New York City – Dante's Motel
Felicia woke to the smell of pizza and gun oil.
Her head throbbed, mouth dry. The ceiling above her was stained with smoke.
When she tried to move, metal bit into her wrist.
Cuffs.
Of course.
She groaned softly, sitting up. A cheap blanket slid off her legs. She was lying on top of the bedspread, heels still on, wrists chained to the headboard. Classy.
Her eyes swept the room.
Pizza boxes — at least six — were stacked beside an overflowing trash can.
Two custom handguns sat on the nightstand beside a bottle of soda and a pile of loose ammo.
The TV flickered quietly in the corner.
"…Tony Stark has returned to the United States following his rescue from captivity in Afghanistan…"
Felicia blinked, then ignored the headline. Right now, she cared less about billionaires and more about her situation.
Her gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where a massive sword leaned against the wall — steel gleaming faintly even in the dim light.
"Nice décor," she muttered. "Real subtle."
The bathroom light spilled across the floor.
From inside came the sound of running water… and a voice.
Low, smooth, perfectly in tune — the kind of guy who knew he sounded good and didn't care who heard it.
Felicia sighed. "Great. My kidnapper's got a concert series."
She twisted her wrists, testing the cuffs, then reached down toward her boot. The small pick she always kept hidden was still there — thank God.
A flick of her wrist, and she started working the lock.
Click—
The shower cut off.
Felicia froze.
A second later, the door burst open, releasing a cloud of steam — and him.
Silver hair. A red coat hanging on the door behind him. Bare-chested, jeans half-buttoned.
Water ran down his chest, tracing over muscle that said he didn't just look like trouble — he worked for it.
Felicia's eyes flicked over him before she caught herself staring.
Great. Of all the kidnappers in New York, she had to get the one built like a bad idea.
Her lockpick slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft ping.
"Morning," he said, grinning. "You're awake."
She stared for a second, trying to place the face — the hair, the voice. Then it hit her.
"The alley," she murmured. "You're the guy from the back alley."
"Guilty," Dante said with a shrug. "Glad you remember — makes this less awkward."
Her eyes flicked to the sword in the corner. "What, you drag girls home every time you play hero?"
"Only on Thursdays."
"Lucky me."
Dante smirked, tossing the towel onto a chair. "You were thrashing when I brought you in. Tried to claw through the wall."
Felicia tugged at the cuffs. "So your solution was to chain me to a bed?"
"Hey," he said, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box. "You're breathing, aren't you?"
Felicia rolled her eyes. "Barely."
Dante strolled over to the table, where a half-eaten pizza waited like an old friend. He grabbed a slice, taking a lazy bite as the TV hummed and the neon outside buzzed through the quiet.
"Alright, kitty," he said, chewing lazily, "mind telling me what's living rent-free in your chest?"
Felicia arched a brow. "Wow. Straight to second base already?"
He smirked, unfazed. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm talking about the light show you've got going on under your skin."
"What light show?" she said, glancing down.
Then she saw it — a faint crimson glow throbbing beneath her collarbone. Subtle at first, then stronger, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Her breath hitched. "What the hell…"
"Yeah," Dante said, leaning back against the dresser, "that's kinda the question."
He set the pizza aside and reached out, letting instinct do the work. The air around her pulsed — warm, electric — and the glow beneath her skin brightened like it recognized him.
The air changed.
Ozone. Pressure. That faint hum again — the same one he'd felt in the club.
Dante's tone lost its usual playfulness.
"Whatever that is, it's not human. Demonic signature — same kind of energy I've felt from the Tower fragments."
Felicia blinked at him. "You're telling me I've got a demon stuck in my chest?"
"More like a piece of one. A shard, maybe. Definitely not decorative."
She stared at him for a moment, then smirked faintly.
"Well, lucky me. Guess I don't need to make a deal with the devil — I'm already glowing."
Dante grinned, leaning back against the dresser. "Well, you've got nothing to worry about. Whatever's stuck in your chest is giving Miss Kitty Cat some very sharp claws."
Felicia tilted her head, the corner of her lips curving. "Careful, Pretty Boy. Keep staring at my chest like that, and I might test them on you."
He chuckled, turning to grab his half-eaten slice of pizza from the open box. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
While he took a bite, Felicia flexed her fingers behind her back. The pick she'd dropped earlier wasn't her only one — a second pair of bobby pins sat tucked inside her sleeve.
She worked quietly, feeling for the tumbler inside the cuffs.
Click.
Dante chewed slowly, watching her over the edge of his slice. "You know, most people panic when they find out they've got demonic energy living under their ribs."
Felicia kept her tone even. "Most people don't look this good doing it."
He turned, mouth half-full. "You always this calm when someone tells you you're haunted?"
"Occupational hazard."
Click.
One cuff came loose.
She didn't move yet. She waited — watched him take another bite, his focus drifting. He wiped sauce from his fingers, tossing the crust back into the box.
Felicia's smirk softened, her tone shifting from playful to disarmingly quiet.
"You really want to know how I got it, don't you?"
Dante folded his arms, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "Kinda my job description."
She tilted her head, studying him through her lashes. "Then come closer."
He hesitated, one brow arching. "You gonna bite me?"
"Not unless you ask nicely."
That earned her a crooked grin. Dante stepped forward until they were close enough for the heat of her skin to brush against his chest. The glow from the shard flickered again — soft, hypnotic, pulsing between them like a heartbeat.
Felicia's voice dropped to a whisper. "It wasn't an accident. The shard… it chose me."
He frowned, curiosity cutting through his usual grin. "Chose you how?"
Her eyes met his, all teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. "You want to hear a secret?"
Dante leaned in slightly. "I'm listening."
