Page 19 of His to Ruin

“You liked using this on me, didn’t you?” Christian exhales, slow and measured. His fingers flex on the handle, testing the weight. His lips part, just slightly, and I see it, the curl of something dark.

Christian presses the blade a little harder, just enough to draw a thin, crimson line. The bastard jerks, but Christian is already on him, fisting his collar and forcing him still.

“Not so fun when it’s you on the other side of someone's rage, huh?” Christian breathes.

I feel something. Something new. Something fucking beautiful. And I realize that I might actually be in love with this man. With this human.

Then, he slashes.

It’s clean. Precise.

The knife carves through flesh, parting it like paper, and the moment steel meets artery, the fucker lets out a wet, choking gasp. His hands fly to his throat, scrambling, desperate, like he thinks he can hold it all in, like he can stop what’s already spilling and drowning him in his own fucking mess.

Christian just stands there, staring down at what he’sdone. His chest rises and falls, slow, even. No shaking. No panic. Just quiet, eerie fucking calm. I flick out my forked tongue to taste the air around my human. The man’s body convulses as he tries to hold on to the last vestiges of his soul. But I can see the angry red remnants of his shitty soul fizzling out of his body.

The asshole twitches for a few more agonizing seconds. Then—nothing. He folds forward onto the pavement, blood seeping into the cracks, dark and glistening, spreading outward like ink spilled across a page.

Christian’s fingers loosen. The knife clatters to the ground. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t flinch. He just stays there. Staring. Then—finally—he exhales and lifts his gaze to meet mine.

I can see it in his face. The final, beautiful break from the chains of what he thought he was.

Oh, my beautiful human.

Christian blinks slowly, like waking up from something deep and dark. His fingers twitch at his sides. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and then he speaks, “I thought it would feel different.”

I grin. He’s was fucking made for me.

Christian glances back down at the body and the blood pooling around his sneakers. He flexes his fingers, like he’s committing the sensation to memory.

I move closer until I can smell the blood on him. My shadows slither up his wrist, curling around his pulse like a shackle.

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Oh, my Little Nightmare. You’ve never been more beautiful.”

Christian doesn’t answer right away. He brings his hands up to my chest as if he’ll push me away, but instead he pulls me closer.

His fingers tighten in the fabric of my shirt, knuckles pale beneath the smears of blood. The man’s life dripping away in sluggish, thick pulses. The scent is heady, metallic and raw, curling through the air like incense, but it’s not the death that has my attention.

It’s him.

He’s processing. Holding on to me as if I’m his life preserver in a sea of uncertainty.

And I let him.

Let the silence stretch. Let it sink in. Let him cling to me.

Christian finally exhales through his nose. “Kallum.”

I tilt my head. “Yes, baby?”

His gaze flicks to the writhing body, then back to me. Christian moves first. He steps into my space, close enough that I can taste the sweat on his skin, close enough that the warmth of his body seeps into mine. He reeks of blood and adrenaline. My favorite meal. Our lips meet in a soft caress as he kisses me. It’s tender, almost timid, as if he’s still uncertain. I don’t pull back, I let him simply test the waters.

When he pulls back, I let the shadows pull back as well, just enough to give him a moment of control. A moment to breathe in what he’s done. His free hand lifts, hesitant, then firm as his fingers graze my jawline.

A small touch. But it seals everything.

I lower my head, using my pointed nail to pull his chin up to meet my gaze. “Feels different, doesn’t it?”