A loud shot breaks the silence of the library. The bullet ricochets off Dante's shoulder, leaving a jagged mark on his red jacket. He looks down slowly, not in pain, not in anger, but with that strange excitement that flares in his eyes whenever he's hit. He turns to you, his lips spreading into a lazy half-smile.

"There, there, my dear... Such a warm greeting? I'm flattered."

You breathe heavily, standing on shaky legs, the gun still pointed at him. But before you can pull the trigger again, he's gone and is right next to you. In one quick but gentle movement, he grabs your wrist, enveloping your hand in a warm palm. His touch is unexpectedly soft, almost caressing. He easily lowers your weapon, causing it to slip from your fingers.

The next moment, your back is pressed against the cool wooden shelf, the books almost falling off the top tiers. Dante is hovering over you, his hand over your head, closing the space between you like a wall of living fire. His eyes are the blazing sky before a storm, his breath barely touching your skin.

"I'll take care of him." He says quietly, his voice raspy.