Ruin Box Set (34 page)

“That is something you must learn. I can suggest that you keep your mind open as all that can be done to help you learn, is done.”

More silence ensued before she whispered, “Wow.” She rubbed her palms along her legs. “Fine. Minds open. And what about his reasoning being darkened by his judgements?”

Scriber’s softly spoken words were near reverent. “His judgements are righteous. Even when he makes rogue judgements. To protect that which he determines is right. So far.”

Relief flooded Ruin at hearing that, and the wonder in his tone might even be admiration. Isadore had made him doubt what he knew to be right and wrong and he needed to remember that and not let it happen again. So whatever he was learning had nothing to do with his ability to judge and execute. So what was it?

Ruin leaned and looked at Scriber. “So why did they send you now?”

“Because this is a level one prophecy. Brother.”

“Brother?” Isadore asked what he too wondered. “Are you related?”

“Yes.”

“How so?” she asked.

Scriber looked out the window and Ruin saw the reflection of a slight smile on his mouth. “I cannot say.”

“So you know him and he knows you only he doesn’t remember you?” Isadore looked back and forth between them.

“Correct,” Scriber said.

“Level one prophecy,” Ruin repeated, taking an exit off of the interstate. “I know that is extremely important—correction—I feel it. But my mind isn’t calling up details.”

“Your instincts are correct. A level one prophecy ushers in a new age.”

“A new age?” Isadore gasped. “A new age? W-what, like what? Where is this prophecy?”

“Your Holy Scriptures.”

“So that Bible she reads is the word of God?” Ruin said, getting nervous.

He turned to him, his black eyes burning with a mysterious fire. “Indeed it is.”

Isadore gasped a ha, as Ruin mentally thumbed through the prophecies. “Which prophecy is it?”

He merely shook his head. “You will know that soon enough.”

“Is he supposed to fulfill this prophecy?” Isadore asked.

“He is supposed to. And he will. One way or another.”

“Oh geeze,” she gasped. “Oh geeze. One way or another, one way or another, he fulfills the mysterious new age ushering world ending prophecy one way or another.” Isadore began reciting things at high speed. Lots of things, random bits of the conversation, past trauma, all key words alerting Ruin that she’d been triggered.

“Isadore, look at me.”

She jerked to Ruin and the evidence of what he sensed stared back at him, front and center of her wide blue eyes. She nodded at him and grabbed hold of the hand he offered. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She nodded more and breathed carefully, sweat making her face glisten. “I’m okay,” she gasped.

Ruin slammed the brakes and pulled off the side of the road, roaring at the biting protest in those tattoos that demanded his immediate obedience to the next assignment.

“You’re late,” Scriber said.

“She’s not okay,” Ruin brought the truck to a skidding stop as she repeated her I’m okay, I’m okay mantra with eyes closed and slight rocking.

“If you do this now, you’ll—“

“I don’t care!” Ruin hollered, turning Isadore to him. “Listen to me, Isadore,” he shook her a little, making her focus. “Look into my eyes. Now.”

She furrowed her brows doing as he said, latching her gaze to his as though knowing he could help and trusting him to. Ruin dove into her gaze and found her nightmares running rampant in her mind, behind the barrier she’d developed from him. I’m here. I’m here, he silently conveyed to her. Shhhh. I’m here. Ride the feeling, it’s just a feeling. It will pass. This is your mind, your ship. I want you back in control of it. Right now. He put a dose of power in the commanded, forcing the obedience.

Immediately her heart rate lowered and her breathing began to settle. “I’m fine,” she whispered through trembling lips, sweat and tears covering her face now.

Ruin slowly drew out of her gaze and stroked his thumbs along her cheeks. “Are you okay Angel? I need you okay during this.”

She nodded, holding his hands. “I’m good. I got it. Sorry about that. Just a slip.”

He nodded back and kissed her lips softly, then put his forehead on hers. “No more slips.”

She gasped and nodded again. “No more slips.”

Ruin growled through the pain and quickly got them back on the road and drove like a lost drunk through the small city until he pulled into another parking lot. “A hospital.” Great. Another living graveyard.

Scriber opened his door. “The Diávolos Pipílisma and Kleftis are tailing us.”

“How?” Ruin shut the truck off. “I thought you cloaked us.”

“The little trick you just used with her was like a direct phone call to the underworld. Wait while I set a parameter and scramble our location.”

Ruin watched him leave the truck just as a sharp pain stabbed into the base of his skull. He gripped the steering wheel and growled through the wave pulsating in every muscle.

“God, you’re trembling,” Isadore whispered, rubbing his back. “I’m sorry. I’m not helping, I’m sorry.”

He could only shake his head, hoping she understood it wasn’t her fault. It was his. For not taking better care to protect her psyche from all of this. Not knowing how.

Scriber opened the door and got back in. “Do your thing. I’ll keep her here.”

