Page 10 of Ruin & Desire
For one heartbeat,I wanted her with an all-consuming desire, desire like I have not felt for many years.
And I have not wanted like that for an exceptionally long time.
The castle feels it and hates me for it. The walls groan. The roses hiss from the gardens, their thorns rattling in rage. They want me cruel, solid, and steadfast. They don’t want me shaken or broken. They want her broken, not burning with desire.
I curl my claws into my palms until blood wells between my fingers. The pain steadies me.
I am the Beast.
I am grief made flesh.
And I will not let her fire undo me.
And yet, even asIhold steadfast to what I am, I know her eyes will follow me into my dreams, showing me everything I could be with her.
Chapter eight
The Confession of Thorns
Annabel
The castle is eerily still, as if it is holding its breath. The once-restless corridors do not shift beneath my steps as usual; the floors lie quiet, refusing to creak or groan. Shadows cling to the corners, unnatural and unmoving, while the torches lining the walls burn with an uncanny steadiness, their flames whispering secrets too quiet to decipher, no longer shrieking but murmuring as if warning of something unseen. The air is dense, charged with anticipation. It’s as though the house itself has ceased to live and breathe, suspended in a hush that prickles along my skin. Something, I am certain, has changed, some balance tipped or some ancient will subdued. Erik's voice breaks through the silence. “Anabel, why are you wandering the halls alone at this hour? It isn’t safe.”
I pause, glancing at him. “I wish I could choose where to go, but the castle leads me wherever it pleases. I have no control over itspassages."
Hesighs, nodding slowly. “I understand. The castle has strange effects on those who stay within its walls,asI’msure you have realized by now.I myselfcan’tresist its pull,especially where Lucien is concerned. It binds me, in ways I can barely explain.”
I remember the mirrors from the other night. “Could it be that the curse is relinquishing its hold?” I ask myself. I shake my head, convinced it just isn’t possible.
Whatever the case, this change makes me uneasy.
It has been two days since our harrowing encounter in the hall of mirrors, and I have spent every hour since barricaded in my room, my heart racing at every distant footfall and flickering shadow. Meals have arrived at my door with uncanny regularity, sometimes brought by Erik himself and other times delivered by silent servants whose faces I do not recognize.
I have not dared to seek him out, nor has he summoned me,not withhiswords nor with thepeculiar tug I sometimes feel in my bones. For these two days, the castle has been a maze I have chosen not to wander. Isolation has become my fragile refuge, but it is a refuge built on dread.
But somethingisshifting. The silence thickens, and the oppressive stillnesspressesdownon me until Ican’tbear it any longer. A quietsummonspulses through the corridors, threading into my thoughts.Ican’tignoreit. My feet carry me,almost againstmy will, through the labyrinth of stone and shadow, past the torches that watch me with flame-bright eyes.
He isbiding his time.I sense him everywhere, waiting and watching.
Tonight,Ifindhim in the library, the door ajar as if inviting me intoalair of something both monstrous and magnificent. My pulse hammers with each step, every instinct screaming caution as I cross the threshold, knowing that whatever has changed is waiting for me within thesewalls.
The great doors groan openandreveal him slouched in a high-backchair,hisclaws draped over the arms as though he has grown weary of carrying their weight. Books tower in precarious stacks around him, their spinescrackedandtheir pages wilted with age. The air smells of dustandparchment.
His eyes lift, molten and weary. “Annabel,” he says breathlessly.
Mynamecoilsaround me. He says it as though he has been holding it behind his teeth, saving it for a night like this.
I force myself forward, though my chest trembles with every step.Suddenly I can no longer hold in the questions that have plagued me for the last two days,and I must speak.“Why?”My voice breaks, but I do not stop.“Whythis? Why cruelty, cages,andcurses? Whathas led you to this?”
His horns tilt slightly, shadowing his face.“Youseek many answers.”He hesitates and sighs heavily.“Do you want the truth or a fabrication to make it pretty?”
“Iwant the truth.”My wrist flares, the mark pulsing with painful heat.“If I am to rot in this placewith you, I will not do it blindly.I must know why.”
He studies me,hands flexing against the chair’sarms. For a moment,I think he will send me away or,worse, punish me for my boldness.Insteadhe exhales, a sound ragged as torn cloth.For the first time, Iseeraw emotion cross hisexpression.
He does not speak at first. The silence unspools between us, thick and suffocating, until atlasthis voice breaks through, rough as gravel.“There was a time,”he murmurs, each word heavy with the ache of memory,“when I was not this twisted thingyou see before you. I was a man. A husband. A father.”
“The man I saw in the mirrors.”
