Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 61 - 65

Chapter 61: Chapter 65

"Are you ready?"

I nod fervently, combing through my hair that I funnel over one shoulder. Vance squares his shoulders, the movement precise and deliberate, as though donning an invisible armor. Without a word, he strides out of the cabin, and I follow close behind. The air around him has shifted—his stoic, detached demeanor snapping back into place like a well-worn mask. His gaze sharpens, his posture exuding his unapproachable confidence as he closes the distance to the two guardsmen.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Vance demands as if there is fault to find in their actions.

"Your father sent me to find and deliver you and Miss Du Pont," one of them said smoothly.

"Do we look like cargo to you?" Vance snaps back. "Items to be tracked and delivered?"

"Your father was concerned about your collective safety," he replies calmly, trying to quell matters. "We are under orders."

I take a gentle hold of Vance’s elbow from behind before I brush past him. The other guard signals me to the first vehicle and I comply, then Vance follows. The first guard impedes his path with an apologetic but halting hand raised.

"We are under strict orders," he clarifies. "You two are expected elsewhere. Your father wants to speak with you privately and the soon-to-be Governor demands his daughter."

I turn around fully to send Vance an emphatic look, nodding carefully.

"Call me as soon as you’re home," he makes me promise.

I concede only a nod, everything inside too tight to let even a whisper of a word free. He recedes to the cabin to lock everything up and I watch from the car window as long as the shrinking distance allows.

***

The backseat door swings open, and I linger.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the seat, clinging to the last vestiges of control before my will scrambles the effort to haul me out of the car. With a shaky breath, I force a stiff smile as I nod my thanks to the guard.

The short distance from the sidewalk to the front door feels impossibly brief, my heart pounding louder with every step. The weight of expectation presses down on me as I grip the door handle, pushing it open and closing it firmly behind me. The quiet inside is deafening, a silence so taut it seems to hum, drawing me forward. I’m pulled, almost magnetically, toward the living room, where the tension radiates like an invisible beacon.

I step into the lounge, my gaze immediately locking onto them. My father and brothers sit arrayed on the couches, their stern expressions casting me as a defendant in a trial awaiting sentencing. Their judgment is palpable, suffocating, and my chest tightens against the urge to flee.

"No," I say sharply, my voice breaking through the heavy silence. "You won’t sit here in this judgmental silence. None of you get to judge me, especially not over something you don’t even understand. And I will only say this once—"

"Excuse me?" my father interrupts, his voice sharp, authoritative, cracking through the air like a whip.

I turn on him, my words tumbling out in a rush. "Nothing happened between Vance and me. Not that you’d notice, but I was feeling overwhelmed—more anxious than I’ve ever been—and Vance did what none of you would. He took me away." My eyes lock onto his, unflinching. "You, least of all, don’t get to condemn me for a situation you created."

The truth lands hard, guilt flickering across his face as he looks away, his façade momentarily cracking. "That doesn’t mean you can do as you please," he says, his tone defensive but weaker now. "What if you were seen? What if the media—"

"That’s your concern?" I cut him off, a bitter laugh escaping me like a hollow echo. "Your candidacy, not my safety. Got it. Don’t worry, we weren’t followed. The public is blissfully unaware. No one will know about Vance’s selfless, kind attempt to salvage my mental health." My words drip with disdain, each syllable laced with the anger I’ve been holding back for far too long.

I leave without waiting for permission, my feet carrying me swiftly upstairs as if trying to outrun the ghosts of hesitation and the regret that might have shackled a past version of me. I don’t regret my words, only that they didn’t come sooner. But by the time I reach my room, my mind torments me with the image of my dad’s guilt-stricken. Impulse pleads for me to go back and apologize. My body swivels around to see Silas and Luciano approaching, inviting themselves inside my room, unrepentant and will-hardened.

"You don’t have to answer dad but you will answer me," Silas says to give no ground. "Did Vance try anything? Did he coerce you into—"

"No," I object quickly. "He did not force me to do anything or to lie about anything. I left because I wanted to."

"Can’t help but wonder... your behavior changes into something reckless when you’re around the Vacherons," Luciano points out.

"And whose fault is that?" The words slip out before I can stop them, sharp and brusque. I catch myself, drawing in a deep breath to steady the sudden turbulence of emotions. "Look," I begin again, softer this time, "I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." The apology leaves a strange taste on my tongue, uncertain as I stumble over it. Finally, I let out a wry snort, the corner of my mouth twitching bitterly. "I don’t even know what I’m sorry for because I’m not the one that let them in our lives. You guys talk about me as if I have changed, blaming me for what happened to me."

"No one is blaming you," Luciano says with a pull of his brows that holds a defensive gesture.

"Your criticism speaks differently," I say, too fast for my mind to react and restrain. "With the election around the corner, I know I need to have my head on straight—"

"Forget that," Silas says with a frustrated toss of words. His seriousness shifting, waning between the conflict of emotions. "Nothing is more important than your health, even mental, and I’m sorry that we made you feel like it wasn’t. I’m sorry that you didn’t even feel comfortable enough to share your anxieties with us. I mean, not that long ago your rants would make our ears bleed because you would tell us everything," he says with a tortured look, resentment receding into a bare and unguarded expression. "I’m not mad. Just...hurt. And disappointed in myself in what I did to make you lose trust in me."

I step forward, closing the distance between us. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around Silas’s neck, pulling him into a hug. His response is instant, his arms curling tightly around me, his hold firm yet comforting. His chin settles on my shoulder, a quiet weight that feels like an anchor, grounding us both as he lets out a soft breath, easing into the embrace as if he’s been waiting for it.