Page 81 of Unlocking Ruin

She collapses back into my arms, eyes fluttering shut as her lips curve into a soft smirk. I carry her back to bed, tuck her in, and watch her drift off to sleep.

Slowly I slide off the bed, making sure not to wake her. My head droops, hands cradling it, as if the war inside me might split my skull open.

I fucked up.

I boxed myself in, craving nothing but revenge. Just me and that old hunger, squaring off, locked in a corner with no way out.

To reach this point, I needed Rylan. I glance back at her, feeling like an artist studying his muse. The sheets coil around her like a serpent, claiming her in sleep.

How can I free her before it’s too late?

I grab my phone and send Alister a text.

Steffen:

Call off the deal. If Rylan wants to come to you, she can. It’s her choice.

But… if she wants to stay with me, she can.

I hit send and silence my phone. Before setting it aside, I capture a photo of Rylan, needing proof she was really here. Fear tightens around my chest, a hunter’s snare closing in. Panic claws at me—I want to steal her away, but the more I struggle, the tighter the trap becomes. I want her, and I know she wants me, but was last night enough?

Will she choose me?

My throat aches with a painful swallow. I pull out my nightstand drawer and stare at my family photo. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I whisper, as I close it.

For Rylan, I’d surrender it all—even revenge. Everything I am, everything I’ve built.

What would my father think of me?

I’d crawl through fire again, hands and knees raw, just for another night with Rylan. My devotion is so fierce, no one alive could fathom it. This isn’t need or addiction—it’s survival. I need a heart to live, and Rylan is mine.

I refuse to shower—scrubbing her from my skin would be a sin. I tug on my boxers and head for the door. I should talk to Torben, but first, breakfast for Rylan. She wakes up hungry, and I want her to have everything she needs.

I close the door gently so I won’t wake her and make my way to the kitchen. With each step, my chest tightens. Torben is right; I haven’t just blurred my lines, I’ve jumped over them. I’ve fallen headfirst, and now I want to stay where the grass is greener, where I am loved.

I step into the kitchen, eyeing the fridge. “Torben,” I shout.

Goosebumps prickle my neck as I scan the room for what I need. I nearly overlook Torben, rigid in the corner, knees drawn up, eyes like stone. I freeze, a heavy dread crashing into me.

Torben isn’t alone.

My skin feels fragile as paper. I stand in only boxers, unarmed—just flesh and muscle, a man desperate to survive and protect everyone under his roof from this intruder.

Anders Elden looms against my wall, hovering over my little brother like a god in Valhalla. He holds a small ax, a relic from the past when Vikings ruled. His eyes don’t regard me, nor does his breathing change. He likes to make his prey feel uncomfortable. Relishes it. I’ve heard he licks blood off that ax.

He knows he is the king and I am a mere lord in his presence. The fact that it’s my house makes no difference.

Casually, Anders crudely cleans his nails with the end of the ax blade—a leopard sharpening its claws. He wears his military clothing like a second skin.

I look at Torben; his eyes don’t blink, just bore into me, saying, ‘Why are you surprised? You struck a deal with royalty; his arrival signals settlement. Did you think he’d knock?’

“Breakfast?” I ask, my voice edged with defiance. Anders only smirks.

“I like my eggs runny,” Anders replies, a cold, mocking glint shining in his dark, dead eyes.

I square my shoulders and meet his gaze head-on. Anders is a pure predator—unblinking, always watching, soulless. Only hunger for blood looks back at me.

“We’re out of eggs.”