Chapter 11 A Whispered Ghost of Truth
A WHISPERED GHOST OF TRUTH
By the time the clock struck two, I had changed twice, debated three times, and eventually settled on something that felt…
safe. A simple black knitted sweater that fell slightly off one shoulder with a pair of dark grey leggings.
The kind that fit me like a glove and paired well with the new boots Vas had told me to wear.
They were surprisingly comfortable, soft leather that hugged my legs halfway up my calves.
I had left my hair down, the loose waves brushing over my shoulders, and for reasons I couldn’t quite admit to myself, I found I wanted to look nice. Not perfect, not alluring, just… less like a captive and more like someone who might actually belong in this strange, beautiful house.
As for my bruises, like last night, there was no getting away from them. The cuts on my cheek and hairline were no longer in need of a band-aid, as they had scabbed, looking less angry.
The knock on the door came right on time, making my heart thunder in my chest at the sound. But not as much as when I opened it and found him there.
Vas stood in the doorway dressed all in black again, though not the formal kind that spoke of dinner and candlelight.
This was something else, something simpler, more dangerous.
A black t-shirt that clung to his muscles in a way that drew my eyes and held them captive.
Damn, but every single muscle was right there just beneath the whisper of cotton that did a shit job of hiding them.
If anything, the material only served as a way to tease me.
Just like the dark denim jeans molded around his strong, muscular thighs.
Jesus, but had he always been so damn tall!
I even found myself getting turned on by the sight of his big, thick boots, and I didn’t even want to get started on his sexy jacket or the way it clung to his broad shoulders.
The way the thick black fabric fell past his knees looked tailored to perfection.
It moved with him when he walked, whispering over his frame, every measured step a reminder of how effortlessly he filled the space around him.
I hated that I found it captivating, how something so simple could make my pulse quicken.
His hair was tied back as it usually was, and not for the first time, I wondered how long it was when not confined to that effortless man bun. The silver mask caught the light, and for a moment, I thought he looked more human than I had ever seen him.
His eyes swept over me once, briefly, but the flicker of approval there was unmistakable.
“You’ll need your jacket,” he said, his voice low, even. My brows lifted slightly.
“So we are going outside?” That earned me something rare, an actual grin.
“Very perceptive,” he teased lightly, crossing the room before I could move.
He reached for the Parker-style jacket out of the wardrobe, alerting me to the fact that the boots hadn’t been the only new addition.
It was black, like his was and was lined with a soft faux fur.
He held it open for me, an unexpected gesture that felt far too intimate for what we were supposed to be.
I hesitated for a second before stepping closer, sliding my arms into the sleeves as he held it open for me. His fingers brushed my shoulders as he adjusted it, the briefest touch of warm skin against my bare neck causing my breath to hitch before I could stop it.
When he stepped back, I was certain he’d felt it too.
“Better,” he muttered quietly, his voice rougher than before.
“Come.” This gentle command came whilst he held out an arm towards the door, so that he could lead me through the house.
As soon as we made it to the entrance hall, I couldn’t help but notice the sunlight from the high windows cutting long bars of gold across the stone floor. The heavy front doors opened with a deep groan, and for the first time since arriving, I stepped out into the world beyond the manor.
The air was cool and crisp, and the scent of damp earth and distant pine filled my lungs.
The grounds stretched endlessly around us, rolling green lawns edged by ancient oaks and a stone wall that seemed to guard the estate from the world beyond.
It was breathtaking, in that gothic, untamed kind of way.
He glanced sideways at me as we walked down the gravel path.
“I thought you might like to see the grounds, you’ve been locked inside long enough.” He said, his tone almost half apology, half invitation. A sentiment that made my chest tighten.
“You were right. It’s beautiful.” I smiled faintly, looking around.
“Once it was,” he murmured, and I looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere distant, on a memory I couldn’t see. I was about to ask what he meant when a mischievous thought broke through the heaviness between us.
“So… this isn’t like one of those mafia movies, is it?” I said, feigning seriousness.
“Excuse me?” he asked in surprise.
“You know, where the assassin takes the poor victim out to the countryside and makes them dig their own grave? Because if it is, I think the boots were a little much.” For a second, there was nothing, then the sound I least expected filled the air.
He laughed.
It wasn’t the sharp, mocking sound I’d imagined it might be. It was deep, warm and genuine this time. And the moment it escaped him, he looked as startled as I felt. His eyes met mine, wide for a fraction of a second before soft amusement took over. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing too.
The sound of it felt strange in this place, like something pure and alive had slipped into the cracks of the dark. For the first time since meeting him, the space between us didn’t feel like a battlefield. No, it felt like a breath of something almost normal.
When the laughter faded, he was still looking at me, and there was something softer in his expression now. Something I couldn’t name.
“Remind me, never to underestimate your imagination, little rabbit,” he said, his lips curving faintly.
“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 tangled vines, 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 tone made 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.
“Because you might not like what you find.” He snapped with a growl of words that made me flinch. But this was when I decided to push back,
“And since when did that become something you’re afraid of?” This ended with a gasp as he was at me faster than my eyes could track. The feel of his hand as it curled around my fragile neck stole my breath as he physically held it prisoner for a few frightening moments.
“Still feeling brave, rabbit?” he hummed darkly, his grin one I felt was for show.
I knew that when his fingers relaxed after he tracked my need to breathe.
So, I steeled my spine and pushed myself up on tiptoes so that I could get closer to the face that loomed over me, giving him my answer in more ways than one.
“You won’t hurt me.” I bit out, making him sneer down at me.
“Do not mistake my kindness for a weakness, for you are a means to an end and nothing more.”
“So, you’ve said!” I snapped, ignoring the hand that threatened my life and was still held firmly at my throat. His eyes heated at this, the silver in them brighter than ever before.
“If you think I won’t deliver you to my brothers as a pretty, broken doll, you are wrong.” He warned dangerously, something that ended with a knowing smirk when he felt the fearful lump push against his palm as I forced it down.
“You don’t scare me, Vasileios,” I lied. However, the sound of his name whispered from my lips was enough to break through his anger, as he closed his eyes and groaned,
“And you are far too dangerous for your own good.”