The Secrets of Roan Island

16. Ruby

16

Ruby

“ F ollow him out, Ruby.” Noah nods to where Shemaiah disappeared into the hallway. His hands are white on the doorframe, clutching so tightly they must hurt. His nostrils flare. “You can’t be around me right now.”

“Why not?” I press, stepping around the table so there’s nothing between us. I’m anxious to read the paper Shemaiah gave me, but Noah’s strange energy keeps me focused on him.

His head drops down, hair obscuring his face, arms outstretched as he continues to grip the doorframe like he’s tied and bound between two pillars. It almost seems as if he’s grown, his dress shirt stretching tight, the sleeves rolled to his forearms like he was just working with his hands.

“Get. Out.” His voice is gravelly and harsh. Tempered, ground-out restraint.

“No.” I take a step closer, my heartbeat brisk inside my chest, my lungs tight as my breath moves quicker through my airways. My hands feel cold, and I fist them, crossing my arms over my chest. The paper crinkles in my hand, and though I feel guilty at possibly harming an important document, I have the impression I’m toying with a beast, which takes precedence. I don’t know why Noah is so angry, why he’s holding himself so carefully, but I want to know what happens when that calm control snaps. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He remains still, his face hidden.

I try a different approach. “What are you researching?”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His head flies up, dark eyes suddenly meeting mine, fiery and intense and unnatural. “You can’t help me.”

There’s excruciating pain on his face, a battle of wills waging behind his eyes. Have they gone darker? It’s like his pupils have expanded to cover almost all the white. A trick of the light? Or is something wrong with him?

I should retreat, follow Shemaiah, go to my room, lock the door, and wait for that boat to take me far away from Roan Island.

But I don’t. Worried for Noah, I drop the crumpled paper on the table and step closer, palms out, even as my instincts scream he’s dangerous.

His chest heaves with each move I make, gaze never straying from my advance. He licks his lips, nostrils flaring. “Fuck, Ruby, your scent. It’s…” He swallows, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers tighten on the doorframe. It splinters. “Please, don’t come any closer. It’s too hard to–”

I’m close enough to feel his sharp gasp as if it were my own, close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Fuck it.” He moves so quickly I don’t have time to react. Seizing me by the waist, he turns me and presses my back against the doorframe as his lips claim mine with a punishing kiss. It’s bruising fusion and overpowering swipes of his tongue that have me melting into him, helpless in the face of his desperation.

I tug at his shirt, hungry for more. I’ve never felt such intense emotion, the sensations coursing through my body make all my previous experiences pale in comparison. Kissing Noah is like an electric storm over the lake, bright and angry but beautiful and wholly consuming.

My tongue frantically tangles with his, skimming against sharp teeth. His hips press against mine, pinning me tighter to the door. I feel his desire pressed unrelenting against me, the power of his body, tightly bridled energy, seeking release. I gasp as his hands grab my hair and tilt my head roughly to the side, his mouth leaving mine to trail kisses from my jaw to my neck. He growls in a way that makes my nipples tighten and my toes curl, a sharp insistence of something that can’t be undone as he tests my skin with his teeth.

“Noah,” I moan, gripping his shoulders.

Suddenly, all the pressure against me is gone amidst a chaos of sound: glass, metal, paraphernalia upended. I blink and Noah’s across the room on the other side of a laboratory table surrounded by scattered test tubes, burners, beakers, papers still settling as they float to the floor. He’s panting heavily. His eyes appear fully black, luminescent, reflecting more than the light of the room.

But that can’t be right. It must just be a trick of my perspective.

He rubs a hand roughly over his mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“How–” I ask, confused by how quickly he moved.

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

I touch my mouth, swollen and bruised, and where I might otherwise be offended by his ferocity, I’m not. I’m… desirous.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“For what?”

“Kissing you. That way.”

“I liked it.”

He groans. “Don’t. Please, Ruby. Please go.”

“I’d prefer it if we went back to doing what we were just doing.”

He shakes his head vigorously, his arms crossed over his chest like a gate holding him back. “You’re leaving in a few hours. Distance. I need distance.”

“I don’t have to go.”

“Yes! You do!” He slams his hands on the metal table and swipes away the remaining papers. “You will be on that boat, Miss Rose. That is not up for debate.”

His bluster is meant to frighten me, but it doesn’t, which is strange. I think of David and how frightening he was. His fake smile plastered over hurtful words, over shameful accusations that kept me small and terrified. But Noah’s rage isn’t at me, it’s at himself. And I want to know why. Instinct tells me he’s only pushing me away because there’s something he doesn’t want me to find out. A secret he doesn’t want uncovered. Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in this library.

Discovering this library changes everything.

There are so many books, so many things to uncover here. Answers to Noah and the Roans. Answers to my research problems. I can feel it. This is exactly the resource I need. I have no doubt there’s something in this hidden library that will gain me back the recognition and validity I want. The temptation to stay and satiate my curiosity is just as strong as the temptation to stay and experience more of Noah. His skilled tongue. His bruising lips. His rough hands.

“I’ll get you your money, and you will be on that boat,” he repeats. I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince himself or me, but there’s something desperate in the way he says it. Like he’s scared. Terrified, even.

“Fine.” I smooth the wrinkles in my skirt with my palms, trying to compose myself. “But let me help you tonight. Then I’ll leave.”

He shakes his head, his hands digging into the muscles of his arms. “You ask too much.”

“What? Offering to help you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to understand, because according to Shemaiah, you need me.”

His sigh rushes out like an avalanche surrendering to gravity, which brings a smile to my lips that I try to hide.

“Find anything you can on the Mavarri,” he says.

“What’s that?”

He points into the library. “You’re the researcher. Find out.”

“Give me something. Is it a plant? An animal?” I examine the library shelves, trying to determine the system of organization, but it’s already clear there isn’t one. Books are haphazardly shoved onto shelves. Papers are sticking out of journals, strewn across tables, or lingering in piles. There are stacked wooden boxes, some covered with tops, others open and spewing more paper. There are models and fragments of samples. I don’t know where to begin, except my eyes stumble on the paper Shemaiah handed me.

Before I can cross the room to read it, Noah sighs, drawing my attention. He uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through his already messy hair, grabbing hold of it as if it might ground him. “The Mavarri are… animals. Extinct.” He releases his hair and partially turns away. “Look in the books. Just the books. Try the fourth shelf from the right of the main door. I haven’t read those in awhile.”

“What are you interested in finding?”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

I narrow my eyes and put my hands on my hips. “It’s difficult enough to research when you know what you’re looking for. Impossible when you don’t. Why are you being so cryptic?”

“Just find what you can.”

I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re not going to give me more than that, I might as well do my own research. I’m certain I could learn plenty.”

“I don’t care,” he barks with too much feeling for the words to be believable. “Just stay out of my way.” He brushes me off without a backward glance and returns to his laboratory.

I go back to the library, picking up the paper I dropped from Shemaiah. Maybe he gave me more than Noah. Instructions. A clue.

But when I turn the paper over, there are only a few words in a looping, casual script, and they have nothing to do with the Mavarri.

If Noah’s eyes go black, run.

I glance through the open door to Noah’s laboratory and catch him looking back, watching me.