Page 34 of Blood Vows
“No, I suppose you didn’t, I suppose you don’t have much choice with anything these days,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the fire.
There was no cruelty in his tone, only quiet observation. It made something in me twist painfully, the truth of it too raw todeny. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but before I could, he moved toward the window, his figure outlined by lightning.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost lost to the storm. I turned in my chair, heart skipping.
“Like what?” He looked back at me, his expression unreadable behind the half-mask, his eyes dark and ancient.
“Haunted,” he said, and the word lingered in the air between us, fragile and heavy all at once. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t believe that was all he was. That somewhere beneath the anger and shadows, there was still a man who could feel. But I stayed silent. Because for all I knew, I might be wrong.
The library felt different that evening, warmer somehow. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting its glow across the shelves and gilded spines, every book a world waiting to be touched. The scent of leather, aged parchment, and smoke filled the air, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around you like a memory.
Vas leaned against the window frame, his arms crossed, watching me as I rose so I could approach him. I stopped to look at the shelves. For once, I wasn’t really interested. But then this was my lie. My excuse was to be closer to him before he could fully pull away like he usually did. So, I trailed my fingers along the bindings, feeling the raised letters beneath my skin. I had always loved that, the texture of stories, the promise of escape.
“You have quite the collection,” I said, glancing at him to find him watching my every move.
He nodded once.
“I suppose I do.”
“It’s beautiful, I think I could lose myself in here for days,” I admitted and like so many times before, something in his expression softened. But he said nothing, only continued to watch me with that quiet intensity that always made it hard to breathe.
I stopped near a table stacked high with books, some ancient, some newer, their edges yellowed with time. My hand lingered over one before I spoke again, my voice lower this time.
“When I was younger, I used to hide in the library during closing time so that I could spend the night.” He tilted his head slightly.
“Weren’t you scared?”
“I was more afraid to go home,” I admitted, instantly questioning once I said it, why it was so much easier talking to him about this stuff than anyone else.
“I never told anyone that before.” He seemed surprised by this. His head tilted slightly, the faintest crease appearing between his brows as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly.
“Yet you freely tell me…why?” I shrugged, the damp jacket I still wore clinging tighter around me as it dried slowly in the flickering warmth of the fire.
“Perhaps because I have never met anyone who is as haunted by the past as I am…perhaps because I thought I was alone.” He stilled. I didn’t miss the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, as if trying to push down the emotion I had dragged to the surface. His voice came out rougher, quieter.
“Yet you continued to live your life despite the oblivion of suffering.”
“And you?” I asked softly.
“Don’t be fooled into thinking this is living.” He replied with a cutting edge to his voice, one I pushed past all the same.
“Then what is it, Vas?”
“It’s living for a cause. There is a difference,” he told me, his tone heavy with something that went beyond pain. It sounded like endurance, like chains that had been worn too long.
“And the cause is vengeance,” I said quietly.
“It is.” The finality in his voice made me ache for him. It was as if every letter in that word had been carved into him long ago, and he had been bleeding from it ever since.
“And what happens after?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, wondering if he even knew what life beyond vengeance could look like.
He looked away, his gaze finding the storm beyond the window. The glass trembled with the wind and the rain, streaks of lightning flashing in his eyes like distant ghosts.
“I thought I knew,” he said at last.
“And now?”
He shook his head, silent for a moment that felt far too long. Then, as if to escape the weight of my question, he turned it back on me.
