Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 34: A Frozen World, a Burning Lie

I shoved him off me, hard. My palms slammed into his chest and he let me, stepping back just enough to give me air. My lips still burned from his teeth, my tongue still tasted the whiskey he’d fed me. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and glared.

"So this is it?" I snapped. "Your big plan? Drag me into a snow globe where everything’s frozen except you and me?"

Devon tilted his head, that slow, filthy smirk curling. "You make it sound cheap."

"It is cheap," I spat. "You built a cage and called it a gift."

He laughed once, low and rough. "Still the same mouth."

I crossed my arms. "Tell me something, ghost. Are you the only one in this world, or did you make puppets for yourself too?"

He leaned against the dresser, arms folding, eyes never leaving mine. "I’m not the only one."

I raised a brow.

He pushed off the wood, took one step closer. "Odessa helped."

"Odessa," I repeated. "Who is that? Your new fiancée?"

He chuckled. "I see Andrea left a mark."

"Shut it, bastard. You fucked me and seduced me while having a whole fiancée. "

"I told you it was political."

"And I told you I do not give a fuck."

"Judging by your reaction, I’m pretty much certain you do."

"Who is Odessa before I claw out those eyeballs."

The room went still for a while.

His voice broke into the silence. "You are sexy whenever you are jealous."

I rolled my eyes. "I’d rather take wolfsbane than be jealous."

He chucked then, said, "Odessa is my aunt. She owed me a favor. A big one."

"So she built this world with some kind of magic?" I asked, voice sharp.

Devon shook his head. "Not magic. Ritual. Six days. Six very long, very bloody days." His gaze flicked to my throat, then back up. "And one sacrifice."

My stomach dropped. "What sacrifice?"

He smiled, soft and dangerous. "Nothing you need to worry about, baby."

"Don’t call me that." I stepped forward, finger jabbing his chest. "What sacrifice, Devon?"

He caught my wrist, thumb pressing the pulse point. "Focus on us. No more revenge. No more Omega duties. No more Gideon breathing down your neck. Just you and me. Forever."

I yanked my hand free. My stomach twisted so hard I almost gagged.

I didn’t want North. I didn’t want Simon. I didn’t want Clara’s garrote or the burn scars or the Breeding Stage.

But this? This frozen world with him?

I took a step back. "Take me back."

Devon’s brows lifted. "Not possible, my love."

"Take. Me. Back." I bit every word out. "I’d rather let Simon and his family beat me bloody every day than stay trapped here with you."

Silence.

Then Devon laughed. Actually laughed. He turned, walked to the bedside table, grabbed a bottle of whiskey I hadn’t noticed, poured two fingers into a glass.

Took a slow sip.

"Simon’s dead," he said casually, like he was telling me the weather.

My heart stopped. "What?"

He turned the glass in his fingers. "Killed him before I came back here."

I stared. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Devon took another sip. "I only get twelve seconds in the real world before the tether snaps me back. Eight to go, four to return. I used them well." He met my eyes. "Five seconds to cut his head clean off. Seven seconds to crouch over what was left of him and say, ’I warned you not to even breathe near her, didn’t I?’"

My lips parted. A smile tugged at the corners before I could stop it.

I smiled.

Devon saw it. His eyes darkened, pleased.

Then he kept talking. "I still have twelve seconds for any time I want to use them. I could use them on someone else. Someone important to you, this time. Slashing of throats takes just five seconds. I’m pretty sure you are familiar with that information. Who should I go for this time?"

The smile died.

I stepped forward, voice low. "Are you threatening me?"

He closed the space in two strides, towering over me. "I don’t want to fight dirty anymore, Irene. I just want our happy ending."

He lifted the glass to my lips. "Drink."

I glared. He didn’t move. The rim pressed against my mouth.

I drank.

The whiskey burned all the way down. I didn’t even finish swallowing before he grabbed my chin, yanked me forward, and crushed his mouth to mine.

Liquor spilled between us, down my chin, onto my chest. I didn’t care. I kissed him back like I wanted to kill him with it. My hands flew to his neck, nails digging in, tongue shoving past his teeth. He groaned into my mouth, teeth scraping my lip hard enough to draw blood.

We broke apart gasping.

