Page 43 of Eden's Deliverance

I light up another cigarette while waiting for his reply, but it doesn’t come. I don’t know why I care, anyway. I shouldn’t even be entertaining his delusion because it’s only feeding into my own—the idea that they actually want something with me and wouldn’t throw me away the second they get it. I don’t know what to make of the way they keep pursuing me, but I do know it’s not healthy.

Crunch.

A twig snaps, or maybe it’s dry leaves, but it means something is moving out in the woods. I could chalk it up to the nocturnal animals of the forest, but I know better.

A figure emerges from behind a tree, wearing a sweatshirt and the same Anonymous mask from Halloween. The reddish tint of his long, flowing hair shines in the moonlight from beneath the hood, and suddenly it all makes sense.

This is fucking ridiculous.

Here we are, watching one another text from across the yard like a couple of teenagers who are too shy to actually talk. It’s another game. He’s daring me to push him enough to come up here, and I’m daring him to do his worst.

I’d be stupid to think the little bit of blood they drew on Saturday was enough to appease them, especially with the way Casanova slurped it up like a fucking vampire. But I also think there’s a reason they won’t go to the full extent of what must be their Red Room shenanigans.

They want me towantit. They’re testing me, and I’m failing.

I don’t like pain. Tattoos are an exception I make work because of my lifestyle and aesthetic, but I don’t get them because I like the feeling. If I could kill my pain receptors, I would. Pain absolutely doesnotmake me feel alive.

But Casanova cutting me? That triggered some fucked up part of my brain, and I barely felt it at all. I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline of the chase, being held down by Broody, or something else. I just know it was fucking hot.

And I’m still horny as shit.

The second he reads my text, his whole body jolts into action as he makes a break for the trellis. I’ll admit, the sight of him sprinting towards me is enough to make my skin crawl, but if I want him really wound up, I’ve got to push more.

With less-than-perfect aim, I chuck my lit cigarette down at him when he starts climbing, getting a little laugh out of the way he frantically swipes at the burning embers on his shoulder.

I only just breach the doorway of my bedroom when he catches up to me, tugging my hair with one hand while the other covers my mouth to stifle an involuntary yelp. The tension eases on my scalp, but then there’s the familiarflickof his knife before his arm comes around the front of my body, pulling me closer.

“Ithink you have things skewed, Ruby. You can bet your ass I’m worse than him. I don’t need to learn a goddamn thing. In fact, I thinkyoudo,” he says. “Who knows what vanilla bullshit your littlePrincehas been showing you. Maybe it’s time you took a step into our world.”

It’s hard to think about his words when his hot breath is blowing directly into my ear. I don’t know if it’s just an erogenous thing, but I spiral into a frenzy whenever their mouths come within an inch of my ears.

The hairs on my body stand at a point—my skin chilled and sensitive to the touch—and I’m helpless to the way my head leans back against his shoulder.

Broody takes a few steps, dragging me further onto the balcony until I feel the thud of his back hitting the railing. The small whimper I release into his hand from the impact makes him tighten his grip for a second, then he’s spinning me around. My mouth is free, my hands are free, I can do whatever I want.

But I just want to taste him again.

He must sense it, because when I reach my hands up to grip his hair and pull him in for a kiss, he’s already surging forward to meet me in the middle. With one hand curled around the nape of his neck and the other tangled in the hair against his scalp, I claw my way in, shoving my tongue further into his mouth until we’re one being.

His hands don’t stay in one place for too long; they’re all over my body—running from my ass up the expanse of my back, in my hair, and on my waist. They finally land on my face in that tender way you always see people kiss in the movies, his thumbs rubbing my cheek while his fingers curl around the sides of my neck.

Where the fuck did this come from?

He’s kissing me with passion and reverence, not hatred and fire. I don’t know if I like it. I need him to be anything butthis. I do the only thing I can think to in the moment. Biting his lip and pulling his hair at the same time, I do my best to physically rip him apart.

That does it.

He takes his hands off my face and holds me by the waist, lifting me off the ground before I can protest. My first instinct is to kick, but when my ass hits the railing and I start propelling myself backwards over the ledge, I freeze.

“What are you doing?!” My flailing hands find purchase in the fabric of his sweatshirt, but it isn’t until I feel his arms wrap around my back that I actually relax.

“Don’t you trust me, Ruby?” He’s being facetious, and I don’t appreciate it very much. Of course I don’t trust him. “I told you, I’m going to teach you what it’s like to live in our world for a minute.”

The railing isn’t wide enough for my fat ass to sit on without toppling over, and I don’t have anything to hold on to except for him. I’m only wearing a T-shirt and panties, so the icy wind bites at my skin with every passing breeze.

“I saw enough the other night. Please, I just want to get down. I’ll do whatever you want!” I can’t control the panic in my voice or the tears that well in my eyes. If he drops me, I could break my goddamn neck.

I don’t trust either of them—not with my body or my life.

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