His Beautiful Ruin

The first time I saw Blackwood Manor, there was a dragon on the roof.

Not a statue.

Not one of those grotesque stone gargoyles rich people apparently installed when normal gutters didn’t adequately communicate generational trauma lives here.

An actual fucking dragon.

I stopped my car in the middle of the narrow road and stared through the windshield.

Rain hammered against the glass hard enough to blur the enormous black manor beyond it, but there was absolutely no mistaking the creature curled around its highest tower.

Its body was massive.

Black wings folded tightly against its sides. A long tail wrapped around the stone turret. Every time lightning split the sky, its scales flashed with something beneath the black—deep burgundy, almost red.

I leaned forward until my nose nearly touched the steering wheel.

“No.”

The dragon lifted its head.

“Oh, absolutely fucking not.”

Two enormous eyes found my car.

Even from this distance, I felt them.

I slowly reached for the iced coffee sitting in my cup holder.

The ice had mostly melted during the four-hour drive, and the whipped cream had surrendered somewhere around the state line, but emotionally we had been through too much together to abandon each other now.

I took a sip.

The dragon continued staring.

“I have enough fucking problems to deal with. Let’s not make you one of them.”

It blinked.

Thunder rolled across the mountains.

The dragon stretched one wing.

I immediately put the car back into drive.

“Good talk.”

The road curved toward Blackwood Manor.

Calling it a manor was ridiculous.

It was a huge fucking castle.

A genuine, towering, black-stone, someone definitely got murdered in that west wing castle.

Turrets pierced the storm clouds. Narrow windows glowed with warm golden light. Ivy crawled over sections of the stone, and enormous iron gates stood open ahead of me as though the estate had been expecting my arrival.

Which, technically, it had.

That was part of the problem.

Three weeks earlier, I hadn’t known Blackwood Manor existed.

I hadn’t known there was an Evelyn Blackwood.

And I certainly hadn’t known Evelyn Blackwood had known me.

Then a letter arrived.

Not an email.

Not a phone call.

An actual cream-colored envelope with my full name written across the front in elegant handwriting.

Inside was a letter from an attorney informing me that Evelyn Rose Blackwood had died at the age of eighty-seven.

My condolences were apparently unnecessary because I’d never met the woman.

At least, I didn’t think I had.

According to the attorney, Evelyn had named me in her will.

She’d left me a cottage.

A fully furnished cottage sitting on several acres along the eastern edge of the Blackwood estate.

No mortgage.

No debt.

No explanation.

Just a house.

People didn’t randomly leave houses to strangers.

People left strangers expired coupons and awkward conversations in grocery-store lines.

Houses come with reasons.

I just hadn’t found mine.

The attorney had included a handwritten note from Evelyn.

I had read it approximately forty times.

I could recite every word.

My dear Elara,

There are truths that should have been given to you long ago.

I am sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to give them to you myself.

The cottage belongs to you. It always has.

When you arrive at Blackwood, trust what recognizes you.

And whatever happens—

don’t let Ronan frighten you away.

—Evelyn

I didn’t know who Ronan was.

But after seeing the dragon, I was beginning to suspect Ronan might be the least concerning thing on this property.

My headlights swept across the front of the manor.

The driveway opened into a massive circular courtyard surrounding a stone fountain.

The fountain wasn’t running.

Naturally.

Nothing says welcome to your mysterious inheritance like a dead fountain.

I parked.

For several seconds, I didn’t move.

Rain drummed against the roof.

My phone showed no signal.

The gas light had come on fifteen miles ago.

The road behind me was probably halfway to becoming a river.

And somewhere above my head was a flying reptile large enough to use my SUV as a chew toy.

“This is fine.”

The dragon roared.

I closed my eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Another roar.

“I’m talking to myself.”

I grabbed my purse.

Then my coffee.

Priorities.

The moment I opened the door, cold rain hit me sideways.

“Oh, come on!”

I jumped out and slammed the door.

Within seconds my hair was plastered against my face, my boots were sinking into mud, and the oversized black cardigan I’d specifically chosen because it made me feel mysterious and put-together had transformed into a wet blanket.

I ran around to the trunk.

The dragon moved above me.

I froze.

Its claws scraped against stone.

Slowly, very slowly, I looked up.

The creature stood on the roof now.

Fully.

Its wings unfolded.

My mouth dropped open.

There are things your brain simply isn’t designed to process.

Taxes.

Why fitted sheets fold the way they do.

Men who send “hey” after disappearing for six months.

Dragons.

The wings spread wider.

Rain streamed from them.

For one impossible second, lightning illuminated the creature against the sky.

It was terrifying.

And breathtaking.

