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Ruby’s brittle, like she might crack under the slightest bit of pressure. If he applied just enough force he thinks he might be able to shatter her into pieces. He thinks about smearing his hands in her viscera. Brushing her lips red with her own blood, then licking them clean.
Dean stalks closer, twirling the blade between his fingers. “Tell me, Ruby. What do demons dream of?”
Ruby strains against the bindings that hold her in place. Rather than answer, she spits at his feet. It splatters across the toes of his boots.
Dean tsks at her. Moves closer, closer, until he’s close enough he can wrap his free hand in her silky blond hair. He jerks his hand savagely, twisting, yanking her face close. Her eyes snap glossy black and she bares her teeth in a feral grin, but he’s not afraid of her.
“Glad you kept this meatsuit for me,” he taunts her, leaning in and ghosting his lips over the blade of her cheek.
“Go to hell. Oh, wait.” Ruby cackles. It bubbles up, almost hysterical. “I hope you choke.”
Dean leans back and drags the tip of his blade down her sternum, between her breasts. “We’re gonna have a good time.”
Dean presses the blade deep enough that it pierces her meatsuit’s skin and blood beads under the tip. The flesh sizzles and the acrid stench fills Dean’s nostrils. Ruby curls her hands into fists and digs her nails into her palms.
He dives right in with gusto, flaying the flesh from her bones.
She doesn’t cry out. Not even once.