Page 35 of Unlocking Ruin

My spine hits the headboard as I shove myself back, fingers curling into the sheets. “Go to hell.”

“Welcome to it, Rylan. We’re here; this world is hell. Trust me, I’ve felt the fire. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find joy in it,” he replies, as a darkness floats over his eyes.

“You’re terrified and frustrated with yourself.” He continues to pick me apart like a psychologist. “Because deep down you’re attracted to me, and that absolutely terrifies you.”

“Attracted?” I scoff. “Attraction does not mean I like you. I can be attracted to vaccines because they keep me healthy, doesn’t mean I like the needle.”

He stands and prowls toward me, every inch a predator. His gaze pins me, as if invisible hands are tilting my chin up.

I sink into the bed, my heartbeat drowning out his footsteps.

He stops at the bedside, looming over me. From here, his jaw is all sharp lines and hard angles, an impossible summit every woman hopes to climb and claim, but will die trying. He wields his beauty not for attention, but for deadly power, like a king of the past seeking a kingdom to rule. His chest is broad and unyielding.

He’s the devil incarnate, so dangerously handsome that my mind betrays me with flashes of desire.

He leans in, planting his hands wide on the bed. For one insane second, I envision him climbing onto the mattress and hovering over me.

“You’re blushing so much it’s almost alarming,” he purrs.

I hide my face in my palms, feeling the heat blaze beneath them.

“It’s called rosacea.”

“What about renaming it carnal lust?” With a sudden snicker, he pushes off the mattress, causing me to gasp as I bounce.

He pivots and walks back to his chair, sitting on it like a throne.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asks.

His question throws me off. Scooping up more of the blanket, I hug it to myself again.

“I do,” he answers, when I don’t. “The question is, can that love survive?”

His voice deepens to a dark, uncharted level. “I looked at you and—” He pauses, struggling to find the words or keep himself in control.

My heart thumps so wildly I almost miss his next words.

“I found this need to keep watching. The more I did, the more I craved, and then I realized it wasn’t a desire; it was a need, a survival. I needed you. And”—his eyes pin me down—“I think you need me. Matter of fact, I know you do if you want to survive this world. So I’ll ask you again, and I’m hoping you won’t lie, because I see it when you look at me; I feel it. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

I try to swallow, but the air is so thick I can’t. His words are water rising; it’s past my chin, flooding my mouth. I’m forced to drown in them. He’s a siren, poisoning me, dragging me down to the deep.

The disgusting truth is he’s right. I do feel something between us. Not just my anger and fear. It’s the way he looks at me; his eyes are safe nets in the wide ocean, always there, watching, waiting for me to fall into them.

The problem is, I can’t love because I’ve never been loved. I don’t know how, nor what it truly feels like.

Licking my lips, I finally reply, “No. So let me go.”

His jaw stiffens.

“This isn’t love. There is no such thing as love.”

His lips turn down; sadness and grief blanket him. “What if the only way to survive is to love?” His voice thickens, a plea from somewhere deep inside his monstrous soul, begging and hoping to be loved and seen.

I want to reply to that chaos and hurt. I understand it.

“To find joy when ghosts surround you,” he adds. “What if looking at you gave me the feeling of joy again?”

I’m not your girl. I hack, I dig up ghosts.