Chapter 9 Seeing Beauty in the Beast
SEEING BEAUTY IN THE BEAST
Itook a slow breath, keeping my voice even as I pointed out,
“I was being nice. It’s what people do.”
He let out a low sound, something close to a laugh, though there was no trace of humor in it. Then he lowered himself back into his chair after his outburst at the poor housekeeper.
“You mortals and your need to be… nice,” he muttered, as if the word itself offended him.
“Perhaps you should try it sometime,” I said before I could stop myself. Something that earned me a look of half disbelief, half dangerous amusement. For a moment, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he wanted to smile but refused to let it happen.
“I think we have very different definitions of what it means to survive.” I frowned, wanting to ask him what he meant exactly, but I decided to let it go instead.
He poured himself a glass of wine, its deep color glinting like blood in the light, then he motioned faintly toward the food as if inviting me to begin.
“Eat, before it grows cold.” I did as he said, though every bite felt like it was shared with the tension between us. The meal was delicious, yet every time I glanced at him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying just as hard to swallow something far heavier than the food.
For a while, we ate in near silence. The air between us felt thick with all the words neither of us seemed willing to say. The clink of silver against porcelain filled the void, mingling with the soft crackle of the fire.
I couldn’t stand the silence much longer, so I cleared my throat softly and said,
“Thank you, by the way.” He looked up from his plate, one dark brow lifting.
“And for what are you thanking me for now exactly?” He said as if annoyed to hear those words again.
“The book,” I said, setting down my fork.
“The Count of Monte Cristo.” Something unreadable passed through his eyes, quick as a flicker of shadow.
“You read it?” He asked, seemingly surprised, and I nodded.
“I spent the entire day lost in it.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady.
“And? What did you think of it?” I lifted my glass, watching the swirl of ruby liquid as it clung to the sides before sliding down in slow, velvety trails.
“I found it… intriguing.” I admitted, almost too afraid to say more.
“Intriguing how?” he asked, pushing for more.
The edge of his voice was deceptively casual, but I could sense the tension behind it.
The wine slid down my throat in a single swallow, its warmth doing little to steady me.
I set the glass aside and began to toy with the napkin instead, now stalling for words I couldn’t quite form.
But it was obvious he was waiting, as he cleared his throat.
So, I forced out my thoughts regardless,
“It’s the kind of story that pulls you in, makes you question things.
Justice. Betrayal. How much pain it takes before someone breaks, before vengeance becomes the only way to breathe again.
” His unusual midnight blue eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt the weight of his attention settle fully on me.
“You seem to understand that rather well.” He assessed, and I hesitated, caught off guard by the quiet truth in his tone.
“Maybe more than I’d like to,” I admitted softly.
“When someone’s been hurt enough, when they’ve been made to feel powerless their whole life, the idea of taking back control…
even in the darkest ways… It’s tempting.
” My voice faltered. I hadn’t meant to say that much.
The words had slipped out, carrying the ghosts of a childhood I never wanted him to see.
But Vas didn’t look away. He didn’t mock or pry… He simply watched me.
The silence stretched, not cold this time, but heavy with something that felt dangerously close to understanding. Finally, his tone quiet, he said,
“Revenge has a way of becoming a poison. It makes you believe it will heal you, when all it does is hollow you out.” I sucked in a quick breath as I met his gaze, my heart thudding.
“Then why choose that book for me?” A faint crease formed between the dark slash of his brows, as though the question unsettled him.
“Because…” he said after a pause,
“…it’s one of the few stories that tells the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” I pressed gently.
“That you can only bury yourself in vengeance for so long, before realizing that by the time you crawl out, you don’t recognize the person who survived,” he said, his eyes flashing silver for a few tense heartbeats.
Before I could reply, the door creaked open and the housekeeper reappeared to clear the plates.
The interruption felt almost merciful, though Vas’s gaze never left me.
