Chapter 17: Where Vines Cannot Reach

Roots of Desire

Chapter 17: Where Vines Cannot Reach

Woodward held Iveyna close, his body half-curled around hers beneath the thick blankets. The warmth of her skin seeped into him, quieting the restless ache in his wooden core. Dawn slipped through the wooden slats of the window, casting soft streaks of gold across her face. For once, he let himself savor the stillness; no Grove, no Steward, no blood on his hands. Just her.

Her breath was steady, warm against his chest, but he could feel the moment she stirred. A soft sigh escaped her lips, her fingers curling slightly against his bare skin. He tightened his hold, not to trap her, but to keep her exactly where she was.

"You’re awake," he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

Iveyna shifted slightly, her legs brushing against his beneath the covers. "I should be asking you the same," she said, her voice soft but edged with teasing. "I half-expected you to disappear into the forest before sunrise." He brushed his fingers along the curve of her back, a slow, lingering touch. "And leave you unguarded?" His lips grazed her temple, his words warm against her skin. "I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me to."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. Something flickered behind her eyes; a mix of defiance and something softer. "Good," she said, her voice quieter now. "I’m not ready for you to leave." A rare thing; honesty, without her usual armor. It stirred something possessive inside him. He slid a hand up her spine, tangling his fingers in her hair as he tilted her face toward his. "You only have to say the word," he said, his voice a low promise. "And I’ll stay."

Iveyna’s lips parted, and whatever sharp reply she had faded as he captured her mouth in a slow, claiming kiss. She melted against him, her body fitting perfectly against his. When she kissed him back, it wasn’t hesitant. It was fierce, hungry; a match to the heat simmering just beneath his skin.

He traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding to her hip. "You taste like trouble," he murmured against her lips, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

Her laughter was breathless, her fingers curling in his hair. "You like trouble."

"I like you," he said, the words coming easily, as if they had always been true.

Her expression shifted, softening for the briefest moment before she pushed herself up, straddling him beneath the blankets. The sight of her; hair tousled, lips swollen from his kisses; stoked the fire building low in his stomach.

"Is that so?" she challenged, her voice silk over steel.

He let his gaze linger on her, deliberately slow, drinking her in. "Iveyna," he said, her name rough on his tongue, "I don’t think you realize how far that truth goes."

She leaned down, brushing her lips against his in a teasing kiss. "Then show me. He would’ve done exactly that; if not for the quiet knock at the door. The sound shattered the fragile cocoon of intimacy, and he felt Iveyna tense against him.

Woodward exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "What?" His voice came out sharper than intended, the intrusion unwelcome.

Iveyna stirred in Woodward’s arms, her head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. A blanket covered her from the waist down, the fabric slipping just enough to hint at the curve of her hip beneath the thin line of her panties. Woodward’s hand rested possessively at her side; protective, steady, his thumb tracing idle patterns against her skin.

Vesper took a few steps inside the room, her head bowed, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her gaze lingered a breath too long on the exposed skin before she caught herself, her shoulders tightening as she quickly looked away.

"You’re awake," Iveyna said softly, the quiet authority in her tone drawing Vesper’s attention back to her. Vesper’s knees trembled as she dipped her head lower. "I; I didn’t mean to stare," she whispered, voice fragile and thin. The words clung to the air. "You don’t need to apologize," Iveyna murmured. "Come here."

Vesper glided forwards, her movements fluid yet hesitant, as though she feared a misstep might break the fragile peace. Woodward’s hand remained firm on Iveyna’s waist, his wooden fingers warm against her skin. A subtle shift against her lower back sent a ripple of sensation through her; vines curling from his palm, slow and deliberate. They wound lightly around her waist beneath the blanket, a whisper-soft touch that never fully claimed, but never released either. His touch soothed her, but there was something else beneath it. A quiet reminder. Mine.

Vesper’s breath hitched, though she kept her head bowed. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Let me help you. I… I don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me." Iveyna swallowed against the weight of the words. The desperation in Vesper’s voice made her heart twist. She needed someone to help her know how to exist. "You don’t have to earn your place," Iveyna said, her voice softer but no less firm. "Just… be here. You’re safe with me."

Vesper shook her head almost frantically, panic flaring in her wide eyes. "But if I’m not useful; " Her voice broke. Woodward’s vines flexed subtly against Iveyna’s waist, gliding lower; just a brush along her hip before retreating. His breath warmed the side of her neck, steady and calm, as if to anchor her as Vesper clung to the edge of panic. He said nothing, but the slow, rhythmic shift of his vines beneath the blanket spoke volumes; I’m here. I’m listening.

Iveyna exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening against the edge of the blanket as she gathered herself, taking a moment to pull the blanket a little higher, resting it just under her curves. "You’re already done enough, Vesper. You don’t have to prove anything to me."

A tremor ran through Vesper’s frame, her lips parting on a shaky breath. "I want to be good," she whispered. "I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just… let me stay." The vines around Iveyna’s waist shifted again; this time tracing the curve of her hip with a feather-light caress before sliding back. The touch was so subtle it might have been absent minded; if not for the deliberate pace. Woodward was watching, feeling every shift in the room’s energy, and answering it in his own quiet way.

Iveyna hesitated. "You can stay," Iveyna murmured. "But if you want to help…" She let the words trail off, allowing Vesper to latch onto them. "Go downstairs and bring back something warm for breakfast." Vesper’s head snapped up, relief flooding her expression as if the simple task had given her a lifeline. "Yes." she breathed, rising to her feet in one graceful motion. Iveyna bit back a sigh.

