Page 72 of Potion of Deception (Potion of Deception #1)

She slightly pulled back and looked up to the stars, thinking.

She wasn't mad at him, not for his honesty.

Perhaps he just expressed more emotions now than during their entire journey.

Undeniably, this particular topic of his past was bringing him pain; she realized it back after he told her the truth of how he was fighting his vampirism.

So it made her think the reason for his hesitation is more than explainable.

“Fear is a natural thing, I presume, even for something that is not actually natural.” A lovely half-smile curled her lips. “You're nervous about what will happen – I would think about it as a good sign.”

“A good sign?” The corners of his eyes wrinkled.

“It means you still care,” she said, her tone no less warm than the fire. “It means that you can feel and care about others; I never thought I'd say something like this but otherwise, you'd not care what will happen after you take your mask off.”

“I still don't see it as a good thing,” he muttered and dragged his sight into the dancing fire.

Violette musingly hummed. “You said you'd never want other people to die, as much as this whole…

situation is horrible, I wouldn't call you a villain. What happened,” she looked away, “was horrendous and you can't turn back time. But you can become better and if your heart is truly kind then it speaks for itself.”

Dante's brows drew together. He was pondering her words, though Violette felt like she didn't convince him.

He didn't believe in himself. Well, nobody had believed as it seemed.

She couldn't be sure if all he said was true but she wished to be.

He stated Caidas was harsh and didn't try to understand.

Dante might have lost the hope – the faith in himself after all.

“You said you were trying to run away,” she voiced.

He raised his eyes to hers, his shoulders strained. “It still didn't work. I tried everything to stop myself, but the moment I saw people, my mind just went blank.”

“Did you notice you're using words in past form? Believing in yourself is actually half the deal.” She angled her head. “Sometimes even hard work is not enough if you don't have faith in yourself.”

His gaze pierced her as if he was waiting for more reasons than that.

And she understood her words might instill mistrust and it sounded a bit naive and dreamy but she believed in what she was saying.

She was thinking how hard it might be for him to think better about himself when everyone around kept calling him doomed, a wrong one .

“But if you need someone to believe in you,” she tried to sound more nonchalant than it looked. ”I believe you can handle it.” Her hand slipped closer to him, and after a thread of waver, her fingers gently touched his.

Dante’s forehead slightly creased, brows curved down, and for a frail heartbeat confusion froze in his gaze. His eyes slowly lowered to her hand – Violette took it away at the same moment.

His gaze froze on his hand for a while and then he finally looked at the girl, eyeing her as though he couldn’t fathom why she might be kind to him after all she knew.

“I mean. It's in my interests, so don't be too flattered,” she waved, “But…I do think you can do it if you really want to.” Her eyes flew to him again and her soft smile could melt even the most impenetrable heart.

He clacked. “You're making me believe I am a better person than I am, Little Witch.”

“Oh, no, you're definitely terrible.” She chuckled softly.

Turning to the fire, he looked at her from the corners of his eyes and smiled back, and even if that smile was not as soft and warm as hers, even if the mischievousness was dancing on the corners of his mouth – it was sincere.

“Thank you,” he said deeply, his voice calm and smooth as night itself.

“See, sometimes it's good to talk about your feelings with others. ”

“Look who's talking.” A quiet chuckle left his mouth.

Violette blinked at a loss.

“You know what I mean.” The smile didn't leave his mouth. “If we are talking about my feelings, it's only honest to talk about yours as well.”

“What do you mean?” She shuddered.

“Sometimes you say things that are different from what you really feel.”

Violette lips pressed in a thin line.

“You don't know what I feel,” she set.

A tease burned in his eyes. “Come on, Little Witch. I won't judge you, just tell the truth.”

“I am not scared you'll judge me,” she murmured. She said the truth, it's not something she worried about.

“But what about others?” He adjusted a stick in the fire.

She raised her eyes to his. He couldn't be that insightful – he was attentive to details but she wouldn't think he was good at distinguishing feelings.

“I don't think I follow.” She swiped her gaze away.

“Don't you get tired of pretending?”

“I'm no–I–” She gave him a dirty look. “I don't pretend. I just don't think I should show more than needed.”

He meaningfully drawled “Mmm.” And then after a long pause he added, “But isn't it lying then? You always try to act cool when you indeed feel too overwhelmed.”

She glanced at him again. She knew what it was about.

He was talking about all these moments when she was scared or anxious but tried to look calm and unbothered.

Unlike Dante, she wasn't that cold, that careless.

Sometimes feeling was devouring her from inside but she always tucked it in.

