Tears of Ruin (Blood & Betrayal #3)

Chapter One

Chapter One

N o a m

If I breathe, I’m dead.

Even now, I could hear my father, Martin, talking with the demon in the kitchen. Only I’d just left the room and Martin had been alone. Yet, I distinctly heard two different voices.

For three days Martin had been meeting with a stranger, Silo, at our home, growing quiet whenever I entered the room. But I’d heard snippets of their conversation, and it wasn’t about lawn care or some sport.

It was much more terrifying than stinky fertilizer or my dad losing some bet he’d made, and he’d made a lot of losing bets.

He had to be addicted to giving away his money, because he constantly “donated” large sums to those gambling websites. Martin might’ve treated me like I was an idiot most of my life, but I was smart enough to know what he was up to.

Except at the moment. I didn’t know his endgame, and that petrified me.

My thoughts snapped back to the present when I heard a floorboard creaking. Martin… Silo—whoever my dad was at the moment—was actively searching for me. If he found me, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

I’d seen the smoke enter Martin.

He’d heard my gasp as I ran.

My hand shook as I pressed it against my mouth. My heart raced, beating so fast I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. The quieter I tried to be, the more paranoid I became that even a single breath was too loud.

But I couldn’t stay hidden. If I didn’t move, he would find me. Martin was too good at hide and seek, only he’d never played it for fun.

Instinct tried to paralyze me, whispering that if I stayed in my closet I would be safe.

A complete lie and something that hadn’t worked for me so far.

Just move, just move, just move.

Dropping my hand, I opened my mouth wide, forcing my breath out as softly as possible.

Then I eased my closet door open. From where I stood, my room was empty, but the oppressing feeling of being hunted, of not knowing if it was Martin or the demon after me, strangled my lungs.

Sweat slid over my scalp, dampened my forehead, coated me entirely as I crept forward. I couldn’t even gather enough moisture in my mouth to swallow.

My escape might’ve gone a little faster if I’d cleaned my room. I would’ve been able to fix the problem if Martin/Silo would call a twenty-minute time-out.

Not happening.

Never had when it came to my father.

I pursed my lips like I was about to whistle but blew out slow breaths as I navigated around tossed-aside shoes, a stack of records I’d meant to organize and put away, and balls of yarn I’d laid out so I could decide what color to make my scarf. It was summer, but as badly as I knitted, I would need a head start.

When I finally reached my bedroom door, I froze at the sound of Martin’s cough. He’d smoked as far back as I could remember, stinking up the house with the nasty odor. One time, when I was nine, I tried to convince him to quit, listing all the negative effects that smoking cigarettes had on his body.

He'd shown me the negative effect of lecturing him.

My heart in my throat, I strained to listen, hoping I heard him somewhere farther away. The only reason he hadn’t checked my bedroom yet was because I’d never hidden in it when he was after me. I always thought it would be too obvious, so I’d found other places to hide.

The benefit of outthinking the storm? For now, he wasn’t looking for me here. But my temporary reprieve would be ripped from under me if I didn’t get past him and out of the house.

As I reached for the door handle, I noticed how badly my hand shook.

You can do this. Just pretend this is a game so you can calm down. Panic is your enemy.

A mantra I’d recited for years.

One last attempt to steel myself, a hard wince, then I eased the door open, stopping just before the squeak of hinges I knew was coming. Three short, shallow breaths, two struggles to stop my racing heart, and one prayer I knew wouldn’t be answered.

It never was.

“Boy, how many times have I warned you about running from me?” He snapped the leather belt, a sharp crack slicing through the air like a whip of thunder. I jumped, nearly crying out, but caught the sound before it escaped.

The landing at the top of the stairs was ten feet away, but Martin had sounded close, causing me to momentarily freeze in terror.

Just move, just move, just move.

I had to look down as I eased forward, dodging the floorboards that creaked. Despite the fact he was overweight and out of shape, my father was fast. One false move and he would be all over me.

Knowing how that leather belt felt against bare skin, I forced myself to keep moving. If I made it out of the house, I was never returning. Being homeless was better than… No. I wasn’t letting my mind become distracted. I had to keep my wits about me. I navigated the floorboards like they were pressure plates in a deadly trap.

Only I was evading creaks instead of explosives, mapping out a safe path from hell. With each silent step I took, the landing seemed to recede further away.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.

A loud creak echoed through the hallway. Shoot!

I froze, holding my breath as I waited for the sound of my father’s footsteps. But there was nothing. Had he not heard the creak, or had he simply dismissed it as the old house settling? I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. I stood rigid, straining to listen for any sign of movement. But the only sound was the ticktock of the pendulum on the antique clock downstairs.

Slowly, I began to inch forward again, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to bolt. The landing was so close now, yet it felt like it might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

“You and I both know what you saw, Noam. It was very naughty of you to spy on me.”

