The Russian's screams echoed off concrete walls. Dante worked with the precision of a surgeon and the coldness of death itself.
And when it was finally over, when the room fell silent except for our breathing, Dante turned to me.
Blood splattered his face and hands. His grey eyes were empty. The monster fully unleashed.
"Now you've seen it," he said quietly. "The worst of what I am. The thing I tried to protect you from. Are you going to run now, Isabella? Are you going to fear me?"
I should have. God knows I should have been terrified, horrified, desperate to escape.
But as I looked at him standing there covered in the blood of the man who'd tried to hurt me, all I felt was safe.
"No," I said, standing up on shaking legs. "I'm not running."
"Why not?"
