Page 200 of Captive Ruin

I nod again, listening hard. The house is silent.

He’s spooked. My monster is solemn. What could be the cause?

Then I hear it: a creak on a floorboard outside. I twitch, looking to my door in reflex.

There’s an intruder in our house.

His hand covers my mouth again, moving so fast I can’t avoid it. I glare at him to show I’m not stupid, and he removes it once more.

He shows me a flat palm, begging me not to move with hand and eyes both. I nod again, trusting him. My life is in his hands, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d give it to. I don’t know what’s out there, but I know the fear for me in his eyes.

If he puts himself between me and the threat, will he survive?

And I realize, with a shock, that if he dies, I don’t want to live. I need him.

Tears sting my eyes, and I stare at him, willing him to read my thoughts.

Don’t die. Don’t die. Please, God, don’t die.

He moves to the wall beside the door, every step so silent. He blends into the shadows, but the light catches the blade in his hand, curved and gleaming dully.

The seconds pass, each one feeling like an eternity. How can he stand there, so calm, so collected? I’m struggling to keep my breathing quiet, and I don’t know if I’m successful because my blood is hammering in my ears. I can’t hear anything anymore. Cold spreads through my chest like creeping dread.

He only has his knife. My gun is in the nightstand. I want to tell him, but how can I when I must be quiet?

Fuck, I hope he knows what he’s doing.

My door is ajar. It wasn’t when I went to bed, but it is now. He didn’t close it behind him. I watch with wide eyes as someone pushes it open, quiet and slow, and it swings open, obscuring my view.

I freeze, my fingers spreading flat over my stomach, gripping my own flesh. The hairs on my skin stand on end, one by one, in a slow wave. Death is only feet away, drawing closer, and I can’t move.

Nothing happens. Van Wyk waits. And waits. How can his nerves bear it? How has the man not seen him?

The intruder takes a silent step into my room, boot placed carefully on the floor. The silenced barrel of an automatic weapon appears around the edge of the door, then a body dressed in black. He’s here to kill me—to kill us—and the thought is paralyzing.

But I have a monster. He’s my dark knight and my white knight both, and God but I need him right now.

A flash of movement marks Van Wyk’s strike. I barely catch sight of his blade as it arcs through the air, terminating in the man’s skull with a wet squelch. The body sags immediately, but Van Wyk catches him, lowering him quietly.

Not just the one intruder, then. How many are there?

Van Wyk has just killed a man in my room, and all I can feel is relief sagging through me. I’m trembling, but I still sit up, reaching for my nightstand and the gun case within. I flick it open while he pulls his blade free of the man’s eye socket. It comes out with a repulsive sucking sound, the metallic tang of blood filling the room. Bile rises in my throat and I have to swallow hard, the acid burning. He wipes his knife on the man’s shirt, then picks up his weapon, checking it with quick efficiency.

Then he looks at me. A finger to his lips in reminder, and he beckons.

Shit. We’re going out there?

I shake my head. I don’t want to. Can’t we stay here?

Van Wyk gives me the same look he gives me when I’m pushing, but I’m not pushing, I’m terrified. His hand beckons again, fingers curling slow and deliberate.

Fuck.

I pull my gun out of the case, the weight reassuring in my hand, then push back the duvet, sliding to the edge of the bed, trying to keep every movement quiet. My robe is draped over the foot of the bed, and I pull it on.

Van Wyk’s eyebrows rise in interest, the light from the window showing his smile. He’s enjoying the view? Now?

Twisted bastard.