Page 58 of Ruins
I pick it up. The screen lights up. A text from Vasilisa.
‘Home safe.’Just as I asked.
Sweet, obedient Vasilisa.
Shame washes over me like ice water, cutting through the last remnants of bloodlust. My grip tightens around the phone as I text her back, each letter feeling heavier than it should.
I look up. Angelo is just about to slide into his car.
“Hey!” I call out.
He pauses, glancing over the roof.
“You want to go to Opulent?”
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “You, of all people, want to go to our strip club?” He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Hell yes.”
He gets in his car, still chuckling as he drives off, his headlights cutting through the darkness.
Shame grips me tighter.
I sink into my seat, exhaling sharply as I hang my head.
I hadher.
Just hours ago, Vasilisa was in my hands, her scent in my lungs, her warmth curling around me like something I could keep. She was light, soft, pure—everything I’ve never had, everything I don’t deserve.
But Scythe doesn’t care about light.
Scythe doesn’t care aboutanythingexcept the rush—violence and power, the only gods I have ever worshipped.
And with every drop of blood I spill, I stain the pieces of her that have already begun to cling to me.
She deserves more.
More than a man who forgets her in a sea of red.
More than the shadow of death waiting to swallow her whole.
If she’s ever going to have agoodlife, it sure as hell won’t be with me.
I rev the engine and head for Opulent, burying her light under the weight of my own darkness.
Chapter 13
Vasilisa
Therestoftheweek flies by, and I haven’t heard from Santo since the night he sent me home. All he left me with was a simple text—
‘Glad you’re home safe.’
After that, nothing. No calls. No messages. Just silence.
I even tried reaching out, sent him a good morning text with a selfie, something light, something that might make him smile. But it was left unread.
The distance between us stretches like an empty, endless sea.
Every time my phone lights up, my stomach twists. Hope flutters, only to collapse under the weight of disappointment when it’s never him.
