Chapter 10 Unspoken Words
UNSPOKEN WORDS
Those ambiguous words hung in the air, like a noose haloed over my head, one just waiting to drop and tighten the second he finally decided my fate.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, just heavy…
Full of dark promise. The kind that hummed with unspoken things neither of us was ready to give voice to.
Vas stood near the mantel, one hand braced against it, his head bowed slightly, lost in thought.
The glow from the flames only highlighted his handsome features, and for a moment, I forgot that I was supposed to fear him.
I felt the weight of all my unsaid questions pressing against my lips until he broke the silence with a quiet rumble.
“I can feel the questions you’re dying to ask,” he said, his tone low, almost amused.
I smiled faintly, grateful for the break in tension.
“Let’s not use the word dying, considering you haven’t decided yet if I’m to be a victim or not,” I said, reminding him of his earlier comment. A remark that earned me one of his rare smirks, sharp but softened by the hint of amusement.
“Fair point,” he said, and then, after a moment, added teasingly,
“My apologies, little rabbit, for my poor choice of words.” The teasing in his voice sent a faint warmth through me, one I refused to acknowledge. I toyed with the metal studs on the leather Chesterfield I was sitting in, trying to sound casual when I asked,
“Do you live here alone?” Something in his posture shifted. His gaze flickered away from me, back toward the fire.
“I do,” he said, his tone quiet, guarded. I hesitated before pushing further.
“And the wing of the house you told me to stay away from…does that belong to you?” This time, he didn’t answer right away. His eyes lifted, fixing on mine, unreadable.
“Why do you want to know so much?” he asked, his voice harder now.
“If it’s to plan your escape, then you can think again.” I frowned, more hurt than I wanted to admit.
“I was just asking a question.”
“And I was just reminding you of your position,” he replied, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the air like ice.
I took a slow breath, forcing calm into my voice.
“Do you always assume the worst of everyone, or is it just me?” That seemed to catch him off guard. For a long moment, he said nothing, and then his shoulders loosened slightly, as if the edge of his anger had dulled.
“It’s been a long time since anyone gave me cause to trust them,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, more human. Something in the way he said it made my chest ache.
“I know what that’s like,” I admitted, my voice soft.
“Finding it hard to trust people, I mean. When you’ve been hurt enough times, it becomes easier not to try.
” His gaze lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just that look.
The flicker of understanding in his eyes, the faint shift in his expression that spoke of things long buried.
“Then we understand each other,” he said quietly.
The tension in the air changed then, softened somehow, though neither of us moved closer.
It was as if the space between us was holding its breath.
The flames popped in the hearth, throwing sparks that danced up the chimney, and he finally turned away, breaking whatever fragile moment had formed.
“It’s late,” he said, his tone rough again, as though he needed the distance of formality.
“You should rest.” He offered me his hand once more, and though I hesitated, I took it.
His grip was warm, steady, and far too careful for someone who claimed he didn’t trust me.
And in that vulnerable moment, I couldn’t help but feel that all it would take was the slightest pull, and I’d find myself in his arms. But that grip had been there one minute and was gone the next. As if touching me came at a price.
We left the library in silence, our footsteps soft against the marble floors.
The vast corridors of the manor seemed even larger now, the candlelight casting long shadows that stretched like reaching hands along the walls…
as if they too wanted a piece of me. I felt the quiet pulse of the house around us, ancient and alive, every sound echoing my own heartbeat.
He walked beside me, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. It was strange how safe I felt in that quiet space between us, though I knew I shouldn’t. The predator who had once haunted my dreams was now my escort through this lavish prison.
Neither of us spoke, but I could feel him thinking, feel the storm in him trying to keep still. I didn’t dare break the moment, afraid any sound might scatter it, so I let the silence stretch until we reached the corridor I recognised as mine.
We stopped outside my door, the one he hadn’t once locked me behind. A cell I wasn’t brave enough to try to escape from. Or was there something more? Did I even want to leave? It was like reading a book to the last chapter but throwing it away before the last few pages had been read.
I wanted to know the end of the story.
I wanted to know him.
He turned toward me, his face half hidden by that mask of his, and I realized it wasn’t just the end of his story I wanted to know.
I wanted revealed… but it was all of him.
For a moment, neither of us moved, and I found myself searching his expression for something, maybe for the man behind the monster.
“Sleep well, Nessa,” he said softly, his voice deeper now, quieter.
I nodded, clutching the door handle, though I didn’t open it.
“Good night, Vas.” He turned as if to leave, but then paused. His head tilted slightly, and his next words came out low, the kind that seemed to linger in the air long after they were spoken.
“But if you don’t…” he said, pausing as if needing to force himself to speak the rest,
“…if the dreams return… just call out my name again.”