His hands dropped to my ass, kneading hard, pulling me flush against him. I kept my arms locked around his neck, our foreheads almost touching, eyes locked.

He bit his lower lip, stared like he was memorizing every inch of my face.

"You smiled when I said I killed him," he murmured.

"You’re sick," I hissed.

"You smiled," he repeated, squeezing harder. "You liked it."

I shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge.

"Let me go, Devon."

"Never." His voice dropped to a growl. "You’re mine. This world. The real one. Every world. Mine."

I slapped him. Hard. The sound cracked through the room.

His head snapped to the side. When he turned back, his eyes were pure storm.

"Do it again," he whispered.

I did.

He growled, grabbed my wrist mid-air, spun us, slammed my back against the wall. His body pinned mine, thigh shoving between my legs.

"You want to fight?" he rasped against my ear. "Fight. Claw me. Bleed me. I don’t care. You’re not leaving."

I bit his shoulder through the shirt. Hard. I didn’t stop until i tasted metal. He hissed, hips grinding into me.

"Say you want me," he demanded.

"I hate you," I snarled into his skin.

His hand slid under my gown, nails raking up my inner thigh. "I want you, too, baby."

"I fucking hate you."

He kissed me again, brutal, teeth clashing, tongue punishing. I kissed back just as vicious.

We stumbled. I shoved him toward the bed. He let me. We fell back onto the mattress, he pulled me down on top of him.

I straddled him, grabbed his throat. "You don’t get to keep me."

"I already do." His hands gripped my hips, yanking me down hard against him. "Feel that? That’s yours. Only yours. Always has been."

I slapped him again.

He flipped us on the mattress. Pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other tearing at my shirt.

Buttons flew.

"You want out?" he growled, mouth on my neck, teeth scraping the claiming mark he’d put there minutes—or hours—ago. "Beg."

"Never."

He bit down. I arched, moaned despite myself.

"Then stay," he said against my skin. "Stay and hate me. Stay and fuck me. Stay and try to kill me every day. I don’t care. Just stay."

I bucked against him. He pressed harder.

"I’m not your prisoner," I spat.

"You’re my everything," he shot back. "And I’m yours. That’s the deal. Take it or keep fighting. I’ll enjoy both."

I headbutted him.

He laughed, blood trickling from his nose, dripping on my lips.

"Goddess, I missed you," he rasped, wiping the blood with the back of his hand, smearing red across his mouth.

I grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, licked the blood off his lip.

He groaned, hips jerking.

We tore at each other like animals. Fabric ripped. Skin bruised. Teeth marked.

I bit his collarbone. He hissed my name like a prayer.

He shoved my legs apart, fingers digging into my thighs.

"Now, say the word," he demanded, voice ragged.

"Say what?"

"That you’re mine."

"Never."

He thrust two fingers inside me without warning. I cried out, back bowing off the bed.

"Say it," he snarled, curling them, thumb pressing hard.

I clawed his back, drew blood. "Fuck you."

"That’s not it."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and flipped us again, straddled him, ground down hard. I’m now settled on his hard erection.

He grabbed my throat—not squeezing, just holding. "Say it, Irene."

I leaned down, lips brushing his. "Make me."

His eyes flashed. He surged up, flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, my face pressed to the pillow.

"Then I will," he growled against my ear. "Every day. Every night. Until you beg to stay."

He slammed into me.

I moaned into the pillow, rolling my hips to meet his heavenly thrusts.

He didn’t stop.

Not when I clawed the sheets.

Not when I cursed him.

Not when I came apart shaking, biting down on his arm to muffle the sound.

He kept going, flattened us on the bed, his length thrusting into my ass, the bed creaking, his chest pressed into my back side, mouth at my ear whispering filthy, broken things.

"You’re home."

"You’re mine."

"I’d burn every world for you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

He kept saying it. As if assuring me. As if pleading for me to understand that he meant every word.

I shattered again.

When it was over, he pulled me against his chest, arms locked around me like iron bands.

I was trembling. He was shaking harder.

"Don’t leave," he whispered into my hair, voice raw. "Please. Don’t leave me again."

I closed my eyes.

Didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because part of me—the part that hated him, the part that wanted to claw his eyes out—was starting to wonder if I even wanted to.

And that terrified me more than any frozen world ever could.