Ruin (Rhodes #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,83

back to eating and endless talks that only keep her lips moving. As if chewing food isn’t enough to busy that luscious mouth.

I rip my gaze from her and nibble on my salad before I stumble to filling her mouth with my tongue.

Hell. Since when did I become a lower-half smitten idiot? Not only Mae’s mere presence tempts me to take her body and soul in all ways possible, but she’s also alluring my demons to end her life in the most gruesome way.

‘Give us her blood already, Aaron.’ Aunt whispers. ‘We need it.’

‘How long do you think you can last?’ Father says in the only composed voice he owns. ‘It’s interesting to watch.’

Salad lies forgotten, all appetite gone. My mind swirls with options to fight my demons, protect Mae, resist the overwhelming desire to have her, all while escaping the asylum.

It’s not possible. I have to lose something in between. Better my already deteriorating sanity than Mae.

My attention dart to her shiny eyes, they’ve lost some of their gleam, but they’re still as soft as when I first met her. Persistent. Alive. She’s still breathing, smiling, and talking. If I keep her, all those will fade to black. Can I actually let her go? No. I can’t sacrifice my well-being for another person. I’m not the type.

“Is that Rubens’ painting in the hallway?” Mae asks, still chewing on her steak.

I hold her curious gaze. “It is. Grandfather bought it from an underground seller.”

“But it’s stated as missing.” She looks at me as if what Grandfather did was the most insulting thing. “Why didn’t he report it to the national museum?”

“Because he liked collecting art for his own pleasure.” I pause, filling both of our glasses with red wine. “Besides, he was the one who looked for it and paid the highest price to have it.”

Her eyebrows crease together. “It’s still wrong. Why do people like you get to own exclusive art that everyone is entitled to see?”

“Because we have power and money?” I hold my wine glass close to my nose and breathe it in. The strong bouquet fills my nostrils. This wine has aged well.

“Arrogant.” Mae narrows her eyes to slits. “Do you even care about art?”

“Not really.” I take the first sip. the crisp taste pleases my throat. When I cross Mae’s gaze, she’s ogling me as if I’m the painting. I smile. “But I care about your art.”

Her eyes widen to their full stunning blueness. “Y-you do?”

I give a single nod. “If you use the art studio to draw me something, I’ll allow a rare exhibition of Rubens’ missed painting in the national museum.”

She beams but quickly masks it, clearing her throat. “I will.”

“Hmmm.” I take a sip of wine, leisurely taking my time to savour the multiple flavours. “But wouldn’t that sully your art?”

Mae purses her lips before her sarcastic voice comes out. “I’ll consider it a sacrifice for the art community.”

A deep laughter escapes my lips. God, she’s a gem. I never had fun talking with another human being ever since Uncle died. Mae gives a goofy smile back as if unable to hold it in.

“Let me ask you a question,” I say once my laughter subsides.

“On one condition.” She holds up a finger, her brows furrowing in apparent concentration. “I get to ask you a question too, and,” she points at me, “you will answer. You don’t get to manipulate your way out of it.”

Huh. Look who got better at bargaining.

I nod, and she waves her hand like a judge in court. “Ask away.”

“You clearly have a bright entourage, and your personality is... well, cheerful to say the least.” I keep my voice monotone. “So why do your paintings have dark themes?”

Mae releases her fork and wipes the corner of her mouth. She fixes her glass of wine, her voice calm, almost reminiscent. “When I was seven, I got lost and was trapped in a dark cave for several hours. Despite the therapy, I couldn’t go to sleep without the lights on. I was progressively getting better until high school.

“On a cold dark night, Nathan was dropping me home after we finished with our study group. A few men appeared out of nowhere and started beating Nate. Their sole purpose seemed to use Nate as a punching bag. Although they didn’t hurt me, my trauma