The fever finally broke just before dawn.
Dante had not slept. Not even for a second.
For hours, he had sat beside her bed in silence, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest as the fire of the mate bond threatened to consume her from within. Her skin had burned beneath his palm when he first touched her, and the instant their bond ignited, her body calmed as if the flames had been waiting for him to soothe them.
He had held her hand through it. Not because she asked—she would never ask—but because it was the only thing he could do without shattering all her boundaries.
Now the color had returned to her cheeks. Her breathing had steadied. She looked peaceful. But he knew it was only temporary.
She shifted under the sheets, a small frown forming between her brows before her lashes fluttered open. The moment her gaze landed on him, her entire body tensed.
"You're still here," she said. Her voice was low, raspy with sleep and stubborn defiance.
Dante leaned back slightly, giving her space.
"You were burning up. I stayed until the fever passed."
She looked down at herself, then at the room, then him again—as if piecing together the puzzle. Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do to me?
"When the bond is denied, it hurts. I only touched your hand, Ava. It was enough to ease it."
Ava sat up straighter, wincing slightly at the ache. "So you came to my rescue again. How convenient."
"I didn't do it to win points."
She laughed under her breath—sharp and bitter. "No? Then why are you always showing up like some shadowy savior, Dante? Always at the right place at the right time?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes dropped to her neck, where the pendant he gave her now glowed faintly. It had helped her. Its enchantment had bought her time. But it wasn't strong enough to keep the bond from hurting her.
"You're my mate," he said at last, quiet but firm.
"And when you deny that connection, your body suffers. The bond doesn't care about pride or pain. It only knows what's meant."
She stared at him, the vulnerability in her gaze quickly replaced by steel.
"This changes nothing," she said through clenched teeth. "We had a deal. Six months of partnership. Public events. Business partnerships. Nothing else."
"I remember."
"I mean it, Dante" Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't let it falter. "No more… this. No bond. No touching. No magic. I want my life back."
"And if your life is in danger again?"
"I'll handle it."
"You nearly died."
"But I didn't," she snapped. "And I won't owe you for saving me."
Dante's jaw tightened. He didn't want her gratitude. He wanted her trust.
But he had learned, long ago, that forcing a bond—forcing anything—was not how you won your mates heart.
"Very well," he said. "We will return to the terms. Professional. Public. Pretend."
She nodded, relief flickering in her eyes.
But Dante wasn't finished.
"I'll keep my distance, Ava, But I won't stop watching."
"Of course you won't," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You always do. Lurking in shadows."
He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"No. Not lurking. Deny it all you like but I only guard what is mine."