Page 28 of Blood Vows
“Remind me, never to underestimate your sense of humor.” I shot back playfully. He gave a quiet hum, a ghost of a smile still tugging at his lips, before turning toward the path that wound deeper into the trees.
“Come,” he said, glancing back once over his shoulder.
“There’s something I want to show you.” And though I knew I should have been cautious, maybe even afraid, I followed without hesitation. Because somewhere between the laughter and the look he’d given me, I had already decided…
I wanted to see everything he was willing to show me.
We followed the winding path, gravel crunching softly beneath our boots, the only sound besides the quiet whisper of the wind threading through the trees. The air was cool, the scent of rain still clinging to the earth, and for a moment, I let myself forget the reason I was here.
The manor loomed behind us like a sleeping beast, its many windows glinting in the distance, watching, always watching. But out here, surrounded by green and stone, it felt easier to breathe.
Vas walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, the breeze tugging lightly at some of his dark hair that had escaped its elastic. I found myself studying him again, the easy strength in his stride, the way he seemed to belong to this place, every inch of it a part of him. There was something old about him, not just in age, but in presence, as though time itself had settled in his bones and refused to let go.
In fact, up until now, he hadn’t reminded me of Victor and Tal, as it had been easy to forget they were all related. Broken blood brothers that I so badly wanted to fix. But I was also too afraid to ask myself why I did. Too afraid to dig deep enough to find the root of this building obsession.
We passed rows of gnarled oaks, their branches heavy with moss, until the path narrowed and opened into what looked like a forgotten garden. Stone walls covered in ivy surrounded the space, and wildflowers had long since claimed the once-manicured beds. I slowed, my hand brushing a petal of pale lavender as I looked around.
“It’s beautiful,” I said softly.
“Yes, in its wildness, I suppose it is,” he replied, his voice distant, as if lost to his memories. Then he added another rare glimpse of vulnerability, as he told me,
“It was once my mother’s garden.” I turned toward him, startled by the quiet confession. His gaze swept over the tangledvines, the half-broken stone fountain at the centre, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw pain there…raw, unguarded pain.
“She loved this place,” he continued, almost to himself.
“Said it reminded her that there can be beauty found even in death.” I swallowed hard, sensing something fragile in the air, as though any wrong word would make him retreat behind that cold exterior again.
“I don’t know too much about that, but I can recognize beauty even in decay,” I admitted gently. His lips curved faintly, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes as he regarded me.
“Perhaps.”
He moved toward the fountain, brushing his fingers over its cracked edge, and I followed, stopping a few feet away. Rain had breathed new life into the old fountain, pooling in its stone basin, where moss gleamed and fallen leaves clung to the edges.
“Did she spend a lot of time here?” I asked quietly.
He nodded once, telling me,
“Yes, but that was before we moved to America.” His hand tightened slightly on the stone. The silence that followed felt heavy, and I knew better than to press. Still, something inside me ached for him. For the lonely figure standing in the ruins of a memory that clearly still haunted him.
“This house… is that why it feels full of ghosts… because it holds lost memories to cling onto?” I dared to ask, taking mind to keep my tone soft and respectful. He looked up at that, meeting my gaze.
“Are you reading into things again, Nessa?” He asked, and I would have flinched had his words come out harsh and mocking. But they hadn’t, if anything, he seemed strangely impressed by my observation.
Naturally, I didn’t answer, and after a moment, he admitted,
“I guess this house simply stands as a reminder to a lost ancestry, one fractured like this garden.” The honesty in his tonemade my breath catch. For a moment, neither of us moved. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting patterns across his face, softening the hard lines, making him look almost human again.
“You brought me here for a reason,” I said, not as a question, but a quiet observation. His head tilted slightly as he regarded me. As though he hadn’t expected me to see through him so easily.
“Maybe I did…” he said after a pause.
“…Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d find it as haunting as I do.” I shook my head at that and told him,
“I think you just want me to see you as another ghost to fear, because that’s how you see yourself. But I don’t.”
“Careful, little rabbit, I suggest not trying to dig too deep into reading me.” He warned with a slight glint of silver bleeding from the midnight blue in his eyes.
“Why not?” I braved to ask.
