Page 33 of Blood Vows
“Well… I guess someone is angry at us,” I said breathlessly, my voice half-laugh, half-shiver as I looked up at the dark grey sky. He blinked, then something remarkable happened. A sound, low and rough, broke from his chest…a laugh.It was short, startled, and beautiful. But before I could say anything else, he caught my hand.
“Come on,” he said, and this time there was no hesitation.
We ran.
The rain soaked us as we crossed the courtyard, our feet splashing through puddles, the storm raging around us. Hestayed half a step ahead, his grip firm, unyielding, keeping me close as lightning streaked the horizon. By the time we reached the manor steps, we were both breathless and dripping, hair slicked to our faces, our laughter mingling with the sound of the storm.
He paused under the stone archway, turning toward me. Water ran down his face, tracing the edges of his mask, and his chest rose and fell in time with mine. For a moment, I forgot about the rain, the thunder, even the cold. Because the only thing that existed was him, standing there with the storm at his back.
“You’re trembling,”he said quietly.
“It’s cold,” I lied, my voice catching. Something in his gaze softened.
“Inside, before you catch your death,” he said, taking a step closer. His voice was rough again, but this time, it carried something else beneath it, something tender I had never heard before.
“Okay, I am going to ban you from ever saying that again,” I teased, making him actually wink at me before he opened the door, ushering me in first. The warmth of the manor rushed to meet me, candles flickering in welcome. And just before the heavy doors closed behind us, I looked back at him, standing in the rain, half in shadow and half in light.
And that was when I realised something far more dangerous than fear.
Even soaked to the skin and shivering, I didn’t feel cold.
No.
I only felt seconds away from being…
Claimed.
14
A CHANCE AT TRUTH
By the time we stepped inside, the rain had become relentless, beating against the tall windows like whispers on glass. The manor felt different now, alive somehow, the storm outside breathing through its walls. After Vas had closed the doors behind us, the sound had echoed through the hall, deep and final.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I was too aware of the soft patter of water dripping from our clothes, the faint hiss of the fire burning in the nearby hearth. My hair clung to my face, damp tendrils curling against my neck, and I could feel his eyes on me as I brushed them away.
“You’re soaked,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual, almost reluctant.
“So are you,” I managed, my own voice unsteady. He gave a soft sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, before taking a step closer.
“Wait here,” he said, disappearing through one of the side doors.
I stood awkwardly in the grand hall, trying to ignore how small I felt surrounded by the towering portraits and the flickerof lightning beyond the windows. When he returned, he carried a folded towel and a blanket, both warm from the fire. He held them out to me, his expression unreadable.
“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely carrying. He hesitated a moment before replying,
“I don’t want you getting sick.” The words were simple, almost teasing, but there was something behind them, something he didn’t mean to give away. I took the towel from his hand, careful not to brush his fingers, though the warmth of him lingered in the air between us.
For a long moment, I just stood there, drying my hair as he watched, silent and unblinking. It should have been unnerving, but it wasn’t. It was… grounding, in a strange way, like I was being studied by someone who hadn’t quite decided whether to save me or destroy me.
Finally, he turned away, his tone composed again.
“There’s a fire in the library, it’s warmer there.” He said, now turning abruptly, as if he had hit his limit on watching me. So, I followed him through the corridor, the flickering candlelight spilling over his broad shoulders and catching in his damp hair.
The air in the library was rich with the scent of burning wood and old paper. He gestured toward the armchair nearest the fire, and I sat, grateful for the heat. For a while, we said nothing. The storm outside filled the silence, the thunder rolling low and distant. Then, softly, he said,
“You shouldn’t have come outside with me today.”
“I didn’t know I had a choice,” I said, watching the flames dance.
