Page 58 of Beautiful Ruin

That longing only seems to fuel the fire blazing within me.

On the sixth night of my self-imposed recon mission, I slip out of my room just after midnight. The hallway is dim, lit only by low scones on either side of the space. I move quickly and quietly, my feet silent on the cold marble as I move, dark clothing blending into the shadows. I’ve timed this perfectly because I know I only have one shot to make this work.

The guard at the end of the corridor just finished his sweep.

I know he won’t return for another twelve minutes.

I reach the service stairwell at the back of the east wing in record time. The door is locked, but I’ve watched the staff long enough to know where they hide the spare key tucked behind a loose panel in the molding. My fingers find it quickly, pulling it out of place before shifting the molding back the way I found it. The lock clicks open with a soft sound that seems deafening in the silence.

I pocket the key and descend the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs with each step. Every creak of the old wood makes me flinch but I keep moving. Down, down, until I reach the lower level where the delivery entrance sits.

The door is heavy, reinforced steel that will not budge unless the panel on the side of it is engaged. The number pad is simple, the numbers on it worn from heavy use. While I don’t know the code to open it, I overheard two guards complaining about the short in one of the wires during a shift change a few days ago.

It takes a few tries to find the correct wires to connect together, but when I do, the light on the panel turns green. Slowly, the door rolls open, pulling in a cold gust of wind that knocks my hair back from my shoulders.

My lungs burn slightly as I step outside. The cold bites instantly through my thin jacket, but I don’t stop. I move along the side of the building, keeping to the shadows, heading toward the south end of the property. It’s the one place with a service tunnel that leads beyond the main perimeter wall. If I can reach it before the next patrol, I can get over the wall and⁠—

A hand clamps over my mouth at the same time as an arm bands around my waist, hauling me backward against a hard chest. I freeze, terror spiking hot and dizzying through my bloodstream until I smell something familiar on the wind.

Rowan.

His breath is hot against my ear.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” he growls, voice low and rough with something that sounds dangerously close to pain.

I twist in his grip, but he doesn’t let go. His hold is iron strong yet at the same time careful in a brutal way, never once bruising me. Even now, as furious as I know that he is, he handles me like I’m something precious he’s afraid to break.

That’s exactly why I take advantage of the opportunity presented to me and bite down on the inside of his palm.

Hard.

He hisses and flinches back but doesn’t release me. “Stop fighting me, Sofia. Unless you want me to hog tie you and throw you over my shoulder. Maybe then, the humiliation will get you to act right.”

I wrench my head to the side, gasping when his hand finally drops from my mouth. “Let me go!”

His arm tightens around my waist. I feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against my back as he begins to drag me backward to the house again. “Stop.”

“No!” I practically scream. “Just let me find out the truth! Why can’t you see I need that?”

He pauses but only long enough to say, “You think this isn’t tearing me apart seeing you this upset? Running off in the middle of the night like a reckless child isn’t going to solve your problems, Sofia. You’re smarter than that.”

“I’m not a child,” I spit out.

“No, you’re not,” he says, his mouth pressing directly to my ear. “You are the most dangerous thing I have ever let close to me.”

The confession hangs between us, sending an electric pulse racing up my spine. I stop struggling, though it isn’t in surrender. It’s shock, maybe, or awareness. I become conscious of every place his body touches mine. His grip loosens, though he doesn’t release me completely. He slowly turns me in his arms until we’re facing each other.

Rain has begun to fall from the dark skies above us, catching in his dark hair and dusting his shoulders with water. Droplets cling to his lashes, sliding down the harsh line of his cheek, darkening the collar of his shirt where his coat hangs open.

His gray eyes are stormy, conflicted and furious in a way I’ve never seen before. Rowan is always controlled, even when angry. But now that ice is cracking, fissures forming just under the surface that go on for miles and miles. The longer I stare into them, the more those eyes fill with something I can’t quite name.

Something that looks an awful lot like fear.

“Then why did you let me?” I whisper.

I don’t know why I ask.

Maybe because the question has been burning me alive for a lot longer than I’ve realized. I don't know when all of this began, that’s what scares me most. There should have been a moment I could point to. A time where his being an obstacle in my way had twisted to suddenly becoming someone I didn’t want to leave my side. I search backward through every harsh exchange, every warning that came with a locked door, where the line began to blur until I could no longer tell where resentment ended and fascination began.