Chapter One

Ruin Me Right

⸻

I ran because I needed to know he would catch me.

The forest was too quiet, like it knew what was coming. Like it had seen this before—the girl who runs, not to escape, but to be devoured. Dusk painted the trees in bruises and blood, and I ran headlong into it. The air clung like breath on the edge of a kiss. My feet stung against the damp earth. Every scratch from the underbrush was a whisper of what I hoped he’d do to me next.

My dress wasn’t made for fleeing. It clung like a secret I wanted him to rip free. Smoke-colored, soaked in sweat and want, the fabric caught on every branch that tried to stop me. And part of me wished they would. But not as much as I wished for him.

At my throat, a velvet ribbon—black as sin, soft as surrender.

I tied it myself. Tight. Intentional.

I was never trying to be strong tonight.

I didn’t want power.

I wanted to feel powerless with purpose.

And I wanted him to take it.

The first crack of a branch didn’t startle me. It thrilled. My stomach dropped, heat surging low and deep. I tried to run faster, but it was no use.

Ash was behind me.

Or… what he became when he wore the mask.

And that? That was something else entirely.

I saw the shape of him between the trees before he fully emerged. Wide. Towering. Silent.

The mask came first.

It wasn’t leather.

It wasn’t a costume.

It was a declaration.

A muzzle of bone—cracked, stained, stitched with fur and hide. It looked like it had been earned, not bought. Ancient. Ritualistic. As if every fuck he’d ever given while wearing it added to its power.

When he wore it, he didn’t just chase.

He hunted.

He didn’t just fuck.

He claimed.

And God help me, I wanted to be claimed.

I tried to run again, but my legs didn’t listen. They shook too hard. My body didn’t believe the lie anymore. It knew what it wanted. Knew who.

His hands were on me in the next breath.

A rough yank to my wrist. A spin. My back hit bark—cold, biting. His scent hit my lungs—smoke, leather, heat.

He loomed, silent but not still. The wolf muzzle only inches from my face. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. Burning through bone.

I tried to say something. Maybe “stop.”

But it came out like a gasp. Like a plea.

And then that voice—deep, masked, ancient.

“If you didn’t want this,” he rasped, “you wouldn’t have worn my ribbon.”

A whimper left my throat. My knees buckled.

He grabbed my ass with one gloved hand. The other pinned my wrists to the tree above my head. I felt the velvet tighten—him looping it, knotting it. It burned deliciously against my skin.

“You need this,” he said.

Not a question.

“I—”

But I didn’t even know what I was going to say. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was feeling.

His fingers pushed past the hem of my dress. Then my panties. He slid them aside and found what he already knew would be waiting.

Wet.

Dripping.

Unashamed.

“Fuck,” he hissed through the muzzle. “You really were made to be ruined.”

His fingers teased, circled. Not enough. Never enough.

“Say it.”

“I want it,” I choked.

He pressed closer, grinding into me. I could feel his cock—hard, thick—between us.

“Say it better.”

“I want you to ruin me.”

He growled.

“Again.”

“Fuck me like I’m yours.”

He didn’t answer.

He just gave it to me.

One brutal thrust—my cry split the trees. My wrists jerked in the ribbon. My body slammed against the bark.

He didn’t wait.

He took.

Again. Again. Again.

The mask scraped my cheek. The fur scratched my skin. His hips pounded into me, rough and perfect, every thrust a punishment and a reward.

The sound of him. The sound of us.

My whimpers.

His growl.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he snarled. “Not gentle. Not sweet. You need to be fucked into silence.”

I moaned. Nodded. Sobbed.

His hand moved to my throat. Not squeezing—just there. Just owning.

“Mine,” he said. “You run, I hunt. You kneel, I own. You beg—”

“I am begging,” I cried. “Please—Ash—please—”

He bit my shoulder, and it shattered me.

Pleasure ripped through me like a wildfire. My body clenched, spasmed. He grunted, holding me still as he came inside me, his cock pulsing, his whole body shuddering as if I’d taken something from him he could never get back.

And maybe I had.

We stayed like that for a moment.

Still.

Feral.

Whole.

Then he let the mask slide off.

His eyes met mine.

Brown. Human. Beautiful.

His face was flushed. Lips swollen. Hair damp at his temples. But his gaze held me like he still had the mask on. Still the monster. Still my hunter.

“Was I too much?” I whispered.

He looked at me for a long time before answering.

“You are too much,” he said.

Then:

“But not for me.”

⸻

I sagged against him.

And for the first time in what felt like years, I wasn’t afraid of being devoured.

Because maybe, just maybe…

being ruined was the only way I’d ever feel whole.