She gathered the dishes quickly, before placing down the dessert she brought in with her.
And after her master’s last outburst, her eyes avoided both of us as she retreated once again.
Soon leaving a faint scent of spice and roast in her wake.
Vas reached for the wine bottle, refilling my glass with smooth precision.
“Don’t read too much into it,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought and this time, it wasn’t a comment I would let pass by without remark.
“But isn’t reading into things kind of the point of a book?”
His eyes met mine, and though he tried to look stern, I swore I saw amusement flicker there.
“Do you search for hidden meanings in everything?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching as dessert was set down before me, and I almost drooled. A rich slice of chocolate cake so decadent it could have belonged in a royal banquet.
“Not everything,” I said, picking up my spoon.
“No hidden meanings in chocolate cake. Just hidden calories I fully intend to ignore.” I told him, and at that, he actually chuckled. The sound was low and rough, and I found myself holding my breath to hear it again.
“Somehow, I don’t think you have anything to worry about in that regard,” he said, leaning back in his chair, making me blush.
The words hung there for a moment too long, and I blinked, startled by the almost careless way he’d said them.
A compliment he hadn’t meant to give. One that clearly unguarded him, as if it had slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.
He caught the look on my face a second too late. The faintest flash of irritation crossed his features, like he was angry with himself for saying it aloud.
“Eat your cake,” he muttered, looking away as he lifted his glass.
“Before it disappears under your staring.” I bit back a smile, doing as I was told, though the taste of chocolate was nothing compared to the sweetness of hearing him laugh, as rare as it was.
And as the candlelight danced between us, it struck me that maybe the real danger wasn’t in being his prisoner,
But in how easily I was beginning to forget that I was.
He didn’t speak again for a while after his unexpected compliment, and I could tell he regretted letting it slip.
He leaned back in his chair, glass in hand, eyes on the flickering candles as if they held all the answers he wasn’t willing to give me.
His expression had shifted back into that familiar, unreadable mask, but there was something else there, too. A flicker of discomfort.
The silence stretched between us, too intimate, too revealing, until finally he said, almost abruptly,
“Would you like a tour of the house?” I blinked, startled by the change in tone.
“A tour?” He nodded, setting his glass down with deliberate calm.
“Of the areas I will allow you to see at least.” I couldn’t help it as my lips parted into a smile, the kind that made my heart feel lighter than it should.
“You’d really show me around?” The hopefulness in my voice was easy to hear.
“Only the parts that won’t make you run screaming,” he murmured dryly, though I thought I saw the faintest twitch of humor at the corner of his mouth as he teased me.
“Well, in that case, I will pass on the basement then, so no need to hide all the dead bodies on my account.” I bantered back with a chuckle, making him smirk.
After dessert, he rose from his seat and extended his hand toward me. I looked down at it. The sight of those strong fingers and the faint gleam of candlelight along his skin made my stomach twist with something warm and uncertain.
When I hesitated, he tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, teasing rumble,
“I won’t bite you.” A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, the sound soft and nervous.
“That’s something coming from a vampire. I bet there aren’t many you’ve said that to.” For a heartbeat, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But to my relief, he gave a low sound that might have been a laugh or maybe it was a growl softened by amusement. Either way, it made my pulse skip.
“No…” he said, still holding out his hand,
“…There is only you.” The words hit deeper than I expected.
A confession wrapped in jest, a truth disguised in shadows.
Before I could overthink it, he reached for me, taking my hand and helping me to my feet.
I moved too quickly, and my balance betrayed me, stumbling slightly into him.
His free hand came up to steady my waist, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of my dress.
For a moment, we stood there, closer than we should have been, his breath brushing against my temple. It was too easy to imagine what might happen if I looked up, if he didn’t step away.
But he did.
“Shall we?” he said, the words a low rumble that lingered longer than they should have.
I nodded, and together we left the dining room, his tall frame leading the way down long corridors that felt steeped in history and silence.