Ruin, The Turning by Lucian Bane

that?”
    “I’m asking you to help him live. Until he’s free of Isadore, he’ll suffer. And the only way for him to be entirely free is for him to connect entirely to you.” Scriber looked at her then. “Don’t flinch.” He brought his hand up to her cheek and stroked it with the back of his fingers. “He’s watching.”
    “Ohhhh shite!” She closed her eyes as guilt snaked through her until she couldn’t breathe. “I can’t,” she gasped, hurrying out of the car. “I can’t.” Even knowing it was needed ten different ways for a thousand different reasons, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t have him touch her knowing it was hurting Ruin. The thought of hurting him more than he already was, made her physically sick.
    She opened the house door and hurried to her room, tripping on the damn threshold as she went feeling like an untrained prostitute.
    Closing herself in, she locked the door and held on to the handle while catching her breath, her legs like noodles. She turned for the bed and a huge dark form at the far wall made her scream. She finally recognized tattoos and arms crossed over a chest but knowing it was Ruin didn’t make her feel a bit better.
    He didn’t move or speak and Sam fought to think of an appropriate response for the insane emotions roiling through her, spinning her mind in every direction she’d never been in before.
    “I’m… sorry.” God, really? But it was the only response that seemed to fit every thought flying through her mind.
    “For what?”
    His low, cold, voice made her stomach queasy. “For…everything.”
    He gave a derisive little snort and pushed off the wall. “You realize how stupid you look?”
    Sam swallowed down the bile in her throat, her eyes glued to him.
    “Yes,” she barely managed. She surely did realize.
    “You look like a slut. Is that the kind of woman you’ve dreamed of being? If so you’re doing fantastic.” He approached like death in slow motion and Sam was frozen to the spot. “Did Scriber pick those clothes out for you?”
    She nodded without thinking, operating on emergency reflex now.
    “You think I don’t know what you and he are up to?” He towered before her now, the lines in his face harsh and formidable. “You think you could tempt me?” He angled his head slowly. “You think you can erase her from my memory? My body? My soul? What ever happened to…preserving that?”
    Sam had no answer for the scathing question except, “I’m sorry.” She shook her head barely, fighting the stupid sob in her throat. “I won’t…won’t do it again. You’re right, it’s… it’s wrong,” she gasped, dreadful embarrassing tears rolling down her face. “I was just trying to help.”
    His face slowly came closer. “You lie,” he whispered. “You want me to want you.”
    “Only…only to help.” She finally managed the words but they came on a broken squeak as he continued to come even closer, sending her in a slow blind retreat.
    “To help who?”
    His demanded question came the moment the wall hit her back. She struggled to think. Think beyond what his closeness did to her body and mind, her instincts vying for the stage. Run, stay, run, stay. He put both hands on the wall, caging her. “H-help…just help, that’s all.”
    He leaned slowly in until she had to turn her face. “You know what I think?” Sam closed her eyes at the hot breath on her ear, his words soft and silky. “I think… your body is betraying you.” Her nails dug into the wall with the sudden push of his leg between hers. The strange tingling sensation in her stomach and virgin parts brought sounds from her she’d never made.
    “I think,” he whispered, pressing his leg harder until she whimpered at the terrifying pleasure, “that you…” his hot tone shot heat up and down her spine as he moved his leg in slow circles against her privates, “are really…a lying…slut.”
    The final words hissed with a hatred that burned, and he pushed