Ruin could only question him with his gaze.

“Every one of her spiritual orifices are vulnerable points of attack. Her mind, especially. So make it quick. We get out numbered and you’ll be very sorry.”

Ruin was beyond arguing as he stumbled from the truck. With every step closer to the assignment, he gained strength, lessening the excruciating pain his tardiness had brought. Standing at the front of the hospital, he closed his eyes, locating his target. Make that another plural. Twenty-five souls this round. Isadore would love that. A flu epidemic was the weapon already in position at his arrival. Maybe that would make it at least seem more natural to her than other methods. But really, very rarely did good Carnificem use methods that weren’t naturally tied to a logical event. The whys of which ones died might go mysteriously unsolved to the humans but even those questions had logical answers.

Good Carnificem….

Up until a few moments ago, he’d thought he was good. But had he not disbelieved her Bible was literally the word of God, and that the God of that Bible was invalidated? And now Scriber said he indeed is real and orchestrating his very existence? Ruin had pretty much disowned the concept of this God. So how could he, a Carnificem created to judge and execute by said God, not know his own Creator? 

But then… why would the good guys be helping him if he wasn’t good?

“Any day now, brother.”

Ruin glanced to his right at the sudden presence of Grim. The transporter called him brother. But then so had that dark Negotiator, Valkrin. Rather mockingly, now that he thought about it.

As before, the beings presence pulled Ruin’s power forth and the Soul Prison raced into place, a series of loud clicks and chinks. At least it seemed loud to Ruin, echoing in his brain like chain being struck against a metal wall. Ruin commanded forth the execution fire, collected the souls then handed them off to Grim.

When Grim didn’t leave immediately, Ruin glanced at him, feeling weak. “Praying for your strength,” he said. Then he left.

Ruin gasped and stumbled, adding the cryptic words to the mountain of other cryptic words he needed explaining. “I got you,” Isadore whispered, suddenly under his right arm, supporting him, grabbing hold of his waist.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“I imagine you are,” she said, trying for a light tone. “Killing mice all day in labs used to drain me, I can only imagine what killing humans does to a person. Shit, bad example, never mind I said that.”

Ruin couldn’t stop the chuckle.

“Oh, that’s funny, glad to see it.”

“No, you’re funny.”

“Me? Okay, fine. But please can you not leave me alone with Mr. Crayola? He kinda creeps me out,” she whispered.

Ruin made it to the truck with her. “I think you should drive,” he whispered, holding on to the bed of the truck. “Not sure what is happening but I don’t have a lot of strength.” He looked down at her, trapped beneath him.

“I can drive, no problem.” He closed his eyes when she stroked her fingers along his face, hunger making him push into her body to feel her.

“I need you…” he gasped.

“You have me,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m yours. All yours and only yours.”

“I’m sorry, I meant to say I needed you to drive.”

“Oh.”

He kissed her. Deeply. She needed to feel how much he appreciated her words. When she clung to his weak body with soft whimpers and moans, he pulled up a little. “But I very much love that you misunderstood.”

“Back glass is missing,” Scriber said quietly.

“Oh shit,” Isadore gasped, hiding her face in his chest. “I’m definitely driving. You get in first.”

Chapter Eight

Isadore stood in line at the gas station with her armful of supplies. She looked down at them and realized she could do without the cotton balls. Getting out of line, she hurried to put them back on the shelf and eyed the bobby pins. She grabbed a pack, thankful. Riding in that truck with no back glass turned her face and eyes into a whipping post for her hair.

She eyed the truck, knowing she was taking way too long. She hurried back to the cash register, number two in line now. They would rest at a hotel and continue tomorrow. Scriber said Ruin needed to sleep and regain his strength. Using so much of his powers was hard on his body. And Isadore really couldn’t wait to…get him alone. Soothe him. And things.

She eyed the old man outside the store, arming herself with a few of those gift cards as she headed out. “Excuse me?” The old man turned to her, his glassy gaze heavy with age and maybe liquor. She handed him thirty dollars’ worth of cards. “Use this to get you something to eat?” He looked down at the cards and then slowly took them and she nodded and smiled at his confused look. “To eat,” she reiterated. “And God bless you,” she whispered, smiling and turning to hurry back to the truck.

She climbed in and Ruin mumbled with his eyes closed next to her. “Why do you do that?”

“Sorry I’m slow, I know I am.”

“Not that. Giving to these people that are dangling from the cliff of a piss-poor life. You do realize he’s going to take that money and go drink it?”

She started the truck, not wanting to fight with him. “I don’t care.”

“No, you don’t, that’s obvious.”

She tore out of the parking lot, her anger spiking. “Maybe I know he’s going to drink it but he doesn’t know that that I know that.”

“And that helps?” he asked.

“It does if I did it to be kind.”

