Page 63 of Whispers of Ruin

I look between them, heart thudding, trying to catch up.

“Okay. Someone want to tell me what brand of psychotic pissing contest this is?”

It is not until Xan blocks me with a swift motion that I realize I have moved.

“She’s under my protection,” he says, low and final.

Kayde lifts both palms like he’s surrendering, but his eyes stay on me.

“That won’t save her, Hayes. You know how this place works.”

Xan’s grip tightens—just for a second—before he shoves Kayde back against the wall and steps away.

Kayde adjusts his collar like nothing happened.

“I like her,” he adds, directing it to me this time. “Hope you won’t break too easily.”

Then he’s gone. Just like that. The silence he leaves behind buzzes. I look up at Xan, my heart hammering.

“Who was that?”

Xan exhales hard through his nose.

“Kayde Morrow. Don’t you dare talk to him or listen to him. If he ever touches you, I will put him alive in the fucking ground.”

I cannot help but let out a soft laugh—because his jealousy, as absurd as it is, borders on theatrical. But God, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. There is something deeply satisfying about watching a man like Xan Hayes—deadly, brooding, always in control—lose his cool over me.

Totally normal. Just a man who would burn the world down if someone else looked at me for too long.

His fingers lace through mine firmly. My hand looks so small in his, delicate and breakable. By all logic, I should be scared. Yet I feel nothing.

It feels like being swallowed whole in the best possible way.Safe. Held together by someone who sees every jagged edge and grips tighter anyway. With his hand in mine, the planet could fall to ruin, and I would still believe in something. I would still believe inus.

The hallway narrows before flaring open again, revealing a series of identical doors along one side—sleek, dark, and quietly foreboding. Xan stops in front of one of them and reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small key I saw him took from a board full of them on the wall in Lucian’s office. He hands it over without looking at me.

“This one’s yours,” he simply says.

I blink at the key in my palm.

“My room?” I ask, half-expecting him to say I misunderstood.

“It is the rule,” he mutters, already sounding irritated by it. “Everyone gets their own space.”

I study the door, then glance back at him.

“You don’t sound thrilled at all.”

He shrugs, but it is sharp, tense.

“I’m not in the habit of following rules I didn’t write.”

The key turns with a soft click as I push the door open. The room inside is surprisingly spacious, austere, but beautiful—stone walls softened by heavy black curtains, a tall bed with clean, dark linens, and a desk pushed beneath a slender window. A flickering wall sconce casts a warm golden hue over it all. It is nothing like home.

It is better.And worse. Which makes it perfect.

I step inside slowly, taking in the faint scent of sandalwood and cold air. Xan stands in the doorway like a shadow that refuses to leave.

“I thought you would want somewhere to rest,” he says quietly.

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