Page 15 of Blood Vows
“Yes, Vanessa?” he replied softly.
“You can call me Nessa if you like,” I said quietly. He inclined his head, the smallest ghost of warmth flickering across his features.
“Nessa,” he repeated, and I swallowed hard, as it turned out he wasn’t the only one affected by the sound of a name being spoken.
“Thank you again for… checking on me.” He hesitated at the threshold, half in shadow, half in the glow of the lamplight he must have turned on when he entered. And then, just as he reached for the handle, his voice came again, low, rough, and almost human.
“Nessa… you can call me Vas. It’s what my family used to call me.” The words landed softly, a confession and a surrender allat once. However, before I could respond and tell him how that single sentence broke something open in me…he was gone.
And I was left staring at the door, one hand pressed over my racing heart, wondering why the sound of that name made me feel as if something precious had just been given.
Just as something else had been…
Quietly claimed.
7
COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO
The next morning, I woke feeling…lighter.The air didn’t feel quite as heavy, and for the first time since this whole Vampire saga began, I didn’t feel like I was walking on a tightrope anymore. Although it was probably naïve to think of myself as out of danger yet, I still couldn’t help but feel more optimistic.
It was strange. Like last night had been some kind of breakthrough. An unexpected glimpse behind the mask he wore. The way he’d said my name. The gentleness I hadn’t expected from a man like him.
Instead of terror, my mind replayed our conversation again and again, every small nuance of his tone, every subtle shift in his expression when he thought I wouldn’t notice. The way his eyes had softened for the smallest of moments, before he’d locked it all away again behind that wall of iron control.
I told myself I just wanted to understand him. That was all.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just that. Something about him had taken root inside me. Something that defied reason and every ounce of self-preservation I had left. I wanted to hear his story, to know his truth. To believe that somewhere beneaththe violence and the vengeance, there was a reason he’d become what he was.
And as foolish as it might seem, I thought that if I could understand him, really understand him, then I could reach him.
After all, hadn’t I been broken once too? Hadn’t I needed someone to see the pieces and still think I was worth saving?
It felt like there was an unspoken connection between us, something raw and unfamiliar that went beyond the bond of captor and captive. Maybe it was the trauma. Maybe it was madness. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were two people cut from the same torn fabric. Both frayed, both haunted, both desperately pretending we weren’t.
Perhaps that’s all he needed. A little understanding.
I could almost hear Stacey’s voice scolding me for being naïve, but even she had once said that people only needed someone willing to see the good left in them. Maybe that was all I was doing, trying to see the good in him. After all, he was Victor and Tal’s family, wasn’t he?
Blood connected him to them both, even if it now also divided them. Clearly, there was bad blood between them, no pun intended, but perhaps it wasn’t too late to change that. Maybe I could help. Maybe, if I was brave enough, I could save myself and reunite a family in the same breath.
Foolish, maybe. But what else did I have to lose?
It wasn’t as if I could just walk out of here.
The thought lingered as I showered far longer than necessary, letting the water beat down on me like it could wash away the confusion. When I finally braved the mirror, I almost wished I hadn’t.
My reflection stared back at me, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize the girl in the glass. The bruises, ugly shades of purple and blue, were mapped across my skin like reminders of all I’d survived.
I winced, tracing one along my cheekbone. I’d seen bruises before, plenty of them. Growing up, I’d learned the stages of their healing like a twisted kind of science. Blue, purple, green, yellow and then eventually gone to the same place I buried my memories of how they came to be.
But this time, it wasn’t the sight that hurt. It was what it brought back. Those memories I couldn’t keep locked away anymore. Flashes of my childhood. The nights I’d hidden behind locked doors. The moments when pain had been something to endure, not question. The fear of being too loud, too visible. It made me realize that what I’d endured now wasn’t entirely new. I’d just learned to survive it better.
I thought of Stacey, always the voice of reason, always telling me therapy would help. If only I could afford it. I’d thought it commendable when she told me she was taking online psychology classes. But now, I understood even more.
She hadn’t just been preparing to help others.
She’d been preparing to help me.