Felicia's lips brushed his ear. "Good."
Her mouth curved just before she moved — quick as a spark.
Her lips met his, not gently but with deliberate precision — just long enough to catch him off guard.
For half a second, Dante froze. The shard between them pulsed hot, their breath mingling in the glow.
Then click.
Metal tightened around his wrist.
He blinked, confused, and looked down — his own cuffs now locked around him.
Felicia stepped back, smiling like a cat who'd just stolen something shiny. "Wow. You really do let your guard down easy."
Dante's mouth opened in surprise, but he barely had time to respond before her heel came up in a perfect arc.
"Sorry, handsome," she said softly, "but I have a friend who needs my help."
The kick hit like a freight train.
Dante flew backward, slamming into the far wall with a grunt that knocked the air out of him. Plaster cracked around his shoulders; dust rained down.
He blinked once, dazed — more from shock than pain — as Felicia shook out her leg, muttering, "Guess that worked better than expected."
Still cuffed, Dante groaned and rolled his neck. "Remind me to stop rescuing women who glow."
Felicia winked, already backing toward the door. "You say that now."
Felicia's smile lingered as she reached for the handle — then she froze.
A hiss cut through the air — low, deep, and growing hotter by the second.
Dante looked up from the floor, his wrists still bound. Flames coiled around his hands, licking across the steel cuffs.
The metal began to glow.
Then melt.
He stood, brushing the molten fragments off his wrists with a smirk. "Nice trick, kitty. But I don't stay chained for long."
Felicia blinked. "You just—"
"Yeah," he said, flexing his fingers. "Perks of being Devil."
Before she could reach the door, he moved. Not teleporting, not even rushing — just fast. One second, he was by the wall; the next, he was in front of her, hand raised in warning rather than threat.
"I don't wanna hurt you," he said simply. "But you're not walking out until we talk."
Felicia's smirk returned, sharp as glass. "That's funny. I was about to say the same thing."
She struck first — low and fast, a sweep kick meant to test his balance. Dante sidestepped easily, parrying with one arm. He didn't hit back; he didn't have to. Every time she attacked, he just flowed around her like a dancer, smiling as if it were a warm-up.
"You call this fighting?" she said between breaths, spinning into another kick.
"Nah," Dante replied, ducking under it. "Just stretching."
Felicia lunged forward, snapping into a high kick that cut through the air.
Dante caught her leg mid-swing, his grip steady but careful — not rough, not hurting her.
For a second, neither moved.
His gaze flicked down, then up again, slow enough to make his grin downright criminal.
"Gotta admit," he said, voice low, "you've got great form."
Felicia arched a brow, balancing easily even with her leg caught. "You checking out my technique or my legs?"
"Both," he admitted.
She rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."
Dante's grin softened, eyes glinting with mischief. "Yeah, but you're smiling — so I must be doing something right."
She meant to glare, but the grin that slipped through betrayed her. There was something infuriatingly charming about him — like he knew exactly how to get under her skin and stay there.
Before he could say anything else, she twisted her hips and used his own grip as leverage, flipping him off balance. He stumbled back a step, laughing even as he caught himself on the edge of the dresser.
"Feisty," he said, straightening. "I like that."
Felicia landed lightly, hair falling into her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
Dante grinned. "Too late."
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a purr. "Then I guess I'll have to give you something worth getting used to."
She came at him again, fast — her kicks sharp, her movements clean. Dante dodged each one, fighting defensively, clearly holding back. He wasn't trying to win; he was trying not to hurt her.
The fight wasn't chaos — it was rhythm. A dance.
Felicia's breath quickened, her shard glowing hotter with every exchange. She could feel the pull of her strange luck in the air, the familiar twist that made enemies trip, stumble, or miss.
Only this time… it didn't touch him.
He should've slipped on the broken floor tile.
He should've hit the lamp she'd knocked loose.
He didn't.
She blinked. "Why aren't you getting unlucky?"
"Guess the universe likes me," Dante said, sidestepping another kick.
"No," she murmured, eyes narrowing. "It's never failed before…"
Her mind raced — but before she could push again, Dante's boot hit something on the floor.
A folder slid open. Photos spilled out.
Clara Hayes.
Felicia froze mid-step. The shard dimmed instantly, its glow fading back to a faint pulse.
"Where did you get that?" she demanded, her voice shaking despite her control.
Dante glanced down, then met her gaze. "Her father hired me."
Her pulse spiked. "You're looking for her?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. You're not the only one who wants answers."
Felicia lowered her guard, her shoulders dropping as the fight's tension bled out.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other — two people who had stopped fighting for very different reasons.
Then she exhaled, brushing stray hair from her face. "You've got five minutes, Pretty Boy. Start talking."
Dante grinned, fire fading from his hands as Ifrit's glow disappeared. "Finally," he said. "Someone willing to listen."
He stepped closer, the grin turning easier, more genuine. "Dante," he said simply, extending a hand — casual, unbothered, like they hadn't just kicked each other through half the room. "Professional exorcist. Part-time pizza critic."
Felicia eyed his hand for a moment before taking it, her grip firm but wary."Felicia," she replied. "Professional thief. Expert at getting out of tight spots."Her smirk deepened as her eyes flicked up to meet his. "And word of advice—don't ask a girl where she gets her powers… unless you're ready to get clawed back."
Dante's grin widened, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Noted."He held her gaze for a beat longer than he meant to, the tension between them shifting from wary to charged.
"Guess we make quite the team," he said finally, his tone easy but edged with that trademark Sparda charm.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Dante," she said, pulling her hand back with a smirk. "You've still got about four minutes left."
Dante leaned back against the wall, his grin widening. "Then let's see how much trouble we can get into before the timer runs out."