My breath caught. He looked at me for a heartbeat longer, his dark blue eyes glinting with something I couldn’t place. Something that felt almost human. I opened my mouth to speak, to thank him, but he was already gone.
The echo of his footsteps faded down the corridor until there was only silence again. I leaned back against the door, my heart still racing, my mind spinning.
Call his name.
Had I done that? Had I actually called for him in my sleep?
And if I had, why him? Why not Victor or Tal, the two men I had already given my heart to? The ones I knew must be searching for me even now, terrified of what might have become of me?
Why him, the brother they had never spoken of? The one who had once sworn vengeance against them all. I pressed my fingers to my lips, feeling the echo of his presence still clinging to me, the scent of old books and smoke and something darker, something forbidden.
And as I climbed into bed, one thought refused to leave me.
If monsters weren’t born but made… then perhaps this one wasn’t beyond saving.
When I woke the next morning, it was to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft streaks of gold.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I had slept soundly.
No dreams, no screams, no shadows reaching for me from the corners of my mind. Just… stillness.
It took me a few seconds to remember where I was, to orient myself among the rich reds and dark woods of the room that was both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. But then I noticed it.
Another tray.
This time, one sat waiting for me on the small table near the window, unlike yesterday’s breakfast, which had been waiting for me outside my door.
My breath caught at the thought of Vas entering my room when I was asleep, asking myself had he taken the time to watch me?
Or had he slipped in soundlessly like one of the ghosts he had spoken about before he was gone again?
How close had he been?
“No, Nessa, don’t do it…don’t think about him that way!” I scorned myself, but then my eyes caught on something sitting next to the tray. Another neatly folded piece of parchment, which lay beside a new book.
Curiosity tugged me from the bed, and I crossed the room with eager steps that ignored my previous chastisement, as I couldn’t help the flutter of excitement that sparked, not even stopping to ask myself why this time.
Which was why the sight of my breakfast, the steaming coffee, the buttered toast, the eggs and a touch of fruit came second to that note.
The handwriting was once again elegant, dark ink curling across the page in that same old-fashioned script as before.
Nessa,
Be ready by two this afternoon.
Wear the new boots in your wardrobe.
Dress warm.
Regards
V
I read it twice, then a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something that made more sense.
Boots? I frowned, glancing toward the wardrobe.
I could have sworn I had already seen everything inside it, the black dresses, the sneakers, the single pair of dress shoes.
But when I opened the doors, there they were.
A new pair of walking boots that looked sturdy yet surprisingly comfortable, lined with soft grey padding that promised warmth.
I touched them carefully, as though they might vanish, and found they were warm to the touch, almost as if they had been placed there moments ago.
“How did you…” I murmured under my breath, then stopped, trying not to read too much into it.
Instead, I turned back toward the tray, eyeing the book he’d left for me this time.
The title embossed in faded gold read Wuthering Heights, and a small gasp escaped.
I couldn’t help but pick it up, my finger tracing the letters as a soft smile tugged at my lips despite myself.
It was a story I knew only in fragments from learning about it at school.
A story of love that burned too fiercely and ruined everything it touched.
Of two souls bound by obsession, torn apart by pride and circumstance, only to haunt each other beyond death.
The kind of tale that left you aching, wondering if love could ever be worth that kind of destruction.
As I turned the book in my hands, I wondered if that was why he’d chosen it for me.
A warning, perhaps. Or maybe a confession he didn’t yet know how to voice.
Either way, it felt fitting in this house, this storm, this strange pull between us.
All of it was like something ripped from the pages of a gothic tragedy I was only just beginning to understand.
“What are you trying to tell me this time, Vas?” I muttered, running a finger over the spine.
I couldn’t deny the pull of curiosity, and not just about the book this time.
Where was he planning to take me that required boots?
Outside, obviously. The very thought sent a flicker of excitement through me at the idea of breathing fresh air again, of seeing something beyond these walls.
But as the excitement grew, another question rose quietly in its wake.
Was it the thought of freedom that thrilled me…
or the thought of seeing him again? I sank down onto the edge of the bed, the book open in my lap, though I wasn’t really reading.
My mind kept drifting back to last night.
To the warmth of his hand guiding me through the dark, the sound of his voice when he’d told me to call his name.
It shouldn’t have felt comforting. It shouldn’t have meant anything. And yet, somehow, it did.
I caught myself smiling faintly, shaking my head.
“Get a grip, Nessa,” I muttered.
“He’s your captor, not your…”
But I couldn’t even finish the thought, because a small, traitorous part of me already knew.
It wasn’t freedom I was waiting for at two o’clock.
It was him.