Page 52 of Ruin

I did not respond to Sam as I watched him head up the stairs and toward the kitchen. My focus was entirely on Claire and the emotions seeping through the wooden door between us like sap.

After Claire’s fall, Sam had worked diligently to address her wounds. I watched as his hands moved quickly to stop the bleeding, placing eighteen stitches in the gash right above her hairline on the left side of her face and another ten on the right, where her forehead had hit mine. Sam assured me there was no fracture to her skull and that she would be fine. Regardless, the sound of her head hitting the stone step echoed in my mind like pressing on a bruise.

I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, processing the whirlwind of Claire’s emotions that had surged through me over the past few minutes. Fear, confusion, and a hint of defiance had all mingled in her. I could still sense her anxiety as she sat on the bed, her fear slowly giving way to a deep confusion.

An hour passed. I heard her cross the room, her delicate steps pattering across the stone. My body refused to remain still as I paced down the hall every time she cried. And finally, I rested on the floor once more after she had calmed.

She was hurt. It was my fault. And there was nothing I could do.

Memories of the evening before crashed like waves in my mind. But just like every other time the hunger took over, the memories were engulfed in fog. All I could see was her face: shattered and terrified. The tears. Her head pulled back. Her body convulsing with fear against my bloodied hand.

Sam had pieced together the events for me. He looked at his feet in disgust as he told me every awful thing I had done and said to her. The first few hours she was unconscious, all I could do was pound my fists onto the cliffside as my screams filled the night air with anger—an anger that the crash of the waves could not muffle.

I rose from the floor with a deliberate slowness, every movement intentional as I approached Claire’s door. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and mentally steeled myself. The door creaked softly as I opened it—slipping inside and closing it gently behind me. The click of the doorknob echoed in the silent room, a stark reminder of the tension that hung between us.

Claire was still sitting on the bed, her eyes closed, her hand pressed against her forehead. The sight of her vulnerable, exhausted, and confused pulled at me. I knew I had to approach with care, but every step I took felt heavy, laden with the weight of what she had witnessed and the revelations I needed to share.

She spoke, her voiced laced with exhaustion and a tinge of irritation. “Sam, I thought you were going to let me rest?”

“I cannot,” I replied, my tone calm but resolute.

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto mine. Her body tensed, and I could feel her heart pounding faster. The fear in her gaze was palpable, and it tightened my chest.

I took a step forward, raising my hands above my shoulders in a gesture of peace as I moved toward the chair in the corner of the room. I scooted it as close to the far wall as I could, creating a safe space between us.

I spoke softly, hoping my words would bridge the gap. “I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you, Claire. I am so, so sorry.”

Claire remained motionless, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her mind was racing—trying to devise an escape plan, I was sure. I could sense her resolve wavering between fear and desperate hope.

I leaned forward in the chair, resting my elbows against my knees as my face fell into my palms. “I know you talked to Sam,” I began, trying to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding between us.

Her voice was tinged with sarcasm, but beneath it lay a raw vulnerability. “Yes, your manservant came in and talked you up very nicely.”

My eyes lifted to her as I spoke. “I know you do not understand yet, but there are things you do not know. I can tell you with confidence that you are supposed to be here, and we are meant to be together.”

Claire stared deeply into my eyes; her brows stitched together as her face twisted with sadness. “Do a lot of women not come through here? I’m confused as to how we’ve spent a few days together and you’re so convinced of all this?”

I stood up and took a step toward her, the distance between us shrinking as I spoke. “I can explain if you would like.”

Claire’s eyes were intense, fixed on the shrinking space between us as she sat silently.

“There’s a belief,” I said slowly, “that we only get one person.” I watched her, letting the silence settle before continuing.

“You know it is them because something in you just…recognizes it. The scent is overwhelming, like it was made for you. And when you look into their eyes, you see something no one else can.” I hesitated, then added softly, “Gold. Flecks of it, like light catching on water. But only for you.”

Claire’s eyebrow arched in skepticism, her tone questioning. “I don’t see gold flakes in your eyes.”

“You’re not a vampire,” I explained gently. “If you were, you would.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned her head back, her body sinking into the bed.

“I caught your scent before you ever stepped into the hotel. I followed it. Found you. And when I saw your eyes…” I took a slow step closer, gaze locked on hers. “That was the moment everything changed. Since then, it is like something inside me woke up, and it only moves when you are near.”

My voice darkened as I spoke again. “This is not longing. It is a need. And when you are not close, it feels like being torn apart from the inside out.”

I took another step. Controlled. I did not blink. “You do not understand yet, but you will. You are mine.”

“This is crazy, you know that, right?” Claire’s laugh was hollow, laced with disbelief.