That's how she was with her father – she never told him, never showed him how much she was scared, how much his state had been making her dolorous.

It was the way she acted with others. If she felt sad – she was smiling.

If she wanted to cry – she waited until she was completely alone.

Nobody was allowed to see her tears, to know she is not able to control her own feelings.

She wanted to be strong. Stronger than she was.

“I don't understand what is bad about it,” she murmured. “It doesn't harm anyone.”

“What about you?” he said softly. “Does it not harm you? It's hypocritical. You want me to share my feelings but you don't want to do the same.”

“I–” she stuttered, “There's a difference. I do it to not bother others.”

“Why do you think you'd bother someone with your feelings?” His brows twisted together in confusion.

And she again felt at a loss for words. She actually didn't have an answer for this question, she just knew everyone had their own problems, so she had never wanted to weigh them with hers .

“You devalue yourself, Little Witch. And you don't have to try to appear stronger than you are.

You're already strong, you're more than enough,” he said firmly.

And it wasn't a speech of encouragement, he didn't award her with a gentle smile, he said it like it was something obvious – not more than a fact.

Violette strained. A strange tightening feeling surged inside her, she couldn't explain it, nor describe it; like something tickled her, a mix of chill and warmth – a pure confusion.

A little crystal vial sparkled in sight as Dante pulled it from his pocket. A quick glance and he held it out.

“What–” she didn't finish as he interrupted her.

“The cure. We're almost done so…I want you to take it,” he said putting the potion in her hands.

She blinked at the vial, completely dazed, and then looked at him. “Are you not afraid I will run away?”

He chuckled. “Consider it as a gesture of my gratitude.”

Violette froze staring at him before her gaze dropped to the little vial in her hands – a sudden warmth spread throughout her chest, wrapping her heart in.

Violette was honest with Dante – his past was terrible and irrevocable. But if he changed, he shouldn't hold this burden that stops him from living freely. Though, it was strange to think after all she had been through for the last few days.

She was terrified to death, couldn't even make eye contact with him and now she was sitting with him and simply having a conversation.

And the strangest feeling of all – her commiseration.

She felt sympathy for his tortured soul.

She could see it in his eyes – he was honest with her.

The glimpse of regret and something else she couldn't solve yet in his gaze made it clear – he didn't want to be a monster.

Yes, he wasn't flawless but he didn't want to hurt anyone and he had never intended to hurt her.

She started to recall memories they made together and they weren't that bad as it seemed at first. Looking back she started to realize he wasn't bad or evil; he was undeniably cold and less compassionate than her or others she knew and his methods were questionable if not more, but he wasn’t heartless.

And now when he confessed his fears, his past, it was hard to feel hostile towards him.

The truth is, she found this conversation quite pleasant.

And then it finally hit her – it was indeed their last night together.

Tomorrow they'll finish their bargain and she'll be free to go.

She'll be able to go home, back to her life.

Her wish finally will be able to come true. But…why did this thought feel emptying?

She would want to deny it but the truth was inevitable – she got attached to Dante for these few weeks.

It was unfair, she shouldn't miss him, she was more often annoyed by him than tolerating him and yet…

She realized she no longer sought freedom from his company, likewise, she sought his pr esence.

She wasn't thinking much about it but now it was so clear – she wasn't ready to say goodbye.

They weren't friends, they still were quite nothing, but definitely not strangers and she found herself thinking she'd like to know more, explore him…

them. Maybe, one day she could call him a friend, even after the terrible revelation of the truth of his past.

Sauntering through the snowy woods, she was thinking how much more was hiding behind Dante’s somberness.

And she wouldn't want to accept it in a million years but she couldn't see another day without his presence in it.

What is she supposed to do now? She will go back home and what next?

After seeing him every day she will not see him at all?

And she will not hear his jokes or shameless flirts?

His eyes full of shadows will never meet hers again?

No more adventures and riddles? Nothing?

A hole started to grow in her chest, spreading the vines of anguish.

She didn't want it to end. And it was foolish to think this way, but she hoped he might feel the same.

Their conversation earlier – he looked different.

Could he not be ready to say goodbye too?

She shouldn't plant a sprout of hope in her heart but she couldn't resist it.

What if there was a chance that tomorrow they will not split their paths?

What if their adventure will not end? No.

It will not end. Not after this night. She decided.

Tomorrow they'll finish their deal but it doesn't end anything between them.

She doesn't know what will be next but it will not be a goodbye .

She tipped her head towards the night sky, and then her gaze met a field dotted with old gravestones.