Page 270 of Ruins
Iwanther again.
But she needs rest.
I turn on the shower and feel for the warmth of the water before bringing her under the rainfall with me. I place her on her feet and watch as the blood washes away from both of us as if clearing our souls from everything that once tainted our love.
I kiss her—soft, reverent, worshipful. Her eyelids. Her nose. Her cheeks. Her forehead. Her lips. Each touch a vow, each breath a prayer.
She sighs against me, her hands gliding down my back, soothing, accepting, embracing every part of me. Theman,the monster, the reaper, thehusband.
I’ll spend the rest of my days thanking her. Worshiping her in every breath, every touch, until there is nothing left of me that isn’t hers. The water continues to rain down on our bare bodies each touch from her, washing away my past mistakes and every kiss echoing promises of forgiveness and a shared future.
I am reborn in her love.
She takes refuge in my darkness, and I bask in her light.
***
The bedroom is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of us, residual blood, and something deeper, something unchanging. Vasilisa sits cross-legged on the bed in my button-down, the fabric draping over her bare thighs. The sleeves are too long, swallowing her delicate wrists as she rolls them up, preparing to tend to me.
She looks soft, ethereal, even with the bruises from the bites I left blooming along her neck, that mark on her cheek from that bastards hands.
I’m glad I shattered them.
I sit on the edge of the bed in nothing but sweatpants, watching her work.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch as she takes my arm and dabs at the slashes along my skin.
“You’ve done this before.” It’s not a question.
She nods, focused, her fingers steady as she presses gauze to a deeper wound on my chest. “Maksim made sure I knew how to handle wounds. I had to be prepared for anything.”
I exhale through my nose, my eyes tracing her features. “He made you a soldier.”
She finally glances up, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small smile, she says softly, “No, he made sure I was the perfect, dutiful wife.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Her lips twitch. “Why would I? It was the mostridiculousthing you’ve ever said to me.”
I huff, but there’s no real irritation behind it. She’s right.
“I take it back,” I murmur, my fingers brushing her thigh. “You’re not perfect.”
She raises an eyebrow, waiting.
I smirk. “You’remine. That’s what matters.”
A satisfied hum leaves her lips as she continues working. “Still perfect though, you say it every time you touch me.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.
Then her expression shifts, her brows drawing together. “You need stitches.”
She’s right. “I’ll do it.”
“No.” Her voice is firm but soft. “I will.”
I arch a brow. “Since when do you stitch wounds?”
