As the elevator reached the main floor, the doors opened to reveal Dante.
He was standing there, his arms crossed, his face a mask of cold fury. He looked at her disheveled hair, her trembling hands, and the sheer terror in her eyes.
"You went downstairs," he said. It wasn't a question.
"You're a monster," Anna choked out, trying to push past him.
He caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against him. He was solid, immovable. "I am a realist. You think an empire is built on ink? It's built on the things people are afraid to see. I kept you in the library to protect you from that."
"To lie to me!" she yelled, hitting his chest.
Dante caught her wrists, pinning them to his chest. He looked down at her, his eyes dilated, his breathing heavy. "I lied to keep you soft. I lied so that when I touch you, you don't think of the blood. But if you want the truth, Anna, here it is: I would do a thousand times worse to that man to ensure this island stays safe for you."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. His voice was a husky, broken whisper. "Don't go looking for the dark, Anna. You won't like what you find when the dark looks back."
He let her go, but as she ran to her room, she could feel his gaze burning into her back—a possessive, terrifying heat that made her want to run and stay all at once.