The air seemed heavier, pressing down on me like I was sinking into quicksand. I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth ached, but it was the only way to stay quiet. He was taunting me, trying to terrify me, and it was working spectacularly.

Just move, just move, just move.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d recited those words over the years but always ended up getting caught.

Stop sabotaging yourself. It’s just a game, remember? If only I could convince myself of the lie.

Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. Using the hem of my shirt, I wiped it away. Although it was mid-July, my sweat wasn’t from the oppressive heat.

Finally, I made it to the top of the stairs. My hand, shaking like crazy, gripped the banister as I began my descent.

Twenty steps to navigate.

Twenty steps closer to freedom.

I could almost taste the fresh air that awaited me outside, sweet and liberating. But I wasn’t there yet. As I made my way down to the living room, I counted each step. The antique clock did as well, as if marking time alongside me.

No sooner had my foot touched the floor than Martin’s attention-deprived cat ran toward me and started meowing. Despicable was like a siren during a prison break.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I made a shooing motion with my hands and even kicked my foot out toward his orange, furry body. Not to hurt him but to try and scare him enough to run away.

That only made Despicable meow louder, like my sneaker had actually made contact. Heart thumping, I sprinted toward the door. Just as my hand grazed the warm metal handle, a searing pain shot through my leg as the belt came down hard . Crack!

I cried out in pain, but I didn’t stop. Refused to stop. If I did, there was no telling what he would do to me.

He grabbed for my shirt, but I managed to dodge his fingers, stumbling out of the front door in a dizzying rush of limbs and fear.

I wasn’t safe yet, though. The labored breathing I heard behind me was a clear sign he hadn’t stopped chasing me. But I refused to look back.

The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between us as possible.

The pain in my leg caused me to limp while I ran. If I didn’t find somewhere to hide, my out-of-shape father would catch me, because he had a demon inside of him, helping him to run even though I had no doubt Martin wanted to collapse.

His lungs probably wanted to.

When I hit a cluster of trees, I shot left, hoping he hadn’t spotted me. Idiotically, I glanced back, crying out in shock when I saw that he was not only still chasing me but gaining speed.

What the freak? It was like the demon was giving him superpowers, making him run like he’d been jogging every day of his life.

I shot out of the woods and into someone’s backyard, sprinting to the front of the farmhouse.

“Fuck, I feel alive!” Martin’s excited voice rang through the night air, causing fireflies to scatter from a nearby bush and a bird to take flight from a tire swing. I didn’t think, just ran up the steps leading to a porch and slammed into the door, frantically twisting the knob in hopes, by some miracle, it was unlocked.

Come on, come on, come on. Please, open for me!

The knob turned, but the door wouldn’t budge! The sound of the ominous crack made me throw my one hundred and ten pounds against the wood, despite knowing how useless my efforts were.

The door barely rattled, but my wounded leg screamed in pain.

Another crack caused instant tears, and I hated how easily he’d made them fall, like he’d conditioned my tears to obey the sound of that godawful belt.

His slow footsteps in the grass reached my ears. No wheezing. No struggle, just a man enjoying the stillness of the night. Not a guy hunting his own son.

He was getting closer, and I was almost resigned to my fate. But I had to try one last time. When I rammed into the door, it popped open, making me stumble. I didn’t hesitate, rushing inside and quietly closing it behind me. I leaned against it, my eyes closed, my breathing ragged.

You’re not safe. Find the owners, beg them to protect you, plead with them to call the cops. All I wanted was a moment, just one lousy moment, but I couldn’t rest. Any second Martin would pound on the door… or break it down since a demon was now his puppet master.

After a deep exhale, I opened my eyes.

Then gasped.

I wasn’t inside a farmhouse.

I was inside a ruby-red and obsidian castle!

What the confusion was going on? I turned and glanced at the black lacquered door behind me, tempted to open it just to see if the front yard was still out there.

Martin was.

Nope. I wasn’t going to satisfy my burning curiosity when my demon-possessed father lurked outside. He was possessed by a demon long before Silo came into the picture.

This was… I couldn’t find the right words to describe just how strange this all was. As I glanced around, I spotted a desk to my right and a few potted plants scattered around.

I had to have fallen down the steps at home and cracked my head. But honestly, I would take a delusional castle over what Martin was more than likely doing to me in the real world.

Fascinated, I walked forward, my sneakers quiet on the marble flooring. I just bet it would hurt to slip and fall. My hallucination could’ve at least put some rugs down for traction.

The farther inside I ventured, the more excited I became. The wall felt cool under my fingers, and I snickered when the scones caused my reflection to look as if I was in front of funhouse mirrors.

The only thing that disturbed me was the eerie silence. For such a fancy castle, it seemed abandoned. Which was a shame. This place was too extraordinary not to throw wild parties.

