Chapter 59 Go Away
Chapter 59 Go Away
I stood in the center of the Chamber of Clarity, my chest heaving, my lips still tingling with the ghost-pressure of Malik’s mouth. The silence he’d left behind was deafening, a vacuum of cold air where the 'Saint' had just shattered into a thousand pieces. He’d kissed me like he wanted to unmake the world, and then he’d looked at me like I was a plague.
"Well," I whispered to the empty room, my voice shaking. "That went well. Real 'jewelry commercial' material there."
I felt the tears prickling my eyes—not from sadness, but from a frustration so deep it felt like it was eating my ribs. I’d given him my truth, my vulnerability, and he’d used it as a reason to run. I felt small. I felt like a mistake.
"He’s a coward, doll. A very pretty, very holy coward, but a coward nonetheless."
The voice came from the shadows near the entrance, low and gravelly, smelling of cedarwood and burnt sugar. Ryker detached himself from a pillar, his leather jacket open, his storm-gray eyes locked on me with a terrifyingly accurate assessment. He’d seen it. Or he’d felt the fallout.
"Go away, Ryker," I snapped, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I’m not in the mood for your 'Sinner' commentary."
"I’m not here to comment," he said, closing the distance with a predatory grace that made my heart hammer for an entirely different reason. "I’m here to remind you that while the angel is busy repenting for having a pulse, I’m the one who actually knows what to do with yours."
He stopped just inches from me, his heat a furnace that I desperately wanted to lean into. He didn't touch me at first; he just looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my swollen lips and my disheveled hair. "He kissed you like a man who’s afraid of the dark, Amaya. He kissed you, and then he let his guilt win. Do you want to know why?"
"Enlighten me," I muttered, my 'brat' reflex kicking in even through the pain.
"Because Malik doesn't love the woman," Ryker whispered, leaning down until his breath was hot against my ear. "He loves the idea of the goddess. He wants to save you so he can feel righteous. But I? I don't want to save you, Amaya. I want to ruin you. I want to see you break every rule this school has and then ask for more."
He reached out, his hand gripping the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a possessive friction. "He left you here feeling like a mistake. But you're not a mistake, doll. You're a riot. And a riot doesn't need a prayer; it needs a spark."
He kissed me then, and it was nothing like Malik’s desperate war. It was a claim. It was grounding, heavy, and demanded everything I had left. I didn't fight him; I collapsed into him, my hands gripping his Henley, my body arching into his furnace heat. He was the antidote to the cold vacuum Malik had left behind.
He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and slammed me back against the crystalline wall. The impact was sharp, a physical shock that grounded me in the present. He tore at the hem of my gear, his hands everywhere—rough, certain, and utterly devoid of guilt.
"Let the Saint have his silence," Ryker growled against my mouth, his eyes blazing with a dark, appreciative light. "You’re with the Sinner now. And I’m going to make sure you forget his name by the time I’m done with you."
As the world dissolved into the familiar friction and fire of Ryker’s touch, I realized that Scarlet was right. I didn't have to choose between fire and ice. But in this moment, under the weight of the demon’s desire, the ice felt like a very distant memory. I was the Catalyst, and I was currently burning a hole right through the heart of Salvation. Ryker sees me, not a prophecy....not the Dark Mother. He sees Amaya, the woman, and maybe, just maybe, that's enough.