Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 25: Bloodstained Vows and Vengeance

I burst into the living-room and the copper reek hits me first. Then the sight.

Three bodies sprawled across the Persian rug like broken dolls. Elder Gwen and Rown, Councillor Holt. Throats opened ear to ear, blood still pulsing in lazy rivers from the gashes. The white couch is soaked crimson. One of Holt’s shoes is missing; it lies halfway across the room, sole up, as if he tried to run and never made it past the coffee table.

My knees lock. Breath stalls in my chest.

Devon sits in the middle of it all, legs crossed, a crystal tumbler of whiskey balanced on his thigh. His black shirt clings wet to his chest, dark hair pushed back, face unreadable with blood spills staining it. Blood drips from his right hand in slow, deliberate drops, pat-pat-pat onto the leather. He doesn’t look at me. He stares straight ahead, grey eyes flat and dead.

I can’t move. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

"...What did you do?" The words come out cracked, barely louder than a whisper.

He lifts the glass, sips, swallows. "Nothing serious." His voice is calm, almost bored. "Just asked them a simple question."

I shake so hard my teeth click. "Devon."

He finally turns his head. Those eyes pin me where I stand. "I asked them, Irene... if someone looked you in the face and swore nothing was going on between you and your girl, but you knew he was planning to steal her the second they both exposed you, what would you do?"

He lets the silence stretch. The drip from his fingers keeps perfect time.

"I asked three times," he says, conversational. "None of them gave me the answer I wanted. So I got pissed."

A choked sound escapes me. I take one stumbling step back and my heel slips in blood. My stomach lurches.

He uncrosses his legs, stands. The movement is slow, feline. Blood drips from his cuff onto the floor. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He starts walking toward the hall.

"Please," I blurt, voice shaking uncontrollably. "Please don’t hurt Gideon. I beg you. He’s all I have left."

He stops. Turns. The softness he sometimes saves just for me is gone. His face is carved from ice and shadow. Terrifying.

"I know," he says quietly. "That’s exactly why he’s still breathing."

I wrap my arms around myself to stop the trembling. "I’m serious, Devon. Don’t touch him. You know I don’t love him. You can read my emotions, you know—"

"I know you don’t love him," he cuts in, voice low and lethal. "Doesn’t mean I enjoy people trying to take what’s mine. Same thing happened with Baron."

My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts. The room tilts.

"What did you just say?"

Devon tilts his head. "Your brother held my ankle on that battlefield. Begged me to save him while the light bled out of his eyes. I let him bleed. It was... satisfying."

The scream that rips out of me isn’t human.

I launch myself at him. My hands close around his throat, nails digging into skin, thumbs crushing his windpipe. His glass hits the floor and shatters.

"You devil!" I snarl, squeezing until my knuckles go white. "You fucking devil, you killed him!"

He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me with those cold grey eyes, blood still sliding down his wrist.

I slap him. Hard. The crack echoes over the dead bodies. My palm stings; his cheek barely reddens.

He still doesn’t move.

Tears burn down my face. "I hate you," I hiss. "I hate you so much I can taste it."

His tongue slides across his lower lip, tasting the blood I put there. "Good," he murmurs. "Hate keeps you warm at night, doesn’t it? Keeps you coming back."

I slam both hands into his chest. He doesn’t budge.

"Say it again," he says, stepping forward until I’m forced back. "Tell me you hate me while you’re still wearing my mark under that dress."

I shove him again. "I will kill you for this."

He catches my wrists, yanks me flush against him. Blood from his shirt soaks into my clothes. His mouth brushes my ear.

"Kill me after you scream my name again," he whispers. "Like you did twenty minutes ago in the wine cellar."

I jerk, trying to free myself, but his grip turns iron, tears rolling down my eyes.

"Let me go!"

"No." His voice drops to a growl. "You want to claw my eyes out? Do it. You want to scream? Scream. But you’re not walking away from me tonight, Irene. Not after he touched you."

"He hugged me!" I spit. "That’s all—"

Devon’s laugh is soft and deadly. "He put his mouth on you. I smelled him the second I walked down those stairs. It might not be today but he has done it beforeq." His thumb strokes over my racing pulse. "I’m deciding how many pieces I send back to him."

Terror and fury collide inside me. "If you touch him—"

"I’ll do more than touch him." His eyes flick to the bodies behind me. "I’ll take my time."

I lunge again, teeth bared, going for his throat. He spins me, slams my back against the wall beside the fireplace. One hand pins both my wrists above my head; the other grips my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

"Listen carefully," he says, voice velvet and venom. "You can hate me. You can plot with him, lie to him, let him dream about a future that will never exist. But the second he puts his hands on what’s mine again, I will gut him in front of you and make you watch."

His thumb drags across my bottom lip, smearing blood.

"And you’ll still crawl into my bed afterward," he finishes softly. "Because you’re just as fucked up as I am."

My chest heaves. Tears and blood mix on my cheeks. "I’ll never forgive you for Baron."

"I don’t want forgiveness." His forehead rests against mine; his next words are barely sound. "I want you raging. I want you breaking. I want you so full of hate for me there’s no room for anyone else."

He releases my jaw, slides his hand down my body, cups me possessively through my dress. I hate the way my thighs clench.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my mouth. "Say it and mean it."

I can’t. The word sticks in my throat.

His lips brush mine, feather-light, mocking. "That’s what I thought."

He lets go of my wrists but doesn’t step back. I stay pinned between him and the wall, trembling with rage and something darker.

"You’re a monster," I whisper.

"Yes." He licks the blood off his thumb, eyes never leaving mine. "Your monster."

He steps away, finally, and the cold air rushes between us. Without the heat of him I feel like I’m freezing.

He walks backward toward the hallway, gaze locked on me. "Clean yourself up. Shower’s upstairs. Third door on the left. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight."

"I’m not—"

"You are." His voice hardens. "Or I start with Gideon’s fingers at dawn. Your choice."

He disappears around the corner.

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting in the blood of three dead men, hugging my knees, shaking so hard my bones ache.

I hate him.

Goddess help me, I hate him.

And I’m still going to walk up those stairs.