Page 6 of Tears of Ruin

“This isn’t hell,” he replied, like he’d just plucked the thought right out of my head. I was officially creeped out.

“Then where am I?” I wouldn’t believe him, but giving me an alternative just might allow me to pretend for a little while. Until they revealed their true intent and I met my demise.

“You are in Winterhaven,” he stated, as if that explained anything. For all I knew, it could have been a rebrand of Satan’s lair. I was completely out of my element here, having nothing to use as guidance, because who in their freaking mind would? “And you are?”

Nope. Not a chance. “Tell me who you are first.”

I was still on my hands and knees, and as soft as the rug was underneath me, my joints were starting to throb. If I didn’t want to collapse on the floor, I needed to get up, but not until he answered me.

And maybe not even after that. My heart still hadn’t slowed, and the constant adrenaline keeping me in flight mode was exhausting. My limbs quivered, but I was determined not to crumple.

“I am Richard Wellington.” If he’d added more bite to his surname, he would have choked on it. But I refused to wonder why he hated it so much. I wasn’t here for tea and conversation. I was here because I had run from my cruel father.

“I’m…” I licked my dry lips, wishing for a glass of cold water. “I’m Noam.”

Richard gave a single nod of acknowledgement, like he was fine dealing with a scared, mistrusting human. Or he’d come to the same unfair conclusion that I was a halfwit like Martin assumed I was. Maybe I wasn’t book smart, and maybe a lot of things were hard for me to grasp, but I wasn’t an idiot.

“Are you hungry, Noam?” He said my name with a slight accent, making it sound exotic, almost dreamy, and I fought the urge to ask him to say it one more time. It wasn't spat as a curse but softly drifted toward me.

“I don’t eat livers or intestines.” I needed to find a way out of this place, disturbed by how mesmerized I’d momentarily become. A tiny spark of kindness and I was…Don’t think that, don’t think that, don’t think that.

Richard appeared highly offended for some reason. “I think my cooking is levels above slop.”

Slop? That’s what he considered slop? And why did I have the feeling I’d hit a nerve? More importantly, why did I care?

“You’re a cook?” The one who had made the castle smell incredible?

“Yes.” A hint of pride laced through that single answer, making his features soften. I studied him closely then realized what I was doing and quickly glanced away.

“What, um…” I was dying to know, my hunger demanding I ask.

“Was that the smell permeating the castle?”

Swear to god, he was plucking my thoughts right out of my head. I held my hands back from covering my head. The last thing I needed was for Richard to dig through my mind. It was a legitimate concern since I had no idea where I was or what I was dealing with. But I also didn’t want him to see the real horrors I’d suffered through.

“Beef stew.” He stood, causing me to shoot backward, terrified of his intentions. But a sharp pain tore through my knee, causing a whimper to escape.

Richard was in front of me in seconds, looming over me with a deep scowl.

Don’t cower, don’t cower, don’t cower.

I cowered against the nightstand, unable to stop myself and despising my instinctive reaction, especially in front of someone so powerful.

Someone who could crush me with a single hand. He was much more imposing than Martin, and I feared his next move.

He crouched, resting an arm on his bent leg, but I was able to see both hands. They were empty. “Are you injured?”

There was no more room to back away. He was so close, I could smell the dark, masculine cologne he wore, feel his presence pressing down on me. I glanced at his hands again, but instead of looking for a belt, I noticed how scarred they were. Not huge scars, but small ones, like he’d cut his fingers numerous times in the kitchen.

“Noam.”

Please stop saying my name so softly.Stop saying it like you actually care.

“Are you hurt,chaton?”

I pulled my arms in, breathing too fast, knowing his kindness was some sort of trick. Kindness led to trust, and trust led to cruelty. But I desperately wanted to trust his concern, the softening of his glowing eyes, ached for an attachment that didn’t result in pain.

And what didchatonmean?

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