“Because giving him a few dollars that won’t change a thing for him is kind.”

“Well aren’t you feeling better,” she muttered, heading to the hotel across the street.

“Kindness is a lovely virtue,” Scriber said.

“Well thank you, Scriber for seeing the good in me.”

“Kindness may be a virtue,” Ruin said, “but what exactly is kind about funding his misery?”

She pulled up to the admittance door and grinded the gear before shutting off the truck and looking at him. “Maybe that man needed a little hope, you ever thought of that?”

He shook his head a little, looking straight ahead. “I suppose you did give him that. If he thought there were no more blind, naive people in the world willing to help fund his misery, he now knows he’s all wrong about that.”

“Oh. My. God. Scriber just said kindness is a virtue did you not hear him?”

“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “I heard.”

She leaned forward. “Do you see what I have been dealing with? No matter what I do, it’s never right or good enough. I help a man who nobody cares about—“

“It’s not real help, Angel.”

“Don’t call me Angel,” she snapped, leaning again to finish. “I help a man who nobody cares about and he’s going to find something wrong with it. Mr. Ruin. Mr. Bad News Blues, never any blue skies on the horizon, never anything good to see in anything.”

He swung his head to Scriber. “And do you see what I’ve been dealing with? Miss sprinkle a little sugar over shit and call it dessert?” He turned to her. “You want to help him? Take one of your cards and tell him you’re putting it towards his burial plan so that his family isn’t burdened by his death the way they are with his existence. Truth is worth more than money and your words might actually wake his walking carcass up to actually do something besides exchange perfectly good oxygen for the useless stench he exhales every other second.”

Isadore sat there stunned. Stunned and pissed because she had nothing to come back with. She got out of the truck and slammed the door, hurrying in to pay for two rooms. She’d think of something by the time she got back. Only she didn’t. So she drove them to the other side of the building in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Ruin said. “It was… rude of me to say that in front of company. I should have waited till we were in private.”

She’d never been rendered so speechless. She pulled up to their rooms and grinded the gears for an embarrassingly five seconds. Apparently she’d lost the ability to drive in a matter of a week. Bastard. Sorry he should have said that bullshit in private? How about not say it at all, dense jerk.

And Scriber…so much for thinking she had somebody that finally understood and would stand up to him. Isadore threw the key to the other room at Ruin, pissed that he caught it. “That’s for you and Scriber. Enjoy your bromance.”

She got out of the truck and did the one thing she was very good at, she slammed the door and headed to her room. Once in, she paced for five minutes, her anger quickly fading in the empty space. She shook off the fears that she’d barely put under wraps earlier. She’d felt Ruin put some umph behind that command and it was the only thing holding her together. And with him over there, angry with her maybe. Or…disappointed. For being so…gullible and…

She sat on the bed, thinking about all the justified reasons she gave money to these people, thought about the truth as he put it. Was she really doing that for her own self-preservation? Dear God. Sounded just like something she might do.

She went to the bathroom and showered, her body trembling when she shut the water off, despite the scalding temperature she’d set it to. She opened the curtain and wrapped up in the giant towel, realizing her clothes were in the truck still. Damn bastard made her forget everything.

She heard a knock on the door and stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Who is it?” she yelled.

“It’s Ruin.”

A gasp of relief escaped her as she hurried to the door, not wanting him to give up and leave. “Can you please get my clothes?” she called through the door.

“That’s what I’m bringing.”

She opened the door and peered around it with only her head. “Thank you.” She reached and took the outstretched bag.

He stared at her for a few moments. “You’re welcome.” She nodded, wanting to ask him in but unable to bring herself to look needy. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just had a wonderfully hot shower.”

He lowered his gaze. “Okay. Do you want me to stay with you?”

She met his sudden deep green gaze and her pride rose up like a dumb bitch. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I…” He shuffled a bit. “Okay. I’ll be right next door if you need anything.”

“I know that.” He slowly walked away and she panicked. “Are you hungry?”

He turned a bit, his gaze locking hard on hers. “Always.”

Her stomach flipped at the sexy in his voice. “Me too,” she whispered.

He headed back, his eyes not leaving hers until he stood right before her, looking down as she held on to the door. “I’m staying in here tonight.”

“Okay.” The grateful word came without thought she realized.

“You need me,” he said more than asked. She only stared up at him, her heart hammering in her ears as he shut the door and locked it. Facing her, he removed his shirt. “I’m going to shower. And then I’m having you.” He reached and pulled her towel off, his gaze turning brutal. “I’m going to have you for a long time.” His bright green eyes made it back to hers and she leaned against the wall for support. “You need me,” he whispered again.

