Page 268 of Ruins
His eyes flick to mine.
And I see it.The void.
His pupils have swallowed his irises, leaving behind nothing but a feral hunger that sends ice-cold fear down my spine. There isn’t even a little bit of Santo here.
This is pure Scythe.
His handsome face, smeared with blood, is a stark contrast to the savagery in his expression. His tattered, blood-soaked shirt clings to his frame. His hands, painted crimson, leave streaks across my skin.
His mouth is relentless, kissing, biting, licking, claiming me with a sharp carnal intensity. I gasp, trying to stifle a cry, but it breaks free when his teeth sink into my shoulder.
He freezes.
His eyes snap to mine, and for a fleeting second, the wildness falters. Something flickers there. A shadow of something human. Something like fear.
Likeguilt.
As if my reaction, my pain, has betrayed him. Abruptly, he lets go.
I drop to the ground, stumbling as I struggle to catch my breath
I glance down at my torn shirt and blood-stained shorts, the crimson smearing across my chest from his clothes and hands. The metallic, sickly smell lingers in the air. My skin crawls with the evidence of what just happened, but when I look up at him, I see it, the lost, confused look in his eyes. It’s as if he’s been betrayed, not by me, but by himself. He backs away, his movements slow, hesitant, like a predator suddenly unsure of its instincts. That wildness is still there, but now it’s tangled with something else.
Confusion, pain, and maybe even regret.
My breathing steadies as I force myself to take in the scene, to focus. The smell of blood clings to me, suffocating, but the sight of him, lost, almost broken, pulls me back from my own panic. He looks at me like he’s waiting for rejection, bracing for it, as though he’s sure I’ll run.
I take a tentative step forward, ignoring the way my legs tremble beneath me. His eyes track my every move, his shoulders tensing as if preparing for me to strike or turn away.
But I don’t.
Instead, I reach out, my fingers brushing against his blood-smeared cheek. His breath hitches, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he leans into my touch, his eyes closing as if he’s grounding himself in it, desperate for something real to hold onto.
My voice is barely a whisper. “Santo…”
But he doesn’t respond. Scythe still lingers in the way his body remains coiled, the predator barely beneath the surface. Yet in this moment, I see both of them—the man and the monster—and I refuse to look away.
I hold my breath, my fingers still gently tracing his jaw. His skin is warm beneath my touch, but the tremor running through his body tells me just how much control he’s fighting to keep. His eyes flicker, still full of that wild hunger, but now there’s something else—something deeper, more vulnerable, almost broken. It makes my heart ache for him.
He leans into my hand, a silent plea for reassurance, as if he needs me to bring him back from whatever abyss he’s fallen into. The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick, filled with the tension of two people on the brink of something they can’t quite understand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, my voice a little steadier than I feel.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes stay locked on mine, as if searching for something—something only I can give him. His breath is slow now, as though he’s trying to calm himself, and for the first time, I see the man behind the monster. The weight of everything he’s carried, the darkness he’s buried deep within, is all in his gaze.
“I’m here,” I say again, firmer this time, my hand steady on his cheek.“You’re still you.”
Scythe’s eyes flicker, a brief flash of the man he used to be before he closes them again, his cheek pressing lightly into my palm. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, like he’s trying to push the storm inside him into submission.
I watch him, my heart pounding, waiting for him to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stays, his body still pressed close to mine, his skin warm and trembling beneath my fingers.
Then, finally, he speaks. His voice is rough, almost like he’s clearing years of dust from it. “I don’t know how to stop this...stop myself.”
The words hit me like a punch, and I step closer, my hand now cupping the back of his neck, my thumb brushing over the tense muscles there. “You don’t have to stop,” I whisper. “Just...don’t do it alone.”
His eyes snap to mine, and for a brief moment, I see a flash of something almost raw in him, desperate for something real.
And then, like a dam breaking, he pulls me into him. His lips find mine in a kiss that is harsh, needy, and filled with everything that’s been left unsaid between us. It’s not gentle, not soft, but it’s a primal surrender, a raw acceptance of everything he’s been fighting.