But since it was deserted, I wanted to explore. Only the corridors were like a maze, and I wasn’t sure if I was retracing my steps or heading in a new direction. For an abandoned castle, every door I opened led to a bedroom that appeared to be lived in. Yet, no one was around.

Very strange. Definitely weird. Incredibly wonderful. This place had mad medieval vibes, and I loved it. There wasn’t a ton of chores waiting for me after working all day at my job. No cat following me around the house, watching me like I was about to steal something worthless.

And best of all? No Martin.

Tears came to my eyes but for all the right reasons. This castle was a blessing, a refuge I never wanted to leave. I couldn’t give a rat’s butt that I should be screaming and finding the nearest exit.

This. Was. Heaven.

I just wished my delusion had allowed my scooter to be here. It would’ve been so wild to ride it through the massive halls.

But it wouldn’t have been fun wiping out since the floors were so shiny.

My steps slowed when I smelled something amazing. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the aroma had me drooling and my stomach rumbling. I simply inhaled, closing my eyes as my lungs consumed the scent.

Martin never splurged on groceries. He was too busy donating his money to his favorite gambling websites. My paychecks barely covered the bills. Most nights I ate noodles or just a sandwich. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal, let alone smelled something that wonderful.

Wandering the halls, I tried following the scent, retracing my steps when the smell grew weak and hurrying forward when the aroma became stronger.

My stomach was determined to find the source and gorge on the imaginary smells. If I was going to hide out here, I needed real food, not something my battered brain conjured up.

Wait. Now I was hearing voices? I slowly glanced around, my gaze sweeping over the interior of the castle. This… this couldn’t be real. I’d rushed through a farmhouse door. Doors on quaint little homes did not contain massive castles inside.

It had to be my hallucinations, delusions, whatever, conjuring the voices. And that thought made me take a step back.

Into something solid.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real. Just close your eyes and whatever is behind you will disappear, and so will the voices.

Quickly, I closed them, but the feeling didn’t vanish, and neither did the voices. The ominous feeling caused me to tremble. Was Martin behind me? No, no, no. This is not real. It just isn’t.

“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and how the fuck you got in here.” Every syllable carried the promise of violence, as if the words themselves were forged in blood.

If I breathe, I’m dead. Just pretend this is a game so you can calm down. Panic is your enemy.

The smell of food forgotten, I slowly turned then wished I hadn’t. No hallucination could conjure someone who looked like they were built for destruction. Those icy-blue eyes began to glow red, but I knew my fate was sealed when he bared sharp fangs and slid daggers from sheaths strapped to his sides.

He twirled them like they were his actual hands, causing them to whistle loudly.

I dropped to a crouch, throwing my arms over my head, unable to stop the violent tremors threatening to shake me apart. “I c-can fix this,” I choked out. “Just g-give me one more chance, s-sir.”

“Giovanni, what’s going on?” someone behind me asked.

I pivoted, afraid to have them at my back. But now Giovanni was behind me, so I turned again, then again, and again, finding pairs of feet in every direction, completely surrounding me.

I’d run from my father and that demon, only to end up in hell. I tried not to make a sound, but a sob escaped.

“Giovanni, back off!” the newcomer said sharply.

“He was heading…for the kitchen…where my petit oiseau was enjoying dinner.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” the other voice argued. “He’s what, maybe five-three, skinnier than me, and you pulled out your daggers?”

There was a strain in the man’s voice, as if what Giovanni had done was appalling. I tried to listen, to pay attention, but my brain kept whispering to me, telling me this wasn’t real, that portals into hell didn’t actually exist.

But I’d lived through too much bullshit not to believe it wasn’t real.

“I was protecting—” Giovanni stopped abruptly, his voice wounded, and now I was waiting for him to strike me down for making the other voice upset.

“Please,” I whimpered, hating how cowardly I sounded but was unable to stop my voice from breaking. “I can fix this, I can fix this, I can fix this.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” The voice lowered, tilting his head to look at me. His soft smile only terrified me even more. “I’m Kyson. You’re safe.”

Kyson scowled at him before turning back to me. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He touched my arm, and instinctively I cried out, crawling quickly away from him.

I huddled against the far wall, waiting for the leather belt to emerge. “I can fix this.”

“Fuck,” Kyson said slowly as another slim man joined him. They stared at me with wide eyes, their lips slightly parted.

No one spoke as my gaze darted between them, my breathing so heavy my head was rocking back and forth.

“I promise, you’re safe,” Kyson said, lowering into a squat, hands out, palms up. “Giovanni is just very protective of me.”

My gaze darted to Giovanni, who… looked devastatingly at me, his eyes haunted.

I frantically tried to remember where the door was—the one that had popped open for me—when Satan himself rounded the corner. Black wings spread wide, death burning in his glowing red eyes.

My mind short-circuited. The hallway warped, twisting around me before everything went black.