Page 14 of Blood Vows
But what surprised me most was not his calmness, or even his patience, it was the way he continued to hold me. Holding me like I mattered. As if I wasn’t a means to an end like he had claimed before leaving earlier, but like something he needed to keep in one piece. His hand moved up my back, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the trembling curve of my spine in a gesture too careful to be accidental.
And it did strange things to my heart.
Why did I feel this way towards him? As if there was something between us that neither of us could name. I should hate him. I should loathe the feel of his touch, the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. Yet all I did was hold tighter, as if his body were the only solid thing in this storm I was drowning in.
I wondered if he could feel it too. The tension. The quiet war of emotion that wasn’t just mine, but his as well. It pulsed between us, his anger, my fear, his restraint, my need…all of it.Two storms caught in the same cage, unwilling to collide but unable to pull apart.
He didn’t move, and neither did I. For long moments, the world seemed to forget us, leaving only the rhythm of our breathing and the heat where our skin brushed. But then the natural order of things eventually demanded we separate.
No surprises, he was the first to pull back, though it looked as if it took visible effort. His arms loosened, and the air between us grew cold too quickly. Every instinct screamed at me to reach for him again, to stay in that fragile space a little longer.
Was this what Stockholm Syndrome felt like?
Was I falling for my captor or just trying to convince him I was a human worthy of life? Was I subconsciously trying to draw some small spark of mercy out of the monster who held me? Was this just another form of self-preservation?
He looked at me then, as though he might reach out again. His hand rose, fingers twitching, almost touching my face… before curling into a fist and falling to his lap.
We were sitting on my bed, facing each other. The intimacy of it made my pulse flutter.
“I’m still in this room,” I said softly, stating the obvious, and cringing for it. But he didn’t mock me.
“I heard you screaming,” he said, voice low but tight.
“I grew…concerned.”That one word was said like a confession dragged out of him.
“You did?” I asked, surprised. It seemed to startle him too, as if he’d said too much.
“You mentioned a headache earlier,” he said after a pause.
“I didn’t know if there was… some medical cause.” His voice trailed off, the excuse thin even to his own ears. I wanted to smile at the awkwardness of it, but instead, I just whispered,
“Thank you. For waking me. And for saving me in my dream.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and his brow furrowed.
“I saved you in your dream?” Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“Yes. I was in a cell. The walls were closing in, and I couldn’t get the door open.” I admitted, deciding to be honest.
“I see,” he said, eyes flicking away, his expression unreadable. He didn’t need to say it aloud, any fool could guess the meaning. I was his prisoner in reality too. But he said nothing cruel. Nothing at all. Instead, the silence between us deepened until it was almost unbearable.
“At least my headache’s gone,” I said, trying to lighten the moment. The corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of a smile that seemed foreign on him.
“And you didn’t take a knife from the kitchen and try to stab me. I’ll take that as progress.” I grinned at his joke before nodding to his chest, replying,
“No, but I did a good job of soaking your shirt.”
He looked down, touching the damp fabric absently, the motion drawing my eyes to the flex of muscle beneath it. His next words were softer.
“Will you be able to sleep?”
“I think so,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me. I didn’t want him to leave.
“Very well,” he murmured, rising.
“Then I’ll leave you to your rest” He turned toward the door, and before I lost my nerve, I whispered,
“Vasileios?” He froze. I saw the faint hitch of his breath, the way his shoulders tensed, as if the sound of his name had struck something inside him.
