Page 21 of Blood Vows
“You read it?” He asked, seemingly surprised, and I nodded.
“I spent the entire day lost in it.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady.
“And? What did you think of it?” I lifted my glass, watching the swirl of ruby liquid as it clung to the sides before sliding down in slow, velvety trails.
“I found it… intriguing.” I admitted, almost too afraid to say more.
“Intriguing how?” he asked, pushing for more. The edge of his voice was deceptively casual, but I could sense the tension behind it. The wine slid down my throat in a single swallow, its warmth doing little to steady me. I set the glass aside and began to toy with the napkin instead, now stalling for words I couldn’t quite form. But it was obvious he was waiting, as he cleared his throat. So, I forced out my thoughts regardless,
“It’s the kind of story that pulls you in, makes you question things. Justice. Betrayal. How much pain it takes before someone breaks, before vengeance becomes the only wayto breathe again.” His unusual midnight blue eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt the weight of his attention settle fully on me.
“You seem to understand that rather well.” He assessed, and I hesitated, caught off guard by the quiet truth in his tone.
“Maybe more than I’d like to,” I admitted softly.
“When someone’s been hurt enough, when they’ve been made to feel powerless their whole life, the idea of taking back control… even in the darkest ways…It’s tempting.”My voice faltered. I hadn’t meant to say that much. The words had slipped out, carrying the ghosts of a childhood I never wanted him to see. But Vas didn’t look away. He didn’t mock or pry…He simply watched me.
The silence stretched, not cold this time, but heavy with something that felt dangerously close to understanding. Finally, his tone quiet, he said,
“Revenge has a way of becoming a poison. It makes you believe it will heal you, when all it does is hollow you out.” I sucked in a quick breath as I met his gaze, my heart thudding.
“Then why choose that book for me?” A faint crease formed between the dark slash of his brows, as though the question unsettled him.
“Because…” he said after a pause,
“…it’s one of the few stories that tells the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” I pressed gently.
“That you can only bury yourself in vengeance for so long, before realizing that by the time you crawl out, you don’t recognize the person who survived,” he said, his eyes flashing silver for a few tense heartbeats.
Before I could reply, the door creaked open and the housekeeper reappeared to clear the plates. The interruption felt almost merciful, though Vas’s gaze never left me. She gathered the dishes quickly, before placing down the dessert she brought in with her. And after her master’s last outburst, her eyesavoided both of us as she retreated once again. Soon leaving a faint scent of spice and roast in her wake.
Vas reached for the wine bottle, refilling my glass with smooth precision.
“Don’t read too much into it,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought and this time, it wasn’t a comment I would let pass by without remark.
“But isn’t reading into things kind of the point of a book?”
His eyes met mine, and though he tried to look stern, I swore I saw amusement flicker there.
“Do you search for hidden meanings in everything?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching as dessert was set down before me, and I almost drooled. A rich slice of chocolate cake so decadent it could have belonged in a royal banquet.
“Not everything,” I said, picking up my spoon.
“No hidden meanings in chocolate cake. Just hidden calories I fully intend to ignore.” I told him, and at that, he actually chuckled. The sound was low and rough, and I found myself holding my breath to hear it again.
“Somehow, I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that regard,” he said, leaning back in his chair, making me blush. The words hung there for a moment too long, and I blinked, startled by the almost careless way he’d said them. A compliment he hadn’t meant to give. One that clearly unguarded him, as if it had slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.
He caught the look on my face a second too late. The faintest flash of irritation crossed his features, like he was angry with himself for saying it aloud.
“Eat your cake,” he muttered, looking away as he lifted his glass.
“Before it disappears under your staring.” I bit back a smile, doing as I was told, though the taste of chocolate was nothing compared to the sweetness of hearing him laugh, as rare as itwas. And as the candlelight danced between us, it struck me that maybe the real danger wasn’t in being his prisoner,
But in how easily I was beginning to forget that I was.