Beautiful in a way that hurt.

Something strange moved through my chest.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The feeling came so quickly and so strongly that I gripped the back of the car.

The dragon tilted its head.

I stared at it.

And a word appeared in my mind.

Not exactly a word.

A name.

Velsar.

My breath caught.

“What?”

The dragon’s head snapped toward me.

Oh.

No.

“No, no, no. I didn’t say anything.”

Its wings folded.

It stepped toward the edge of the roof.

“Stay.”

The absurdity of commanding a dragon to stay didn’t register until after I’d said it.

A sound came from somewhere behind me.

Low.

Male.

Amused.

A laugh.

I spun around.

A man stood approximately ten feet away.

I screamed.

Not elegantly.

Not the delicate little gasp heroines make in movies.

I screamed like someone had just thrown a raccoon into my shower.

My coffee nearly became airborne.

The man’s expression didn’t change.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people!”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“You materialized!”

“I walked.”

“In silence!”

“You were arguing with a dragon.”

“I was not arguing.”

His gaze moved toward the roof.

Then back to me.

“No?”

“I was establishing boundaries.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

“Against a dragon.”

“Healthy relationships require communication.”

For half a second, something happened to his mouth.

Not quite a smile.

Close.

Then it disappeared.

That was when I properly looked at him.

And immediately became annoyed with the universe.

Because of course he was gorgeous.

Of course.

Apparently the haunted castle and dragon weren’t enough.

The universe had decided to throw in a man who looked like every bad decision I’d spent forty-two years learning not to make.

He was tall.

Not dating-profile six feet.

Actually tall.

Six-three, maybe more.

Broad shoulders filled out a black button-down shirt soaked nearly transparent in places from the rain. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing black markings covering his forearms.

At first I assumed tattoos.

Then lightning flashed.

For one strange second, I could have sworn one of the symbols moved.

I blinked.

Normal tattoo.

Clearly I needed food.

His hair was dark, slightly too long on top, rain pushing strands across his forehead.

Silver touched both temples.

That shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was.

Neither should the heavy stubble covering his jaw.

A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow.

And then there were his eyes.

Gray-green.

Cold.

Watchful.

Not the eyes of someone wondering who I was.

The eyes of someone trying to decide whether I was dangerous.

His gaze moved over me slowly.

Not sexually.

Assessing.

That somehow felt more intimate.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

His voice was deep.

Controlled.

And irritatingly calm considering the prehistoric nightmare perched above us.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether this is Blackwood Manor.”

Something changed in his expression.

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“Then unfortunately for both of us, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

His eyes sharpened.

“Who are you?”

I gave him my name.

The rain seemed to become louder.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But every part of him went still.

I knew that kind of stillness.

It was the kind people used when their emotions were suddenly too big to safely show.

“You’re Elara Vale.”

Not a question.

There was something almost accusatory about the way he said it.

“Yes.”

He looked toward the manor.

Then toward the road behind me.

Finally back at me.

“You need to leave.”

I stared at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Turn around.”

“That’s going to be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because your driveway is roughly the length of Tennessee and Noah’s Ark floated past me about ten minutes ago.”

His jaw tightened.

“You can’t stay here.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Because according to several legal documents currently inside my purse, I own part of here.”

His eyes dropped to the bag hanging from my shoulder.

“Evelyn.”

There was a weight to the name.

Pain.

Anger.

Love.

All packed into three syllables.

“You knew her.”

His gaze returned to mine.

“She was my grandmother.”

Oh.

I looked at him again.

Ronan.

Well.

That answered one question.

“You’re Ronan.”

His expression became darker.

“Apparently my reputation precedes me.”

“Actually, your grandmother did.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Not much.”

“What exactly?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re always this bossy or whether I’m getting special treatment.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Elara.”

The way he said my name did something ridiculous to my stomach.

I ignored it.

“Ronan.”

His nostrils flared.

Excellent.

I was irritating him.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, this pleased me tremendously.

“Show me the letter.”

“No.”

His expression actually changed.

“No?”

“That’s generally what the word means.”

“Evelyn’s letter.”

“Yes, I understood which letter.”

“Give it to me.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

His eyes narrowed further.

“Oh.” I smiled. “You weren’t asking.”

Lightning flashed behind him.

For one dramatic second he looked like he’d been designed specifically to stand in storms and ruin women’s common sense.

I hated that for me.

He stepped closer.

I held my ground.

That seemed to surprise him.

“You have no idea where you’ve come,” he said quietly.

“North Carolina?”

His mouth twitched again.

I pointed at him.

“That.”

“What?”

“You almost smiled.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I think you’re fighting it.”

“I think you talk too much.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Curiosity.

