Page 6 of Blood Vows
I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh.
“Get a grip, Nessa,” I whispered under my breath.
“You’re just tired,” I told myself again as I found the light switch, one that I didn’t remember him turning off when we left.
“I think I’m losing my mind,” I said to myself out loud, the sound of my own voice doing little to calm the nerves clawing at my chest. It felt like any second, he’d leap out from the dark and shout boo, and my heart would just give up entirely.
Everything in the kitchen looked exactly as we’d left it. The black box still sat on the counter, and the bowl of pinkish water, the one mixed with my blood. It was all still there as proof that none of it had been a dream. I swallowed, forcing myself to move, rummaging through the box in search of anything that looked like medication.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered under my breath.
“There’s got to be something in here.” But no such luck. I let out a frustrated groan before moving on to the cupboards and then the drawers, which only drew even more sighs of annoyance from me.
But then the sound came. Soft. Barely there. A floorboard groaning under a weight that wasn’t mine.
My breath caught.
I didn’t move, afraid to break whatever fragile thread of stillness held the moment together. Slowly, I turned my head, eyes straining to pierce the shadows near the doorway.
And there he was.
Vasileios.
Standing just inside the threshold, half bathed in the low ceiling light, half swallowed by the dark. His presence filled the room without a single word. The light touched the sharp line of his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, the faint glint of crimson still caught beneath his nails. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between anger and fascination. As if he couldn’t decide which part of him wanted to step forward first.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
The air between us trembled, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.And then I remembered to breathe.
“If you’re looking for a knife,” came a deep voice from the doorway, smooth and low,
“…then you won’t have much luck looking in there.” He said, making me scream in shock, slamming the drawer that held nothing but serving dishes shut. The abrupt action caught my finger in the wood, making pain dig in deep, dragging a second cry from my throat, this one sharp and shocked.
A sound rumbled from him, not quite a growl, but close enough to make the air shift.
“Are you always this incapable?” he asked dryly, pushing away from the doorframe and stepping toward me. The closer he came, the larger he seemed, his shadow spilling across the tiles. Instinct made me step back.
“You startled me! I didn’t expect to trap my finger!” I said defensively, shoving the injured finger into my mouth like a scolded child. He stopped close enough for me to feel the warmth of him, his frown deepening as his eyes flicked down to my hand.
“Something, I might add, that wouldn’t have happened had you not been snooping around,” he said evenly.
“And had you remained in your room as requested.” His words sliced through the silence as sharply as any blade he claimed I wouldn’t find.
“Yes, well,” I snapped back,
“You may have used bandages and band-aids on me, but that doesn’t exactly cure the pain of being hit around the head a few times, does it?” I said like an insane person who had no concept of self-preservation. He blinked, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
“Pain,” he said flatly, as if it were a foreign concept.
“Yeah,” I shot back, exasperated and well… in for a dime, in for a dollar, so I might as well continue down this suicidal road,
“You know, painkillers, headaches, that pounding feeling like someone’s tap dancing on your brain? That type of thing.” The words tumbled out faster than they should have, nervous energy tripping over itself. Which meant I barely noticed the ghost of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. He caught it too, snuffing it out almost instantly, as if the idea of smiling offended him.
It was almost amusing how he seemed irritated that I could provoke any emotion in him beyond anger or disdain. It made me wonder if the man had ever actually smiled.
And if he did, would his impossibly handsome face crack from the effort? Would it ruin that dark, brooding spell he seemed to live under? Probably not. I doubted anyone sane enough to look at him would ever dare to question him. His presence alone was enough to make grown men cry and run.
He was still watching me, silent, the faintest glint of curiosity in his eyes.
