Page 78 of Blood Vows
He exhaled sharply, his shoulders lifting with the weight of the breath as he reached for me. His fingers brushed against the torn edge of my sleeve, so carefully that it made me shiver. Histouch carried a kind of reverence, as if I were made of glass and he feared the slightest pressure might break me.
“Please, just let me get you somewhere safe first, so that I can tend to your wounds,” he said, his voice low, controlled only by sheer force of will. I wanted to argue, to demand the truth he was hiding, but the way his hands shook stopped me cold. So, I nodded instead, giving him cause to release a heavy sigh.
“I never should have left you alone.” He admitted, clearly knowing the threat in the house and believing it was contained. I knew this for certain when he added,
“She wasn’t supposed to come near you,” he said.
“I thought… I thought I had her under control.”Her…The word chilled me. He lifted his hand again, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His thumb lingered at my temple, his touch featherlight.
“I promise, I will explain,” he said softly, and I caught his wrist before he could pull away, my fingers curling around his skin.
“You didn’t intend for this to happen, I know that.” His gaze snapped to mine. In that moment, something broke through the tension. Raw, honest emotion flickered across his face before he tried to hide it. He leaned closer, his scent wrapping around me, dark and warm and heartbreakingly familiar.
“I swear that if anything had…” He couldn’t finish the thought. His voice was rough as gravel.
“Nessa.” He purred my name this time, his hand rising again, cupping my jaw so that his thumb could brush softly against my lip. The air between us seemed to still, heavy with everything we hadn’t said. His touch was careful, trembling at the edges, as if even this moment was too fragile to survive his strength.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, thick and fragile, broken only by the faint tremor ofhis breath. His thumb traced my jaw once more before he pulled away, the loss of his touch cold against my skin.
“She’s not what you think,” he said quietly, not meeting my eyes this time. His voice had softened, but there was a current beneath it, a quiet grief that made my stomach twist.
I frowned.
“Then what is she, Vas?”
“Soon, I will explain everything. But we shouldn’t stay here,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face.
“It isn’t safe.”
“Vas…” He cut me off with a kiss, framing my face and drawing me in, keeping me captive as I breathed him in. It was as if he couldn’t contain himself anymore before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. The tenderness in his eyes warred with something else, unease, protectiveness, fear.
I nearly begged him to explain what was going on, but he was already moving, taking my hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding, and without another word, he drew me toward the door.
“Come,” he said quietly.
“You’ll stay in my room tonight.” The tone of his voice left no room for argument. Still, the thought of going anywhere near the east wing, the place he had told me to avoid, made my pulse quicken. But instead of turning that way, he guided me in the opposite direction. His long strides were purposeful, as if wanting to put distance between his mother and me.
The corridor was dim, lit only by the flickering sconces that lined the stone walls. Our footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor, the silence between us filled with everything left unsaid. My arm still stung where her blade had grazed me, but the ache in my chest was far deeper.
I wanted to ask him what he had done with her, his mother. The woman who wasn’t alive but wasn’t dead either.The one who had attacked me with that crazed look in her eyes, muttering about fated love and betrayal. But before I could form the question, something ahead caught my attention.
A portrait.
It hung at the bend in the hall, large and framed in ornate gold. A woman’s face gazed out from it. One beautiful, regal, and hauntingly familiar. Her dark hair was pulled back, her skin pale as porcelain, her eyes the same impossible green and gold that had stared at me through the madness earlier that night.
My breath caught.
“Is that…?” My question trailed off in sight of it. He stopped beside me, his eyes following my line of sight. For a moment, he said nothing, only stared up at the painted image. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, weary.
“My mother. As she once was.”
The woman in the painting was elegance incarnate, her beauty almost ethereal. But what stole my breath wasn’t her face, it was the crimson pendant that hung from her throat.
The same one.
The necklace gleamed even through the age-dulled varnish of the oil paint, its deep red stone glowing like a drop of blood frozen in crystal. I felt my stomach twist. I knew that necklace. I had snatched it from her neck during the fight and now…
Now it was under my bed.
