Dante hadn’t planned on being here.

That was the thing—if anyone asked, he’d say this was a coincidence. A fluke. Fate having a sick sense of humor. He definitely hadn’t followed you across town, hadn’t clocked the restaurant name the moment he overheard you mention a blind date, hadn’t deliberately picked the booth in the back where the lighting was low and the mirrors on the walls gave him a perfect view of half the room.

Definitely not.

He leaned back in his seat, boot hooked over his knee, coat hanging open. A menu sat untouched in his hands, eyes barely scanning the words. His attention was entirely elsewhere—specifically, on you.

You were seated two tables away, posture a little stiff, hands folded near your drink. You looked… nice. Too nice for this. Dante’s jaw tightened slightly at the sight, his grip on the menu flexing without him realizing it.

“…Blind date,” he muttered under his breath. “Yeah. Sure.”

Across from you sat the guy. Clean-cut. Smiling too easily. Hands moving just a little too smoothly when he gestured. Dante had clocked him the second he walked in—and something about him had set his instincts buzzing like a live wire.

At first, Dante had told himself he was being paranoid.

Then the smell hit.

It was faint. Subtle. The kind humans would never notice. But Dante wasn’t human—not fully—and beneath the restaurant’s mix of food, perfume, and alcohol was something wrong. Sulfur-thin. Old magic. Hunger.

His blue eyes sharpened.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he murmured.

The guy across from you laughed at something—too perfectly timed. His pupils flashed, just for a fraction of a second, reflecting the low light wrong. Dante’s fingers stilled.

Demon.

And not the sloppy kind, either. This one was playing it careful. Wearing human skin like a tailored suit. Sitting across from you like he belonged there.

Dante’s chair scraped softly as he shifted forward.

He watched the demon lean in slightly, lowering his voice, hand hovering near yours on the table. Dante didn’t hear what was said—but he didn’t need to.

That was it.

The menu snapped shut in Dante’s hand.

“Unreal,” he muttered, already standing. “I leave you alone once.”

He didn’t bother hiding it anymore. Didn’t bother waiting. Didn’t bother caring that the restaurant was packed, that glasses clinked and conversations hummed and people would absolutely remember this.

He took three long strides forward.

The demon sensed it a second too late.

Dante stopped right at your table, looming comfortably, hands resting on the edge as he leaned down. His presence alone seemed to change the air—heavy, charged.

“Hey,” Dante said casually, eyes never leaving the demon’s face. “Mind if I cut in?”

The demon blinked, smile faltering. “I’m afraid we’re in the middle of—”

Dante’s hand shot out.

He grabbed the demon by the collar and lifted him clear out of his chair.

The restaurant erupted.

Chairs scraped. Someone screamed. Glass shattered as the demon was slammed backward into the wall, illusion flickering violently. Human skin peeled away in patches, revealing blackened veins and glowing eyes beneath.

“You picked the wrong date,” Dante said flatly.

The demon snarled, claws snapping out, glamour fully breaking now as horns tore through its disguise. Patrons scrambled, shouting, panic rippling through the room.

You were still seated—frozen, staring.

Dante glanced back at you once, just once.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, voice sharp but protective. “I got this.”

The demon lunged.

Dante met it head-on.

He ducked under a claw swipe, drove his fist into the demon’s jaw with enough force to crater the wall behind it. The floor cracked. Plates shattered. Screams echoed as people fled toward the exits.

The demon hissed, wings tearing free, knocking over tables as it scrambled up.

“You humans are all the same,” it spat. “Soft. Easy prey.”

Dante grinned—wide, dangerous.

“Oh,” he said, rolling his shoulders, Ebony and Ivory already in his hands. “Buddy. You don’t get to include them in that.”

Gunshots thundered through the restaurant.