Free Ruin, The Turning by Lucian Bane Page B

her, getting her on the ground only to have her legs locked around his head. He pried them apart with sheer force, making her roar in resistance. She was definitely fucking strong. He finally made his way on top and realized the mistake the second he did.
    The link he fought so hard made more connections he didn’t want, translating the data of her body into his mind, creating images he’d not recover from. He clenched his eyes at the blasphemous thoughts just as Sam’s forehead slammed into his, breaking the connection.
    Positions reversed now, she straddled him and peppered him with open handed whacks across his face, more humiliating than painful.
    Ruin fought to catch her hands only to have her snake out of his hold every single time he did. He flipped her off of him when it was clear he couldn’t restrain those bands of reckless vipers. They both scrambled to their feet and at spotting blood on the edge of her mouth, more instincts slammed his stomach. He fought the protective urges and blocked her sudden explosion of punches and kicks that she landed more than not. Ruin realized he couldn’t fucking hurt her and was suddenly stuck letting her kick his ass until she was content.
    But content was clearly no part of her dictionary when it came to ass kicking. Random lectures accompanied every blow, all amounting to him never daring to call her a woman again, or a liar, or anything else disrespectful, with those weird little non-curse words mixed in.
    Ruin stumbled on something and fell and she stormed after him, again straddling him for more face smacking.
    The fire inside him chose that moment to coordinate to her drive, her chemicals, her physical attributes in every facet. Once the process engaged full force, it was a hurricane inside him, storming his mind and body until he was fully subject to it, eager for it, blind to it, needing it. He discerned every injury she’d sustained while fighting at that demonic hollow, replaying how she’d tried so hard to help him and Isadore. The fire wrapped the injuries with perfect heat, the ice alternating in supersonic succession until they were healed.
    She gasped and got off of him. “Y-you’re glowing. Your tattoos are glowing.”
    He groaned and gasped as the changes took hold of him. Connecting, linking, hot, hard, irrevocable. Damn her. Damn the god that made him this way.
    “Get away from me,” he gasped, balling up tight, fighting the feelings.
    “Dude are you serious, I was just beeyotch slapping you. Look, I’m sorry, you want to hit me? Go ahead, do it.”
    He felt her extended hand without looking and struck out at the offensive limb. She locked her forearm to his and tugged, forcing him to sit. Grabbing his other forearm, she pulled and Ruin yanked, throwing her down to the ground next to him.
    “Okay you still want to fight?” she said, winded.
    “No. Don’t touch me again.”
    “Don’t be a dick and I won’t. But keep this attitude up and we’ll have lots of good times just like this, I can go all night long with any dude.”
    “Shut up,” he gasped as his mind made more unwanted connections with her words, adding jealousy to the sick range of emotions that assaulted him.
    “Fine. I’m going in. When you want real help, let me know.”
    It took everything Ruin had not to stop her. Not to follow her. He focused on the rage inside, fed on it. He just needed to think of that and nothing else, nothing else.
    That worked great until her laughter reached him minutes later. She had no right to be happy or laughing while he was dying. He got up and stormed toward the house, intent on making her as miserable as he had to be.

Chapter Nine
     
    Ruin found her and Scriber chatting like life-long pals when he made it to the kitchen. They stopped at seeing him in the doorway, and Ruin didn’t miss the twinkle in the inky bastard’s eyes. He’d taken on his human form. For what? Ruin looked at the boy, annoyed with all the people he was forced to deal