Page 18 of Blood Vows
I knew of it, but I had never read it. Then again, I also couldn’t remember a time where I had all day free to just read a book. No, I would normally catch a chapter here and there, whenever I was free to do so. Like in between work, all the overtime I could get and catching up on laundry, cleaning and then sleeping. But this…this was the type of reading you do when you have nothing but time and a mind too restless to sit still. And now, here I was, trapped in a stranger’s home, reading about a man who had once been trapped too.
A man who had been betrayed, imprisoned for years for a crime he didn’t commit.
Edmond Dantès.
He was young, hopeful, in love, and cruelly torn from everything he cared about. His friends had conspired against him, jealous of what he had, of who he was. They had stolen hislife and buried him in a prison cell deep below the earth, where time and light no longer existed.
But he hadn’t died there.
No, he had transformed.
Years of suffering had hardened him, reshaped him into something new, something more. When he finally escaped, he emerged not as Edmond, but as the Count of Monte Cristo, a man of wealth, power, and vengeance. Every act he took was deliberate, precise, a slow unravelling of the lives that had destroyed his.
Yet, the more I read, the more I realised that his revenge was never just about justice. It was about pain. About the need to make others bleed because he couldn’t stop his own wounds from burning.
And I wondered, was that what Vas saw in this story?
Was this his way of speaking, when the words wouldn’t come?
I ran my finger along the edge of the page, tracing the printed words like they were secrets whispered from him to me. Maybe this was the only way he could explain himself. To give me this story instead of his own, as if through another man’s torment, I might understand his.
But was this a warning…
Or a confession?
Or something in between, a message wrapped in pages he could never bring himself to say aloud. I thought of him again, of his voice, his eyes, the way he had gifted me his nickname, like it meant something he hadn’t intended to give away. The memory made my stomach twist, not in fear, but in that strange ache I didn’t yet know how to name.
The light in the room had shifted without me noticing, turning from soft gold to dusky amber. My eyes flicked to the window, and I realised the sun was sinking fast. The day hadslipped through my fingers, lost somewhere between chapters of vengeance and redemption.
My heart skipped as I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Nearly six.
Which meant he would be coming for me soon.
I closed the book and exhaled, the weight of the story was still heavy in my chest. How fitting that it should end with a man torn between the ruin he had made and the hope he never thought he could deserve.
I wasn’t sure which part of that story Vas belonged to.
“Jesus, Nessa, get a grip already and stop brooding about this!” I snapped at myself, now rising from the chair and stretching as I walked to the wardrobe before opening it with hesitant hands. Rows of black dresses stared back at me, all in different styles but with little variation. Nothing stood out, but then, wasn’t that the point?
Now, what exactly did one wear to dinner with the man who had kidnapped them? The thought almost made me laugh, though the sound died quickly in my throat. I didn’t want to be foolish enough to assume this invitation meant anything more than what it was. Still, there was something about the word ‘request’ in his note that made my heart flutter, like he wanted me to join him.
In the end, I picked what I thought was the prettiest black dress.
The silk was cool against my skin, shaping to my body in a way that felt far too confident for the situation. The neckline dipped low enough to hint rather than reveal, with the straps crossing over my shoulders, leaving the small of my back bare.
From my waist, the fabric fell in soft, rippling folds, whispering around my legs as I moved. The skirt brushed the floor like a sigh, heavy enough to feel expensive, light enough tomake me feel ethereal. Tiny beads trimmed the hem in clusters, with the design continuing at the waist like black teardrops that caught the light like stars scattered across a night sky.
I brushed my hair, having no choice but to leave it down as I found nothing to tie it up with in the bathroom. I also had no way of hiding the bruises on my face, so as I looked in the mirror, my shoulders lifted and dropped on a sigh. It would have to do, and I questioned why I cared so much. Honestly, these warring emotions inside me were driving me crazy.
“It’s just dinner…dinner with my kidnapper…my very big, intimidating Vampire kidnapper…sure, no problem…I can do this…Totally,” I said aloud, trying to reassure myself that I could do this. And yet, when the knock came at the door, my pulse betrayed me.
“Come in,” I managed, though my voice sounded smaller than I intended.
The door opened, and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
He filled the doorway like a shadow taking form, tall and broad, his usual dark and ominous aura replaced with something unexpectedly disarming. A black shirt clung to his chest, the top button undone, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Faded jeans hugged the long lines of his legs. It was almost too ordinary, and yet nothing about the way he wore it was. His body seemed carved for the fabric, his presence swallowing the room whole.
