Page 7 of Tears of Ruin

Without standing, he backed away a few steps, giving me the space I needed to breathe.

“Your hands.” I nodded toward them, curious about the tiny scars but also wanting them to stay in plain sight.

He lifted them, turned them over, examining them closely, then slowly lowered them. “You’ve discovered my secret. Very observant.”

I waited for him to add some vicious words, to taunt me in some way after complimenting me, but… he simply smiled. Still, I refused to let down my guard. I’d been smiled at before.

But his expression wasn’t laced with malice.

“What secret?” My back began to hurt from being curled into the uncomfortable position against the nightstand.

Once again, Richard backed up, as if he sensed my discomfort, but it was from my back, not his presence. “I’m not always as skilled with a knife as I lead people to believe.” He shrugged. “I make mistakes, just like everyone else. No one is perfect.”

If you don’t do it perfectly, boy, you’ll feel my wrath. Now scrub that goddamn floor like you’ve got an ounce of intelligence, though we both know you’re nothing but a nitwit.

I looked away, my lips parted, trying to shut out Martin’s voice.

“Noam.”

My head jerked back around, focusing on his glowing eyes, terrified at how much comfort I was allowing them to bring me. “Yes?”

“You can sit up. No one is going to hurt you.” His voice held a command, but it was so soft I found myself obeying before I knew what my body was doing.

I jerked back as Richard lowered to the floor, sitting far enough away so that I didn’t feel trapped. His hands stayed in view, resting on his slacks. I simply stared at them, unsure what to think. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He was a monster, just like Martin, only a literal one. Monsters consumed you, preyed on you, offered false hope just to revel in your pain when they snatched it away.

I startled when he reached into his pocket, but he didn’t hide what he’d pulled free. His phone. He tapped out what I assumed was a message then set it down, face up.

“Kindness costs a person nothing,chaton. It can also bring a sense of joy if given to the right person.”

There was an ache in his voice, a depth that carried more than just the words—a history, a story, a pain that lived in the spaces between the syllables.

And now I wondered if he’d known a cruel hand just as I had.

Someone knocked, causing my heart to lodge in my throat. My eyes darted around, looking for somewhere to hide.

“It’s only Kyson.” Richard held his hands up, palms out. “He’s not coming in.”

He rose slowly, backed away, then turned and crossed the room to answer the door. I watched, curious, mistrustful, and relieved it wasn’t Satan stopping by.

“Thanks,” Richard said before the door closed. I craned my neck to see over the bed, wondering why he was carrying a tray. Then the smell hit me. The same scent that had lured me toward the kitchen.

But Richard didn’t set the tray on the table between the posh chairs. He brought it toward me, both him and the tray lowering gracefully. On it were two steamy bowls of stew, thick with carrots, potatoes, and chunks of meat. The steam rose in a slow swirl, tickling my nose with its delicious bouquet of flavor. I yearned to snatch it from him, to have just one bite.

On a plate were what looked like homemade biscuits, fluffy with melted butter sliding over the browned tops. On the other side of the bowls were two glasses of… I wasn’t sure, but my mouth watered for a single sip.

He set a bowl in front of me then placed a wide spoon on a napkin next to it. I simply stared at the bowl like the ingredients would come alive and run away before I could enjoy what I knew would be heaven.

“Eat as much as you want,chaton. There’s plenty more.”

My lip quivered, but I refused to show just what a home-cooked meal meant to me. How that single offer threatened to undo me. Food that wasn’t heated in a microwave or slapped between two slices of bread would be my inevitable downfall.

Even though I wanted the meal so badly, I paused, unsure how to react.

“It’s not poisoned. I would never taint such an amazing dish.” He winked. “I hear the cook is a bona fide beef stew god.”

My hands hesitantly curled around the bowl, wondering if I was being a bona fide idiot for eating something a stranger had offered me in a room tucked away in a medieval castle that shouldn’t exist.

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