She closed her eyes and nodded, the sight of his naked tattoos bringing more desire than she could bear in that second. She was about to attack him and she was pretty sure he was referring to more than just sex. And she needed every bit of what he offered, whatever the name of that was. She needed it from him. She needed every ounce of his caring and protection, of whatever it was he felt for her. She realized maybe she was all wrong about love. Maybe this is what she was supposed to want. His protection and caring and…sex. Maybe that was real love.

She was willing to think so. In that moment.

Isadore waited on the bed while she listened to him shower. She paced for a bit then decided to pretend like she was sleeping. Let him show her what he wanted from her. The water finally shut off and she waited with her back to the bathroom, eyes closed. She’d gotten in the middle of the bed to give him room in case he wanted to snuggle. A part of her hoped he did. It would make her feel better in some ways. But knowing he was somewhere behind her, nude, made her feel other things. Her womb clenched hard at realizing she’d never felt him inside her yet and the sudden thought made her bite her lip in response to the desperate longing.

Because he didn’t love her, she reminded herself.

The reason suddenly felt irrelevant. Stupid. Silly. Extremely over rated. Non-applicable.

She held her breath when he sat on the bed next to her and slid his hand carefully along her arm, his touch barely there. The mattress moved more as he got under the covers with her, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her close to his extremely hot and hard body.

Isadore couldn’t resist a light moan at the paradise she suddenly found herself in. He was the epitome of danger and safe all in one breath. But the danger part seemed so far away next to the safe warmth.

“My Angel,” he whispered next to her ear. “I know you’re awake.”

She smiled a little. “I’m not…I’m sleeping,” she whispered back.

“Okay.” He kissed at her temple. “Then I won’t disturb you.” He pulled her leg back and over his hip and ground his cock into her ass. “Much,” he said, sliding his finger deep inside her. 

A cry flew from Isadore at the unexpected assault. She grabbed his hip and pressed his cock hard to her as he delivered maddening flicks to her core until she was a mess of moans and gasps.

“Look at you,” he whispered, “so fucking ready for this.” His mouth covered her entire nipple with a deep groan of hunger.

Isadore stretched her leg over his hip, opening wider for him, crying out loudly and bucking her hips into his hand, holding his head fast to her nipple.

“Damn how I love your nipples, Isadore.”

Pleasure rolled through her body, tingling and hot and…wait…he loved her nipples?

She pushed at his hand and head until he stopped. “What’s wrong, Angel?”

She got up on her elbows looking at him. “Did you not just hear what you said?”

He stared at her breasts. “That I love your nipples?”

“Yes.” She waited for him to figure it out.

He only continued to stare at them. “They’re so fucking perfect.” He reached out and touched the tip of one and she slapped his hand away. That broke his tit-lust. He regarded her with drawn brows of confusion.

“You love my nipples?”

“Yes,” he reiterated firmly, “I do.”

She scrambled out of the bed, pain hitting her in the chest as she pulled the blanket with her, staring at him. “And you don’t love me?”

The connection in his head finally happened. He sat up and presented his back to her, shaking his lowered head. “Why do you do this every time?”

“No!” she shouted, coming around to the other side of the bed, “don’t you dare act like I’m the wrong one here. You can love my nipples but not me? Do you realize how that makes me feel? Am I not more than my nipples?”

“Isadore… If the love I have for your nipples equates the love that you speak of, then yes, I am eternally and entirely in love with you, have been since the moment I saw you.”

Damn him. She hated the way he always managed to excuse himself. “I am sick of this!” She stormed to her clothes bag and unzipped it. “So sick of you not knowing that you love me.”

“Isn’t it enough that you apparently know that I love you? Why isn’t that enough?”

“Because you need to know it.”

“Don’t dress, Isadore.”

She gasped and spun, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare make me not dress! How dare you!” She flew to him and slapped him across the face, shocked he let her.

He kept his face turned. “Don’t hide your body from me.”

“You don’t get to see my body. You don’t get to touch it,” she gasped, her words trembling out in fury. “You don’t get me! Not until you love me, you bastard!”

He slowly turned his green gaze up to her and she stepped back at seeing something…different in the stormy depths. “Until I love you? Isadore? Until I love you?” He shot up, towering gloriously nude before her and her legs trembled with the change in him. “And what is love, Angel? What is love!” he yelled. “Is it a pressure inside that makes me want to scream when you do this?” he palmed his chest roughly, “Is it my body in constant chaos when you’re around me? Is it murder in cold blood when I even think of you being with anybody but me!” he roared. “Or maybe it’s not being able to think or speak when your life is in danger, or wanting to spend every second—of every—fucking day with you, wanting to never leave your side. Is that love? Is it, Isadore?” He drew closer and hit his fist repeatedly against his chest. “Is it pain so hard and heavy that I can’t fucking breathe unless I smell you, touch you, taste you?” His body heaved as his bright green gaze seared her heart. “Because if it is, Angel…” he held his lips together and shook his head slowly, “then I am… slain with an eternal and violent love for you.”