“So, you’re saying that whoever did this is trying to frame the cult for it?”
I shrug. “Either that or this person is new and has no idea what they’re doing.”
He squats next to the body. “Why does her face look like that?”
I take a good look at the body, noticing the bruising around her severed arm and the one still intact. She has rope marks on her ankles, stab wounds all over her chest, and her face has been beaten to a bloody pulp.
“That’s why I say it’s not the cult. They believe the face is symbolic and sacred. They want their sacrifice to be noticed and accepted.” I point at her face. “Even the Dark One wouldn’t accept a face like that.”
“This isn’t random,” Thomas says quietly. “If someone’s staging these, it means something bigger is coming.”
I barely register what he’s saying as movement catches my eye over Thomas’ shoulder, and I turn toward it. Eyes meet mine, belonging to someone I did not want to see right now and my chest tightens before I can stop it. Not with fear but with something worse entirely, something I buried a long time ago–longing.
Ryven stands at the edge of the woodline, just out of sight. But I saw him. He made sure of it.
Fucking bastard. It’s too early for his shit.
I should walk away and just ignore him. I should want nothing to do with him, but my feet are already moving toward the woods without my permission. And maybe that’s the real reason I’m annoyed by him. I have no fucking self control when he’s involved. I never do.
Chapter 8
Rory
I walk over to the woodline, where I saw Ryven watching us just moments ago. When I step past the first tree, it’s quiet in the woods. Not even a branch breaking or a leaf crunch can be heard all around me. He loves this game—stalking me like I don’t see him every damn time. Like a moth to a flame I’m drawn to him. I always have been and that’s exactly the problem.
It doesn’t matter about our past. My feelings about his decision to join the cult with my brother, or the anger I feel. My heart betrays me every time I see him. It’s hard to hide my feelings for him when he is around me.I hate him.I’m angrywith him. I should be done with him. But my stupid fucking heart still loves him anyway.
He was supposed to be endgame. He used to kiss me like I was something worth keeping. Now he touches me like I’m something to ruin.
He was the man I was supposed to live my happy little life with once he finished the initiation process. But that year has come and gone. Ever since Joey died, I blame Ryven. Not for his death, but for his secrets he chooses to keep. For years, he has kept the knowledge from me surrounding Joey’s death. He refuses to tell me what I have to know. How he died. Who did it. I have to know. How am I supposed to forgive him for that?I won’t.Not ever.
And yet here I am searching for him through the woods.
I scan the dense trees while squinting my eyes and then place my hands on my hips. “Ryven, quit fucking around and come out. I know you’re here.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. But that’s because if I let it slip, let the dip in my voice show any kind of weakness then he’ll hear exactly what he still does to me.
I sigh.Him and his stupid games he likes to play.
“Now, now, sweet rabbit.” His voice comes just before he grabs me from behind and I startle, throwing my elbow back to defend myself. “No need to be all jumpy, Ro. You’re the one who told me to come out.” His breath glides across my skin through his mesh mask, and goosebumps form on my arms.
Coming to my senses, I try to push off of him to give me some space, but he just tightens his hold across my chest. He turns us so my face is against a tree and slams me into it.
My skin scrapes against it, and I growl, shoving away from the trunk. “Get off of me, you idiot.” I try to grab at anything behind me to cause him pain but it only makes it worse as he pins both my arms behind me, pressing his body against mine.
He has me nailed to the tree, and the sane part of me fucking hates this. Hates him. Hates what he turned into. But my body? My body doesn't give a shit about any of that. That’s the worst part. The part of me drawn to Ryven, is elated his hands are on me.It’s been so long.I don’t know why he hasn’t given up on me yet. It’s been years since my brother died, and I’ve yet to stop blaming him. In fact, I actively blame him every time I get a chance. And yet… this is how we are around each other every single time.
Holding me in place with one arm, he slowly travels his other down the front of my pants, and my breath stutters. Not because I want it to, but because I know exactly what he’s going to do to me and I will love it. “God damn it.” I hate that he can still pull that out of me. I squirm to get away from him. Rage bubbles to the surface.Fuck you, inner Rory, for liking this. Also, fuck you for wanting more.
“Oh, come on, Ro. You’ve always liked it when I take control,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel myself melting against him.
I should’ve been over him years ago? Why does his voice have such a hold over me?
“Why are you even here, Ryven? Why won’t you just leave me alone?” I spit, trying to lurch myself from his grasp. “Don’t you have better shit to do? Or did your cult finally let you off the leash?”
His grip tightens, and his lips brush my ear. “Just out on an early morning stroll to see who was dumb enough to dump a body in the middle of the park.”
I groan as pleasure pulses through my core as he caresses down my torso. “Ryven, please. We can’t do this right now. I just came from a scene, and the rebellion is still near.”Fuck this feels so good, though.
He dips his hand further into my pants, and I arch my back. “Since when has that ever stopped you?” he ponders, running his finger gingerly across my clit, and another moan comes out. “Always so wet for me, Rory. You like the thrill—the risk of being caught with a cultist’s hands in your pants.”