Gone quickly.

“Sell me the cottage.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I’ll pay twice what it’s worth.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Three times.”

The rain suddenly felt colder.

“Why?”

“It isn’t safe.”

“Because of the dragon?”

His eyes moved to the roof.

“No.”

I stared at him.

“That is not the answer I was hoping for.”

“You need to leave before dark.”

I looked around.

“Ronan.”

“What?”

“It is dark.”

He glanced at the sky as though personally offended by the weather.

“Tomorrow morning, then.”

“No.”

His jaw flexed.

I could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“You don’t know what Evelyn dragged you into.”

“Then explain it.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

“Fantastic. Very convincing.”

“Elara.”

“Ronan.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Saying my name like that.”

I smiled.

“Like what?”

He stared at me.

I waited.

Something changed between us.

Tiny.

Almost nothing.

But suddenly I was aware of how close he stood.

The rain on his face.

The rise and fall of his chest.

The fact that his eyes had dropped to my mouth.

Only for a second.

Then—

A growl rolled across the courtyard.

Not from the roof.

From the forest.

Ronan changed instantly.

Every trace of irritation disappeared.

He turned toward the tree line.

“Get in your car.”

The command in his voice made my body react before my brain did.

I took one step backward.

“What is that?”

“Car. Now.”

Branches snapped.

Something moved between the trees.

Something big.

Very big.

I reached behind me for the car door.

“Is there another dragon?”

“No.”

“Bear?”

“No.”

“Werewolf?”

He looked at me.

“What?”

“I’m narrowing down options.”

“Get. In. The. Car.”

Something screamed.

Every hair on my body stood up.

That wasn’t an animal sound.

Not any animal I’d ever heard.

The dragon on the roof launched into the air.

Its wings struck the rain with enough force to send water exploding across the courtyard.

I forgot how to breathe.

Velsar circled above us.

The name came again.

Velsar.

This time stronger.

Not thought.

Memory.

“Velsar,” I whispered.

Ronan’s head snapped toward me.

“What did you say?”

The forest erupted.

A black shape moved between the trees.

Ronan crossed the space between us so quickly I barely saw him move.

One second he was five feet away.

The next, his arm was around my waist.

My body slammed against his chest.

His other hand covered the back of my head.

“Don’t move.”

Every sarcastic answer disappeared.

Because Ronan wasn’t looking angry anymore.

He was afraid.

Not for himself.

For me.

The thing moved closer.

I could hear it breathing.

Wet.

Ragged.

Wrong.

My fingers curled into Ronan’s shirt.

“What is that?”

“Something that shouldn’t know you’re here.”

My stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“Not now.”

A roar exploded overhead.

Velsar descended.

Fire illuminated the trees.

For one second I saw the creature.

Too tall.

Too thin.

Limbs bending where limbs weren’t supposed to bend.

A face that almost looked human.

Almost.

Then darkness swallowed it again.

“Nope.”

Ronan looked down at me.

“What?”

“I officially withdraw every complaint I’ve made about the dragon.”

Despite everything, his mouth twitched.

“Inside.”

He grabbed my suitcase from the trunk with one hand.

“I can carry that.”

“I know.”

“Then give it to me.”

“No.”

“You’re very controlling.”

“You’re very irritating.”

“You’ve known me ten minutes.”

“Five were sufficient.”

He started toward the manor.

I followed.

Mostly because the forest screamed again.

“Okay, I’m coming!”

We reached the enormous front doors.

They opened before Ronan touched them.

I stopped.

He didn’t.

“Did your doors just—”

“Yes.”

“By themselves?”

“Yes.”

“Is that normal?”

“No.”

“Ronan.”

“Inside.”

I stepped across the threshold.

The doors slammed shut behind me.

Silence.

Complete.

Impossible.

Even the storm disappeared.

I turned slowly.

And forgot how to speak.

Blackwood Manor was magnificent.

A sweeping staircase curved upward beneath a towering stained-glass window. Dark polished wood gleamed in candlelight. Hundreds of books filled shelves built directly into the walls.

Portraits watched from gilded frames.

A chandelier glittered overhead.

But it wasn’t the size of the house that caught me.

It was the roses.

They were everywhere.

Carved into the staircase.

Etched into windows.

Worked into the stone around the fireplace.

Roses and vines winding together.

I stepped closer.

Then I noticed what was hidden among them.

Bones.

Tiny vertebrae formed stems.

Finger bones became thorns.

Small skulls disappeared beneath petals.

Beauty and death.

Woven together so carefully that most people probably never noticed.

My fingertips brushed one carving.

Something warm moved beneath my skin.

Home.

The word arrived without permission.

