Page 72 of Whispers of Ruin

That delicious, dangerous thrill was not desire. It was deceit. The man consuming me—the one I had given myself to in blind devotion—is not Xan.

It’s Kayde.

And he has been feasting on me, devouring what was never meant to be his.

I try to sit up, but the searing burn in my abdomen reminds me in the cruelest way that my stomach has been deliberately split open like a sacrificial fruit. I’m trapped. Pinned by pain, by fear, by the horrifying realization that I am not in control of a single goddamn thing. Terror crawls up my spine, wraps around my throat, and squeezes.

Desperate, I tear off the blindfold, my fingers shaking, slick with sweat and blood. I wish I hadn’t. Hovering just inches above my face stands a masked demon. It stares down at me with a tilt of amusement, watching me squirm beneath its gaze, a trapped insect under glass. There is no mercy in those eyes. Just… hunger. And devastating delight.

As if the horror was not enough, he lifts a gloved finger to his mouth and makes a soft, slow shushing motion—shhh. My blood runs cold. My breath catches mid-scream. I am paralyzed. Not by his face, but by the sick pleasure curling at the corners of his hidden grin.

God, I want Xan to turn around.

To just feel it—some strange, cosmic pull in his gut that screams something is wrong. I want him to shatter the silence.To break rank. To come storming through this ritual like some furious dark knight and rip the wolf right off my body with those blood-stained hands of his.

Sadly, nothing.

No hint of that wild instinct he always seems to have when it comes to me.

I guess—for once in his entire maddening, defiant existence—Xan Hayes has decided to follow the rules.

And I have never hated obedience more in my goddamn life.

“Please… stop, Kayde,” I whisper, my voice barely audible—meant for him and him alone. “I belong to Xan. And you know damn well that the moment he finds out what you did to me… He is going to tear you apart.”

I can see the glint of silver in Kayde’s eyes narrowing behind his mask—a cruel smile practically bleeding through his voice as he lets out a soft, mocking laugh.

“You know, Mira,” he murmurs, tilting his head with theatrical pity, “Xan will not always be there to swoop in and save his little damsel. Sooner or later, you will have to learn how to stand on your own… big girl boots and all.”

His hand snakes down, fingers tracing the inside of my thigh with an infuriating slowness, and I shudder against my will.

“From where I’m standing,” he whispers, leaning closer until I can feel his breath, “you didn’t seem upset at all earlier. In fact… I would wager you might be a little curious what it is like when the wrong man touches you just right.”

My hand lashes out before I even register the decision—a brutal slap cracks through the thick, suffocating silence of the chamber. The sound echoes like a gunshot, yet his head barely turns from the impact. Instead, I watch his chest rise with the fury that coils before it strikes.

In one swift motion, his gloved hand closes around my throat, ice-cold and merciless. He lifts me effortlessly, my back arching as the pressure tightens. My legs scramble against the altar for leverage, for air—for anything. Panic surges as I claw at his grip, the edges of my vision fuzzing while I gasp, desperate to reclaim the breath his wrath is stealing from me.

Just as my eyes roll back, the whites taking over like a curtain call on my consciousness, I feel Kayde’s grip suddenly vanish. My body drops like a dead weight off the altar, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The jagged rim scrapes down my leg, tearing my skin wide open, but I am too dazed to scream.

I gasp, every inhale a struggle, forcing my eyes to open just enough to catch a glimpse—not of Kayde’s triumphant face above me, but of… nothing. Just the rumble of something crashing behind me. The heavy sound of a human crumpling.

I don’t know what just happened. However, for the first time since this nightmare began, I am not the only one bleeding.

It’s in that moment—through the haze of pain and panic—that I see him.

Xan.

Standing tall and breathless over Kayde’s twitching, crumpled body. In his hand, gripped tightly, is what looks like theshattered remains of an antique plaster statue, white dust still drifting from the impact.

I want to run to him, throw myself into his arms, bury my face in his neck and cling to him. He is the only solid thing left in a world that is falling apart.

I want to thank him over and over, kiss him until the pandemonium melts away—until I can believe I am safe. Nonetheless, my body won’t move. It is nailed to the ground.

That’s when I feel it—the hot, sticky warmth pooling beneath me. The edges of my vision blur, and a cold realization settles in my chest: I am losing too much blood.

If I do not hold on… I might not make it long enough to tell him how much I needed him.

Everything feels so… far away.

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