The Vow We Keep Novels & Stories

I said, voice low enough to slip under her ribs, “your body has already chosen to live. Now we teach it how to live. It will require two things: a vow and a price.” “A vow,” she repeated, half-asleep. “Say: ‘I will not let my blood be used to make cages. I will be a blade that opens doors.’” She shivered, then spoke it, and the mirrors carried it away, and the room kept a copy. Vows spoken in a mirror-room pretend to leave you; in truth they wait for you in the long hallway of your next bad choice. “And the price?” she asked.

Her palms were calloused, warm, and entirely steady, banishing the phantom cold of the ancient limestone dais. "I take you," I said, Bridie's hands warm in mine, "with nothing held back for anything ancient or ordinary to find purchase in. Whatever comes for us next, I choose you first." The vow wasn't drawn from an ancient scripture or a state treaty negotiated by lawyers. It was the absolute, unyielding truth of every choice we had made when slaughter would have been simpler. I squeezed her fingers, letting the weight of my grip convey every word I didn't have the voice to speak before fifty spectators—that no shadow, no ancestral curse, and no spilled blood of the past would ever stand be

she asked slowly, "in terms of daily conduct." "Public displays of affection when convenient. A shared residence for the duration of the marriage. No involvement with other parties that would imply an ongoing relationship. Otherwise your time is your own." "Shared residence." "Of necessity. As I expect one out of two of us will still be required to appear, from time to time, in a manner agreeable to both of us." Ivie processed this. "And if I say no." "Then we are done here. The offer lapses when this conversation is concluded. Your fourteen days are not extended."

“I want to build something too. A future that’s not weighed down by pain.” He nodded. “Then let’s make a vow.” “A vow?” He turned to face me, eyes steady. “Right here. Right now. That we won’t let the past control our lives anymore. That we’ll forgive ourselves and each other. That we’ll move forward, not looking back.” My throat tightened. “Okay. I vow.” “To peace,” he said. “To peace,” I echoed. “To love.” “To love.” We sealed it with a kiss—soft, slow, and full of promises.

"I vow to be peaceful when I enter the Sprite lands. I promise that no Sprite will die by my hands. I swear that when I remove the woman, Anya, from the custody of her princes, it'll only be temporary; when she reaches the age of eighteen, I'll let the Sprite Princes come to my kingdom and take back what was destined for them. I make this blood vow, knowing that if I break it, my blood will spill for eternity, leaving me to be the husk of who I once was." As soon as I recite the final word to the vow, our wound starts to heal, and my oath forever binds me. Kade's vow is simpler than mine, and I notice when Delphine only cuts into Kade's palm, not spilling any of her blood. She also speaks th

Cale stiffened. "We have to write them," Elion said. "For Saturday." "I don't know what a vow is," Cale said. "It's a promise." "I know the definition. But the... the content. What do people promise?" "They promise to love each other," Elion said. "To stay together. Sickness and health. Richer or poorer." "We are poor," Cale noted. "And sick." "So we're halfway there." Cale looked at the bubbles. He caught one on his finger. It popped.

“My mother entrusted me to you on her deathbed. And what did you do to me? “If you had a daughter, would you want her to forgive a man who treated her the way you treated me?” “So, no! I won’t forgive you. I don’t want to ever see you again.” He looked at me deeply, as if recalling that day when my mother placed my hand into his, when he had vowed he would take care of me. He lowered his head and fell silent for a long time. As I passed by him, his trembling voice drifted to my ears.

Zara’s gaze flickered toward the crowd. Her mother. Eyes glassy. Emilia. Frozen still. Chantel and Kemi. Watching her with silent strength. And Regan… just beside her. She could feel the heat of him. The conflict in him. The uncertainty. The priest’s voice faded into the background. Do I really belong here? The moment drew nearer. The vows loomed like a wall she couldn’t climb over. The priest turned to Regan. “Do you, Regan Kareem, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife…”

I had spent the night under a desk like a house cat that had gotten stuck behind the furniture and the man in front of me had apparently known the whole time and had simply decided to let me stay there. I am a coward, I told myself. A spectacular one. He had been right here. All night. Alone in this room with me within arm's reach and I had really fallen asleep like an idiot, What kind of person comes to a werewolf kingdom with a blood vow and then takes a nap under the enemy's desk? What kind of operation was I running? Damir closed whatever paper he had been reading and leaned back in his chair. Arms loose, And just... looked at me.

"Shawn, happy New Year! No matter how far you go, you'll always be the closest person to me." It was Archie Crosby, the underprivileged young man I had sponsored for four years. I had brought him out of the remote mountains and got him into Sienna's company. My finger hovered over the reply box. Before I could respond, I received a notification about a new post on social media. I tapped on it without thinking. The video was only five seconds long. Sienna, who was supposed to be stuck at the office for overtime, was standing on the beach. The wind was howling, and the sparkler in her hand lit up her gentle profile.