The night air pressed against us like a living thing, heavy with mist and tension. I could feel every heartbeat of the forest around the cabin, every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig. It was impossible to tell what was danger and what was merely nature, but Dante moved like he could, his senses honed to a razor’s edge.

I stayed close to him, my body instinctively brushing against his side. The warmth of him was both a comfort and a provocation, my pulse leaping with every contact. I hated myself for it, yet I couldn’t stop craving it.

“Stay behind me,” he muttered, low and urgent, as if reading...