Page 81 of Reaper's Ruin
“Oh my god, I can’t believe I did that,” I whispered to my reflection, warmth flooding my cheeks at the memory.
I’d bleed a thousand times for you.
My skin shivered just thinking about the way he’d looked at me in that moment. That perfect, magical moment where I’d gone and done something so uncharacteristic I could still barely process it.
Then a wave of anxiety rushed through me, tightening inside my stomach.
Had I mouth-molested him when I’d gone feral and shoved my tongue down his throat? Had he even wanted that kiss? Had I completely misread the situation when he’d uttered those words that had set me on fire? I started thinking about consent and how it was drilled into us in high school to always ask for it, and then there I was just ramming my lips against his without so much as a warning.
But then I remembered how he’d responded. He’d kissed me back, and it was different than anything else I’d experienced before. My boyfriend, Jimmy Peterson, in high school, with his fumbling hands and Chapstick-flavored lips. Our teeth bumping together, awkward. Sweet. Then Alex in college, kind and gentle, who’d always asked permission before making a move. Both relationships had been nice. Safe. Predictable.
Nothing like the wildfire that had erupted when my lips had met Rhyker’s.
I’d never experienced a kiss like that—one that consumed, that devoured, that made me forget everything but the person holding me. It was like someone had thrown a match into a pool of gasoline, the explosion sudden and all-consuming. The way his hands had tangled in my hair like he was trying to memorize the feel of me, like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go. He’d gripped me like I was the only thing anchoring him to existence, his mouth moving against mine with a hunger that should have terrified me.
Instead, it had ignited something inside me I hadn’t known existed.
My body flushed hot at the memory, a fluttering sensation low in my belly that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with wanting more. If a kiss could feel like that, what would it be like to actually sleep with him?
Heat bloomed between my thighs before I could stop it. I imagined those hands on my skin—possessive, unrelenting,holding me down like he was claiming every inch, every breath. I pictured his voice low and rough in my ear, telling me all the wicked things he planned to do, and the terrifying part wasn’t that I wanted it. It was how badly I needed it. Needed him. To ruin me. To wreck me so thoroughly I’d never be able to think of anyone else without remembering the way he’d made me come apart beneath him.
The thought sent another wave of heat through me. I’d had sex before, but something told me that being with Rhyker would be as different from those experiences as his kiss had been from every one that came before.
I turned away from the mirror, forcing my thoughts in a different direction. This was dangerous territory. I was already struggling with feelings I had no business developing. Either I was going to get reaped by the very man whose mouth I’d just shoved my tongue in, or I was going to find my door and move on to whatever came next. Either way, I was leaving this realm—leaving him—behind.
Catching feelings for the Reaper sent to erase me from existence? Not the smartest move I’d ever made.
I smoothed down the front of my dress—pale blue with silver embroidery that shimmered in the lamplight. The royal seamstress had delivered it just hours ago, a gift from Prince Alaric in honor of Rhyker’s victory over the Voltmauler.
Checking my appearance one last time, I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Rhyker stood waiting in the corridor, and my breath caught at the sight of him. He wore a tailored black jacket with silver accents that hugged every muscular inch of his body just right. The high collar framed his strong jaw, the formal attire somehow making him look even more dangerous than his usual leather.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Something electric passed between us, the air suddenly heavy with unspoken words.
“You look...” he began, then seemed to think better of it. “We should go.”
“Right. The feast.” I stepped into the hallway, careful not to brush against him as we started walking. “Don’t want to be late. And your wounds? Are you okay? I should check on them again tonight.”
“No need. The court healer checked on me, and they’ll heal fine,” he said firmly.
Firm enough it stopped me from pressing to let me check myself one last time.
And not just because I wouldn’t mind seeing him in all his muscular, delicious, shirtless glory again... though the thought started that heat in my body once more.
As we made our way through the winding corridors toward the great hall, I kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of my eye. More than once, I caught him doing the same, his gaze sliding away the moment I noticed.
He looked pained, almost tortured, his mouth set in a hard line. Guilt gnawed at me. Had I crossed a line with that kiss? Forced something on him he hadn’t wanted?
But no—he had kissed me back I reminded myself. With a passion that had left me breathless. That hadn’t been reluctance or pity in the way his arms had crushed me against him.
I wanted to say something, to address the tension crackling between us, but what exactly?Hey, about that world-altering kiss—want to try it again sometime? Or maybe, more? Wanna try banging this tension out? Or are we just going to pretend it never happened?
Both options seemed equally terrible.
We turned a corner, and a soft sobbing sound stopped me in my tracks. I paused, tilting my head to listen.
“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
