were ringing. His mind was numb. His hands trembled.
This couldn't be real.
The shoulder bag with Penelope's gift felt unbearably heavy. He hadn't even taken it off—he had just collapsed onto the bed as he was.
"Helios?" Dante asked. His voice sounded muffled through the noise in Helios' ears. "Helios, talk to me."
He sounded upset. Helios looked at him, but it was as if he were staring right through him.
If only Dante wasn't being so loud. Dante's hands cupped Helios' face, forcing him to look at him. Meanwhile, Helios' hand wandered into his coat pocket toward the last syringe of the poison.
"Damn it, Helios! Talk to me! You haven't said a word since you spoke to Penelope's father—you're acting like a damn zombie!"
Zombie. Yeah... maybe that was the right word for Dante.
His hand gripped the syringe tightly. Without hesitation, Helios injected the poison into Dante's thigh. Dante looked at him in disbelief. A tear rolled down Helios' cheek. He hadn't cried until now, but he couldn't fight the tears anymore.
Dante's eyes widened in shock. "What the... Helios...?"
A single tear slid down Helios' cheek.
"Give me a moment, Dante. I just... I can't right now," Helios murmured.
For a moment, Dante looked confused and furious, but instead of yelling, he reached out with a trembling hand and wiped a tear from Helios' face. Then he collapsed like a sack of wet cloth, hitting the floor. Helios stared blankly as Dante's breathing grew shallower—until it stopped altogether.
Helios sobbed. By now, the tears streamed freely down his face.
Once again, someone he cared about had died because of him. Once again, it was his fault. All because Penelope had disguised herself as him—and the murderers had thought she was Helios.
Helios felt powerless, yet at the same time, an uncontrollable rage burned inside him—at those who had taken Penelope from him, at Belladonna, and most of all, at himself.
He rolled Dante onto his back and straddled him. Reaching into the pocket at Dante's thigh, he pulled out the combat knife. And before a single clear thought could form, he drove the blade into Dante's chest with a silent scream.
Blood welled up as he pulled the knife back out. Distantly, he stared at the blade now stained red. It felt good—to kill again. Even though he had never done it so openly before, not like this, with a knife. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.
He paused for a moment. His gaze fixed on Dante's chest, where blood now poured.
What the hell had he just done?
It didn't matter.
He hadn't watched anyone die since the last attack. He hadn't been able to kill anyone. He needed this. Even though Dante had already died from the poison, this was something else. He needed to let it out. Dante was perfect for it. He would come back anyway. Stabbing Dante full of holes had no consequences.
Helios had to do it. Otherwise, he'd completely lose his mind.
Helios stared blankly at the blood flowing from Dante's chest. The room would look like a slaughterhouse by the time he was finished.
Again, he brought the blade down—and with a satisfying sound, it sank once more into Dante's chest. Good thing Dante was immortal, and Helios wouldn't have to dispose of his massive body. He would've had a hell of a time getting that muscular frame, even in pieces, out of the hotel.
He stabbed again. And again. And again and again—until he sat utterly exhausted atop Dante, his arms shaking. He was breathing heavily. His eyes burned, clouded with tears. His throat ached as if he had screamed out all his grief and rage.
He raised the knife one more time—but this time, he was stopped. By Dante himself, who gripped Helios' hand as if it took no effort at all.
"That's enough," Dante said softly.
His reddish-brown eyes looked at Helios with pain—but also with tenderness. His breathing was labored, each breath a gurgling, rasping struggle. His chest was soaked in blood, as were the knife and Helios' hands. Even Helios' pants were drenched—he probably looked like he'd stepped straight out of a horror film.
Helios sobbed. "She's dead," he whispered hoarsely. Another sob wracked his chest. He dropped the knife and buried his face in his hands. The tears came freely now.
"It's all my fault… because she disguised herself as me, she…"
Dante pulled him into an embrace. His chest was wet, warm, and sticky with blood. The heavy scent of iron filled the air. Helios couldn't have cared less. He had no strength left to resist, and somehow… it felt good. To feel Dante's blood on him.
"Shhh…" Dante said gently as he stroked Helios' head.
"Again… why does everyone I care about have to die?" Helios murmured.
But Dante said nothing. He simply held him. His arms wrapped tighter around Helios, pressing him firmly against his chest, and Helios rested his head there, listening to Dante's heartbeat—the heartbeat that would live on forever—and let his tears flow freely.
The grief was too intense to bear.
Now it wasn't just Davis who was dead, but Penelope too. His childhood friend. The only one who had ever truly understood him. His Penny. The only woman he had ever loved, even if not in a romantic way.
It felt as though all the air had left his lungs, as if his heart was about to give out. All he wanted was to drop dead right there and then—so he could be with them. He felt empty. Hollowed out. He couldn't take it anymore.
Why had they left him behind? Why hadn't it been someone else?
Helios clenched a handful of Dante's bloody, torn shirt and buried his face against his broad chest. The arms wrapped around him felt good—they made him feel safe.
It was a strange situation.
The last time he had cried in Dante's arms was after the nightmare about Davis, and now here he was again. Helios never let anyone this close—only those who had earned his full trust. Normally, it took a hell of a long time for anyone to earn even a piece of that.
Even Penelope and Davis had had to work hard before Helios finally accepted and came to love them.
So why was it different with Dante? Why had it taken only a few weeks for Helios to accept this lovable mountain of a man? Why did he feel so at ease in his arms?
Once again, guilt toward Davis reared its head.
But Helios couldn't let go of Dante—he was the only anchor he had left. So he let himself be comforted, let Dante stroke his hair, and soaked up every quiet word he used to soothe him.
Still, the tears wouldn't stop.
He missed Penelope. He missed Davis. He would never again see their teasing gazes or hear their laughter. He would never joke with them again or feel their warmth. They were gone. Dead and cold.
Unreachable.
Eventually, the tears ran dry. Helios lay quietly sniffling in Dante's arms.
He was exhausted. He closed his eyes, not caring how he looked, not caring that Dante's blood still clung to both of them.
Dante's body heat wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket.
"Are you okay?" Dante asked quietly.
Helios shook his head.
"Should I run you a bath?"
Helios shook his head again. He buried his face in Dante's shoulder. "Don't you dare let go of me…" he muttered hoarsely.
"I'm not going anywhere, Helios. But we're in no shape to lie down," Dante said gently.
Helios absently rubbed the blood-soaked fabric of Dante's shirt between two fingers. The fabric was dry and stiff now. His hand was covered in blood, and judging by how his clothes felt, he didn't look any better.
He would need to wash eventually. And he'd have to pay the hotel a hefty fee to keep quiet about the bloodbath.
He lifted the fabric a bit and looked at the healed, uninjured skin beneath Dante's shirt. Helios bit his lower lip. A new wave of grief surged through him.
"At least you can't die…" he murmured softly.
"What was that?" Dante asked.
Helios wiped his eyes. "Nothing…"
He wrapped his arms around Dante, inhaling his scent mixed with blood.
Dante was warm. So wonderfully warm.
Alive.
Helios closed his eyes again, allowing himself a small moment of peace. He still felt endlessly empty and hollow. But Dante's warmth was slowly finding its way inside him.