Page 22 of Wreck and Ruin

He places his left hand gently over mine, still resting against his cheek, before using his other hand to tilt my chin, urging me to look at him. All I can see is the sharp contour of his square jaw and a shadowed version of his piercing blue eyes, as he stares down at me in the dim moonlight.

I breathe him in.

Savoring his natural scent.

He smells like midnight, like the earth and rain as it falls from the sky.

It’s intoxicating.

I want to answer him. I want to tell him that I am okay and that he doesn’t have to worry about me. That Father doesn’t bother me anymore. The words stay trapped in my throat, so I shake my head in answer.

I don’t want to move, fearing that if I break free of his touch, the sense of safety, like an invisible shield wrapped around us, will fall away, too.

“The things I'd do to hear you speak to me, just once… are far from normal, Little Siren,” he says. His voice is dark and dangerous. Ominous even, yet I am not afraid.

He moves his hand away from my chin and brushes his fingertips, a featherlight touch, across my cheek, sticky from my swim.

My hand is still beneath his other one, pressed against his face, and I look away. Stirring beneath his touch until he releases his hold on me. I straighten beside him slightly, water from my short, cotton dress that I forgot to remove before swimming, pooling around me.

I want to stay like this, in this cave…with him.

I make a mental note to dry my dress when I get back.

Father can't ever smell my stranger on it.

A long moment passes, and the moon grows brighter as it shifts higher in the sky, allowing me to see my stranger's features more clearly. His dark, prominent eyebrows are furrowed, his usual deep crease marking his forehead. I hold back a smirk at how predictable he is becoming.

His black, unruly hair, a little longer now, is thick with sweat from a restless sleep, sticking to the sides of his neck in damp strands. He stares down at me, his eyes heavy with sleep, framed by dark, long lashes that only make him look even more dangerous.

There’s something wild about him. And it calls to a part of me that only surfaces when I’m around him. An unfamiliar urge to hug and comfort him in this moment surges deep in my belly, but I force myself to hold back, not wanting to make a complete fool of myself.

His soul is tortured.

I can see it when he stares at me this way.

He looks like he’s felt the pain of a thousand bloody, and brutal beatings, and survival itself is his punishment. It’s this vulnerability that urges me to take a leap of faith and place my trust in him.

I haven’t been fair to him recently. I’ve not given him any opportunity to talk to me, leaving him alone, when he only wants to be freed. I understand that better than anyone, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Not with knowing the risks.

I will be alone again.

And even if he doesn’t leave me, Father will take him from me anyway.

I search my thoughts for something I can do or give him, to show him that I’m sorry, but there’s nothing.

I have nothing to give.

Nothing but myself.

“Airlie. My mother used to call me Airlie.”

Chapter15

EZEKIEL

Idraw in a sharp breath, unable to release it as her voice cuts through the silence.

Cuts through me.

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