Page 22 of Unlocking Ruin

“You did from some.”

“But not from you.”

He shakes his head.

“Why tonight?”

“It’s Halloween,” he says. Listening carefully, I try to learn something about him, but besides just having a seductive voice, there is no discernible accent. “I felt like a treat.”

“There’s the bowl of candy. Take it and kindly get out.”

“Then what will my trick be, Rylan?” His breath ghosts along my exposed thighs; it feels colder than the ice on my ankle.

“Surviving the night.”

“Says the prey to the lion.” His shoulders widen as he draws in a breath, as if scenting me before sinking his fangs into me.

“Do you have some sick pleasure in taking victims on Halloween? Is that it? Is that why you waited to attack me?”

“Attack?” He straightens his spine, looks down at my ice-covered ankle, then meets my gaze.

“Don’t pretend to be the hero. This is technically kidnapping and a home invasion.”

“Rylan.”

“Stop saying my name like that.” I eye him with a sharp glare that promises retribution.

“Like what?” He leans closer, shifting his right leg out like a barrier. The amusement in his voice feels like mockery.

“What do you want?”

He tilts his head, exposing his long, thick, corded neck. I see the steady, calm beat of his pulse. “The fucking world.” He sighs as if he’s tired.

“Do I look like a Monopoly board?” My hands clench so tight my knuckles ache. “I’d advise you to break into someone’s house who can offer you that. I’m just little old me,” I answer. My throat feels as if I swallowed a rock.

“You’re not the board, Rylan.” His eyes bore into me, searching for cracks I’ve tried to seal shut. “You’re the dice. If I get you, I get the first roll.”

My chest tightens under the weight of a stare. He lifts his mask, and my breath catches in my throat, but he doesn’t reveal his entire face. He adjusts it, dragging his tongue slowly across his lower lip.

That’s when I notice how handsome that small part of him is. Clean-shaven and perfectly square. The sliver of his nose, jutting out from beneath the skeleton mask, is crooked, once broken—a flaw that only sharpens his menace.

He’s like a scarred shark gliding through the water, undeterred. He wears his broken bones, cartilage, and silence like medals.

He pulls the mask back down. His blue eyes, framed by the blinding pink, turn deadly. My stomach drops; all those artificial flavors suddenly don’t feel so sweet.

The plastic of the witch’s hat crinkles as I hug it tighter. “I don’t understand.”

“You do. I can see it on your face. It’s just taking time to sink in. You’re my answer to everything, Rylan.”

Biting my inner cheek, I start to panic.

“Calm down.”

“I said I was sorry! I returned the money!”

“You did.” He nods as his eyes roam over me.

“So, what do you want?”