Chapter 7: Scars of War

POV RUBY

The silence that followed our kiss was almost more violent than the confrontation itself. Nevan remained leaning against the wall, his torso bare and his freshly stitched wound throbbing under the dim light of the stove. I took a few steps back, rubbing my lips with the back of my hand, trying to erase the sensation of his mouth, but it was useless; the taste of him was etched on my palate.

My hands were still stained with his blood. I went to the small sink and let the cold water run over my fingers. The red liquid swirled down the drain, disappearing, but the sensation of his skin under my fingertips did not wash away with the water.

"Are you going to be like this all night, Ruby?" he asked. His voice was now a low murmur, tired but with that edge of authority that never left him. "Staring at the water as if it will give you the answers you don't dare to ask?"

I turned off the tap and turned around. He had stood up with obvious effort, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning. He walked over to the table and, from a small hidden compartment in his boot, took out a phone I had never seen before. It wasn't a normal cell phone; it was thick, with a sturdy antenna and a screen that emitted a cold blue glow.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked, my curiosity finally overcoming my fear. "You said we were alone in this."

Nevan didn't answer right away. He typed a quick message, his fingers moving with mechanical precision. His eyes reflected the light from the screen, making them almost electric in the dim light.

"Just confirming that the trail has gone cold," he said, setting the device down on the table with a sharp thud. "Not everyone looking for me is as careless as Julian Vane. There are people out there who don't understand the concept of 'surrender.'"

He approached me, and even though he walked with a slight limp, his presence was still overwhelming. He stopped in front of the stove, and the light from the fire illuminated the tattoos on his back once more. I was mesmerized by one in particular on his left shoulder blade: an ancient shield intertwined with thorns and an iron crown. It didn't look like the design of a common tattoo parlor; it had the symmetry of an official seal, of a coat of arms that demanded respect.

"That tattoo..." I murmured, taking an involuntary step toward him. "It's not just decoration, is it?"

Nevan tensed. For a second, I saw a shadow cross his face, something that was neither wickedness nor desire, but an ancient weight. He turned slowly, hiding the design from my view.

"It's a mark of belonging, Ruby. One I hope you never have to truly understand."

"You talk as if you're part of something bigger," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You always talk about 'us' or 'the people who paid for this cabin.' I thought you were a mercenary, a lone wolf who sold himself to the highest bidder."

Nevan let out a dry laugh, without a trace of humor. He moved so close that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. The heat radiating from his body was almost unbearable.

"A lone wolf doesn't last long in this world, sweetheart. To survive men like Vane, you need a pack. One that's darker and older than any law you've studied in your books."

"A pack?" Like a criminal gang?" I asked, trying to put the pieces together.

He reached out and stroked my hair, tangling his fingers in the coppery strands with a gentleness that threw me off balance. "Let's just say my family has very specific traditions about protecting what they consider theirs. And right now, you are the most valuable thing in my custody."

His words had a double meaning that made me shudder. He wasn't talking about me as a protected witness, but as a treasure, or property. His finger trailed down my jaw until it stopped at the center of my throat, right where my pulse was beating hard.

"Tell me something, Nevan," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. The man in the gallery... Vane. He seemed afraid of you when you mentioned your name. It wasn't the fear of an ordinary killer. It was the fear of someone you can't negotiate with. Who are you really?

Nevan smiled, and this time it was that wicked smile that made my knees feel like jelly. He leaned toward my ear, his hot breath brushing my skin.

"I'm the man who's going to keep you alive, Ruby. And I'm also the man who's going to make you forget everyone else. For now, that's all you need to know."

He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me toward him with a sharp tug. His hand sank into my lower back, forcing me to feel the hardness of his body against mine. Desire exploded in my belly again, a physical need that erased any trace of logic. He knew exactly what he was doing to me; he knew that my revulsion was a lie that crumbled every time he touched me.

"You're hungry," he said, changing the subject with irritating ease. "I'm going to cook that rabbit. Then you're going to sleep. Tomorrow we move."

"We're moving? Where to?"

"Somewhere where the rules are different," he replied, turning away to find a knife. "Somewhere where you'll understand that there are cages much bigger than this cabin, Ruby. And that in some of them, the queen has to learn to bite."

I stood there in the middle of the room, feeling smaller than ever. Nevan moved around the kitchen with lethal grace, ignoring the pain in his ribs as if it were nothing more than a minor annoyance. I looked again at the tattoo on his back as he moved. It looked like a throne, a symbol of power that didn't fit with the image of a simple mercenary hiding in the mountains.

I felt a twinge of something that wasn't fear, but a dark premonition. Nevan wasn't hiding me from the world; he was preparing me to enter his. A world where names carried weight and where the man who had stalked me for months could turn out to be someone much more important, and much more dangerous, than I ever dared to imagine.

I sat on the bed, wrapping myself in the gray T-shirt that smelled like him, watching the shadows dance on the walls. I didn't know who Nevan was, but I did know one thing: the Ruby Lane who walked into that gallery had died that night. The woman in this cabin, longing for the touch of a monster, was someone completely new. And I had a terrible suspicion that Nevan had been designing her, detail by detail, long before he captured me.