Reapers - Master of Souls (Reapers Chronicles Book III)

32 - Roots (2 of 2)

I'm only honest when it rains,

An open book with a torn out page,

And my ink's run out.

I want to love you but I don't know how.  

32 - Roots

I removed the Diviner's Charm and handed it back to Alex before marching right in front of Vincent. My face had turned into rubber, a blank mask. It was all I could do to not appear as sullen as I felt. For all I knew, I could just be overacting. It could really be over. My expectations of this mission had been on the level of impossible. Perhaps, that was why I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that we were only one step away from winning.

With the apparently serious strategic planning with Vlad and Kyoshiro interrupted, Vincent twisted his torso to look at me over his shoulder.

I cleared my throat, forced my lips into an awkward smile. For some reason, I couldn't look him in the eye. "So... I'll go see Belial. Do you want me to open a Door for--" I glanced at the vat "--her before I go?"

"Hang on a sec," he answered, raising an index finger and leaving it up before hunching back into the huddle to whisper something to the others.

"It's okay," I declined. "I won't take long."

Alex was on my tail before I could make the first step.

"I'll come with you," he said with a hint of finality.

Vincent pulled out of the huddle and stepped between me and Alex. Facing his brother, Vincent reached for my hand, slipped his fingers in between mine and pulled me behind him.

"It's okay," Vincent repeated the same words I just used on him. "We won't take long."

Wordlessly, Alex stepped back and joined the others. As we left, he gave me a fleeting look. It seemed like Belial wasn't the only one who could read me.

We draughted in silence, eyes forward. There was no urgency in Vincent's strides as we wove our way into the woods. A thick carpet of orange and brown covered the forest floor, marred only by protruding roots of the ancient trees. The light of the moon passed through the canopy of thick leaves and branches. Every now and then, the path would slope up then down like obstacles. Obstacles I used to stumble on when I was younger. When my only problems were learning how to draught and fight.

Those were the days. The easy life.

Vincent was a draught ahead of me. I watched him, memorized the shape of his back, how his dark hair bounced with the gust of the wind. Then, I got to thinking, when did I begin loving this person? Was it that day he brought me back to life? When we were dancing in Death's ballroom? Was it when he got himself captured just to save me?

After the 'when' was the 'why'. I could enumerate a hundred reasons, but not a single one would be the perfect answer.

The never-ending cycle of questions stopped only when Vincent veered right and slowed down. We were just a couple minutes away from the mansion and I hated every minute not knowing what I should. Yet, I went after him.

Vincent suddenly stopped. Near his feet was a tree that had fallen down. It was an oak; wide, bulbous, with strong branches desperately reaching up despite its awkward position, perhaps, for sunlight. It was surprising to see thick, vibrant leaves from the tips of the twigs that should have already died when the tree had been uprooted.