Page 5 of Tears of Ruin

“I promise, you’re safe,” Kyson said, lowering into a squat, hands out, palms up. “Giovanni is just very protective of me.”

My gaze darted to Giovanni, who… lookeddevastatingly at me, his eyes haunted.

I frantically tried to remember where the door was—the one that had popped open for me—when Satan himself rounded the corner. Black wings spread wide, death burning in his glowing red eyes.

My mind short-circuited. The hallway warped, twisting around me before everything went black.

Chapter Two

Noam

I woke with a start, slid from the bed, and ducked down on the other side before my mind had a chance to catch up to my body. With my back against the bed, I curled my arms around my bent legs as I tried hard to piece everything together.

The dark marbling, the fangs, the black wings all led me to believe I was in hell. Somehow, that farmhouse door was a gateway to Satan’s domain.

But why had someone put me in a bed? Why was Kyson so nice, unless it had been a trick, trying to lure me into a sense of safety before cruelly yanking it away.

Nothing made sense. People didn’t simply walk into portals, because they didn’t exist.

But you begged the door to open for you, sought refuge willingly.

My father was right. He’d claimed millions of times that I was an idiot, a simpleton, and I’d just proven him right by walking right into Satan’s hands. Which was—

I stilled completely when I felt someone in the room. If twenty-five years of living with Martin had taught me anything, it was how to detect someone’s presence.

A lesson no small child should have to learn.

Slowing my breathing, I eased onto my hands and knees then crawled toward the edge of the bed and peeked around the footboard. Across the room a guy was seated in a cushioned chair, his posture so stiff he reminded me of a wax figure. His leg was crossed over his knee, his hands resting on one calf. I wasn’t sure what he was staring at, but he seemed deep in thought.

When his gaze slid to me—no other body part moving—I froze, unable to move backward. Those piercing eyes held a slight glow, like the fireflies I’d seen outside when I’d raced around the side of the house.

I wanted to pull back, was desperate to hide, but… “What are you?”

If I was going to run and hide from monsters, I at least wanted to know what I was dealing with. Because, for some reason, that would make my death less scary?

“Safe.”

“From me?” He looked tall as heck, and I was only five-four. If he thought I was a threat, things in hell were backward.

The side of his mouth curled just enough to hint at amusement. “No, you are safe here.”

My brows knitted together, woefully unprepared for his response. Before I could stop myself—my impulses always working against me—I asked, “Hell has a safe space?” I was floored.

His brows inched upward, then he composed himself. “What makes you think you’re in hell?”

My gaze slid around the room, and my confusion only deepened. Where was the red and black marble? This room? It was the kind of fancy I’d only seen in movies. Everything gleamed, from the polished floor to the gold trim running along the walls and ceiling. The bed was dead center in the room, appearing—from my position on the floor—big enough to swallow a person whole and was draped with curtains that made it look like something out of a fairy tale.

Thick, heavy rugs covered the floor, which would soften each step, while warm light spilled from a lamp on the nightstand behind me. I swung my gaze back to the stranger, noticing his chair was in some kind of seating area—plush chairs and a sofa that looked too nice to sit on. The windows were tall, wrapped in thick, silky curtains that let just enough light in to make everything glow.

Even the air smelled expensive, like something rich, like leather or old books. It was the kind of place where important people would live… if it wasn’t located in hell.

My gaze snapped back to him, too terrified to appreciate how gorgeous he was. Whatever he was. “Wings, fangs, glowing eyes,” I replied. “The guy with wings was Satan, wasn’t he?”

He looked as if he was considering my assumption, tilting his head slightly while staring at the ceiling. Then the curl of his lips turned into a full-blown, wreck-your-heart smile. If he was human, I might’ve swooned. But I didn’t flirt with monsters, no matter how breathtaking they were.

“Prince Malachi is intense.” He nodded, his smile showing off perfect, white teeth.

All monsters knew how to smile charmingly, and I wasn’t going to become a fanboy just because winged Satan was a prince. That didn’t impress me.

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