My chest tightened.

I’d never been here.

I knew that.

So why did I know there was a hallway beyond the staircase?

Why did I expect a grandfather clock to stand around the corner?

Why did I suddenly know that if I walked through the doorway to my right, I’d find a library with three enormous windows overlooking the mountains?

“Stop.”

Ronan’s voice came from behind me.

I realized I’d been walking.

Toward the staircase.

“I…”

I looked around.

“How did I know?”

His face hardened.

“Know what?”

“That there’s a library through there.”

He didn’t answer.

“Ronan.”

Nothing.

My heart began beating faster.

“There is, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes met mine.

“I know.”

That answer frightened me more than another lie would have.

A sound came from upstairs.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

I looked toward the landing.

“Please tell me you have staff.”

“No.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Guests?”

“No.”

The footsteps stopped.

Directly above us.

I stared at the ceiling.

“Ronan.”

“I heard it.”

A door creaked somewhere on the second floor.

Then a woman’s voice floated through the house.

Soft.

Old.

Almost affectionate.

“Elara.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

Ronan dropped my suitcase.

The woman’s voice came again.

“Elara, darling.”

My stomach twisted.

I knew that voice.

Impossible.

I’d heard it in dreams.

For years.

I slowly looked toward the staircase.

A woman stood at the top.

Silver hair.

Black dress.

One hand resting against the banister.

Moonlight passed through her body.

I couldn’t move.

Ronan whispered behind me.

“Grandmother.”

Evelyn Blackwood looked at him.

There was so much love in her expression that for one heartbreaking second I forgot she was dead.

Then she looked at me.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Her smile trembled.

“You finally came home.”

My throat closed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“Did I know you?”

Her expression broke.

“Yes.”

Ronan moved beside me.

“What did you do, Evelyn?”

The warmth disappeared from her face.

She looked at her grandson.

“What you weren’t brave enough to do.”

His jaw tightened.

“You promised.”

“I lied.”

Despite the situation, I looked at Ronan.

“Runs in the family, apparently.”

His glare could have stripped paint.

Evelyn laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound sent goosebumps across my arms.

Then her expression changed.

She looked past us.

Toward the eastern corridor.

Fear entered her eyes.

A heavy metallic sound echoed through the manor.

Clink.

Ronan went pale.

Another.

Clink.

Then another.

Clink.

I followed his gaze.

At the end of the corridor stood a black door.

Chains covered it.

Dozens of them.

Symbols had been carved into the wood.

I stared.

Then looked at Ronan’s forearm.

Same symbols.

“Ronan.”

“Don’t.”

“What is that door?”

“Something you stay away from.”

One chain dropped to the floor.

Then another.

Then another.

Ronan stepped in front of me.

“Evelyn.”

His grandmother’s ghost stared at the door.

“What did you do?”

“I brought her home.”

“You’ve killed her.”

“No.”

The last chain snapped.

The sound echoed through the entire house.

Evelyn looked at me.

Her expression was suddenly urgent.

“Elara.”

“What?”

“Listen to me.”

The black door slowly opened.

Darkness waited beyond it.

A smell drifted through the hallway.

Smoke.

Roses.

Something older.

Something I recognized without knowing why.

Evelyn pointed toward the doorway.

Her translucent hand trembled.

Then she whispered three words.

“He remembers her.”

A man’s laugh came from inside the room.

Low.

Soft.

Terrifying.

Ronan reached behind his back and pulled a black-handled dagger from beneath his shirt.

Symbols glowed along the blade.

The same symbols covering his skin.

I stared at him.

“Ronan…”

His eyes never left the darkness.

“What?”

“Please tell me you’re about to explain literally any of this.”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

Something moved beyond the door.

Ronan’s hand found mine.

His fingers closed tightly around it.

And something inside me—

something buried so deeply I hadn’t known it existed—

recognized his touch.

Images flashed behind my eyes.

Fire.

Black roses.

A dragon screaming.

Blood covering my hands.

A man with gray-green eyes holding me while a castle burned around us.

And a voice.

Find me.

I gasped.

Ronan looked at me.

“What did you see?”

I couldn’t answer.

Because somewhere inside that darkness, the man stopped laughing.

Silence filled Blackwood.

Then he spoke.

“Elara.”

My blood turned to ice.

Ronan stepped in front of me.

The symbols along his arms began to glow.

The darkness inside the room moved.

And for the first time since I’d arrived at Blackwood, I understood something with absolute certainty.

Evelyn Blackwood hadn’t left me a cottage.

She’d left me a doorway.

And something on the other side had spent a very long time waiting for me to open it.

Ronan tightened his grip on the dagger.

“Run.”