Page 65 of Whispers of Ruin

A whimper catches my throat.

He lifts my chin, eyes locking with mine. “You think I can watch you walk into this place, into my world, and not lose my fucking mind?”

“Then lose it,” I whisper. “Please. Lose it, Xan.” I say while brushing his hair back and getting a hold of it.

He grabs me into his arms and crosses the room in seconds, laying me down on the bed with more care than I expect—the look in his eyes is anything but gentle.

His mouth crashes against mine. Every movement is frantic—needy—yet not careless. He knows my body already, somehow he memorized it the first time. I drag my nails down his back. He groans—a deep sound that makes my skin erupt in goosebumps. He bites down on my bottom lip enough to make it subtly bleed, then soothes it with his tongue as an apology.

“Xan—”

“I know.” He is breathless, cracking at the precipices. “I know, baby. Just—let me.”

My legs wrap around his waist, and I arch up into him, needing more—all of him inside me. The rhythm turns desperate. Beautifully unhinged. Our bodies collide over and over, until the only thing I can hear is skin, breath, the sharp drag of my name from his mouth—broken prayer.

“I waitedsolong for this,” he says, forehead pressed to mine, eyes locked on mine. “Sofuckinglong.”

“You have me now,” I breathe, my fingers tracing with reverence the part of his face he revealed just moments before, worshipping the chance to touch what he so rarely offers. “So don’t you dare hold back.”

That’s when he loses it completely and finally pulls out his dick to trust it in one swift motion in my pussy. He growls something so guttural against my throat while penetrating me, his teeth biting deeply in my skin. My back arches off the mattress as he drives into me harder—every thrust a punishment I welcome.

“Say it,” he snarls against my ear. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

My breath catches, but I don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Xan. I’m—fuck—I’ve always been and always will.”

He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, his other dragging down my thigh, branding me with every touch. His lips crush against mine again in a kiss that tastes like victory and ruin all at once.

The headboard slams against the wall. Over and over. I don’t care. Let them hear. Let the whole damn Order know what he does to me—how I burn for him. How he is the only one who gets to break me.

He mutters filth between ragged breaths; words soaked in adoration. “Mine… all mine… never letting go…”

And when I shatter around him, when he follows, releasing his heat inside me with a sound I swear I never heard from anyone else—I know it.

This is not just sex. This is war.

And we have both surrendered.

Isit at the brink of the bed, tightening the leather belt on my black pants. My hoodie comes next, slipping over my head as I stand and move to the single armchair stationed across the room. Mira is still on the bed, moving with that same maddening grace, pulling her shirt on clearly unaware of the way she is wrecking me.

Isink into the chair, spreading my legs and my arms along the worn armrests. I am claiming a throne with my phone in hand, thumb tapping out a message with a smirk tugging at my mouth.

I hit send, imagining Lucian’s expression. Let him stew. Let him try. I dare him.

The Initiation.

Every soul recruited by the Order must undergo the ritual—our grim passage from hunted to hunter. We call itThe Judgment of Masks. Archaic, maybe. Brutal, absolutely. But tradition bleeds for a reason.

Lucian will slice Mira’s palm himself, right through the center as she will stand in the eye of the storm: seventeen masked members circling her like wild dogs dressed in black.

One by one, they will approach. One by one, they will press a finger to her open wound, take a single drop of her blood to their tongues, and seal her fate as one of us.

It is not just a ceremony, it’s a rite. And when it is done, she will receive her mask. Her oath. Her purpose.

Then—finally—her training will begin. She will be assigned to missions with me, and I don’t know what I am looking forward to more: watching her ascend like some sexy divine force in combat… or looking at every fool who so much as glances her way falls beneath my blade.

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