Page 271 of Ruins
She sighs, shaking her head. “Since always. You think Maksim wouldn’t have trained me to do that too? He was always injured, always up to something,” She reaches for the suture kit, already threading the needle like it’s second nature.
“Of course he is.” I exhale, bitterness washing over me. But then I watch her. “I learn something new about you everyday.”
She tilts her head, smirking. “And here I thought you already knew everything about me from watching me twenty four-seven.”
The sharp pinch of the first stitch barely registers. She watches me, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give her one.
“You don’t even flinch,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
“I’ve been through worse.”
Her hands hesitate for half a second, but then she keeps going.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, quieter now.
“I do.”
There’s no hesitation in her voice. She keeps her focus on my skin, finishing the last stitch with a deft, practiced movement before tying it off.
“Santo,” she says softly.
I tilt my head down, meeting her gaze.
“Are you going tofinishit?”
I already know what she’s asking.
“Of course I am,” I say simply.
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I don’t think Jude is worth it.”
I study her, my expression blank. “Why?”
“Because you already won. Because he’s nothing. And because I don’t want blood on your hands for something so insignificant.”
My jaw tightens. “He touched you, Vasilisa. Left a mark. That makes himverysignificant.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want anyone dying because ofme.”
I exhale slowly, my fingers grazing her knee before I tilt her chin up.
“Dea, you don’t seem to understand.” My voice is low, steady. “Anyone who touches you dies; and I relish having that kind of blood on my hands.”
She holds my gaze, searching. She knows me. She knows I am not a good man. That I will never be merciful. But still, she asks. Still, she tries.
Because she is light.
Kindness.
Love.
“Youare everything,” I murmur, my grip firm against her jaw. “The way I love you, the way Ibelongto you—it’s far more dangerous than simple obsession or devotion.”
Her breath catches.
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, tilting my head slightly. “Remember, I don’t just devote my life to you, Dea.” My smirk darkens, slow and possessive. “I own you. And you own me right back,bothsides of me.”
Her lips part, her pulse fluttering against my fingers.