Vesper hesitated at the door, her fingers twitching as though waiting for permission to leave. "Go," Iveyna said softly. "And take your time." Vesper’s shoulders relaxed, her posture loosening as she dipped into a quick bow before slipping out of the room. Silence settled as the door clicked shut behind her. For a breath, Iveyna let herself sink back against Woodward, her body still humming where his vines had touched her.

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A soft sound; not quite amusement, not quite approval; vibrated through his chest. His hand slid upward, fingers spreading against her ribs as his vines slowly retracted, leaving only the warm weight of his touch behind. He pulled Iveyna deeper into his embrace, his hand trailing highrr. Feeling her soft warm curves under his fingertips.

"You’re easing into it, with how you are healing her" he said, more observation than judgment. Iveyna closed her eyes, torn between the lingering heat of his touch and the weight of the responsibility she hadn’t meant to claim.

"I’m trying," she whispered. And as Woodward’s hand tightened gently on her waist, she couldn’t quite decide whether that was the truth; or a lie she told herself to feel better about the power Vesper was so willing to place in her hands.

The soft creak of the door echoed through the quiet room as Vesper returned, her hands trembling slightly as she carried a tray laden with fresh bread, fruit, and a steaming bowl of porridge. The warmth from the meal filled the air, mingling with the lingering intimacy that had settled over the room. Her gaze briefly flicked to the bed where Iveyna lay nestled against Woodward. His wooden fingers, gently curled around her, were still resting on her shoulder, his vines coiling loosely around her waist. The sight made Vesper feel small, insignificant, and deeply aware of feeling alone.

As she set the tray down on the small wooden table by the window, her gaze naturally shifted to Woodward, who regarded her silently. A flicker of something almost imperceptible passed between them, a wordless recognition that both comforted and unnerved her. "Thank you, Vesper," Iveyna's voice broke the silence, soft and warm. She turned her gaze toward the food. "It’s perfect. You’ve done well."

She turned to leave, her steps slow and deliberate, though there was a heaviness in her heart. Iveyna watched Vesper go, her expression pensive. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, the shifting dynamic between them, the weight of responsibility she was beginning to shoulder. But she could feel it; the pull of something deeper than just the roles they played.

The soft, ambient light of the room flickered through the drawn curtains, casting gentle shadows against the walls. Woodward leaned back against the headboard, his wooden fingers brushing through Iveyna’s hair as she settled beside him. There was a quiet tension between them, one that had been growing since their encounter with Vesper. The air felt thick with unspoken words, yet the room held a strange calm.

Iveyna’s gaze wandered toward the floor where Vesper had just been; her submission still heavy in the silence. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Vesper. "Do you think we’re... doing the right thing? Taking her in." she asked softly, her voice tentative as she tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

Woodward’s expression softened, the stoic, commanding figure she had come to know giving way to something more tender. He gently ran a finger down her spine, and as he did, a tendril of vine sprouted from his wooden skin, twisting upward with almost imperceptible grace. The vine wound its way toward the floor where Vesper had knelt moments before, and from the end of it, a single sunflower bloomed; a delicate, golden blossom emerging with the warmth of the light. The sunflower seemed to sway in the still air, as if it were alive, its petals unfolding with gentle strength.

Woodward smiled softly at the flower’s beauty, before his focus shifted back to Iveyna. "Vesper has been deeply hurt," he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. "She has been for far too long. But there is something in her, something we both saw, something fragile… and powerful." Iveyna’s fingers traced patterns on the bedspread, her thoughts heavy. “I don’t understand her need to be this way,” she confessed quietly. “Why does she… why does she give of herself so willingly?”

Woodward’s eyes softened, the deep well of his centuries-old wisdom reflected in the flicker of his gaze. “It’s not about choice, not for her. It’s a response, a survival instinct. She’s been shaped by cruelty for so long that she now believes that to... She needs to feel… the illusion of control in life. She craves something to hold onto, no matter the cost to herself.”

Iveyna’s chest tightened at the thought of Vesper’s torment. “We’re giving her that control?” Woodward’s vines gently intertwined with hers, a subtle touch that conveyed more than words ever could. "You are, without realizing it. You give her direction and safety. It’s not the same as what she’s known before. This… is different."

Iveyna sighed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this responsibility." “You are,” he replied, the certainty in his tone unwavering. “You’re more than capable of guiding her. You just need to trust yourself, as I trust you.”

Iveyna paused, the weight of his words settling over her like the warmth of a blanket. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of his steady heartbeat soothe her. “And what about you? What do you need from me, Woodward?” Woodward’s lips brushed against her hair, his answer wrapped in tenderness and raw honesty.

“You.”

As he spoke, he reached out and took a piece of fresh fruit from the tray beside them, gently holding it to Iveyna’s lips. She hesitated for only a moment before she allowed herself to indulge, tasting the sweetness of the fruit as his gaze never left her. He then picked up a warm piece of bread, breaking off a piece and offering it to her as well. With each bite, his hands were steady and reassuring, as though grounding her in the simplicity of this moment.

When the fruit and bread were finished, Woodward picked up a bowl of warm porridge, its steam rising in delicate curls. He gently fed her, the rhythm of his movements intimate and patient. Each spoonful was a simple gesture, yet it felt as if they were bonding in a way that went beyond words.

As he fed her, the sunflower, still attached to his vine, swayed gently. It focused its petals on the scraps that had been abandoned on the tray, and with delicate grace, the sunflower began to envelop it. Its petals unfurled, curling around the metal tray as if it were being cradled in a soft embrace. The sunflower's vines stretched out, gently wrapping around the scraps, drawing it closer, and soon the remnants was consumed completely by the bloom. It was absorbed into the flower, hidden from view, its sharp edges no longer visible.

Woodward gave a small, satisfied nod as the sunflower finished its task, retreating its vines with an almost imperceptible movement. The scraps, once a symbol of excess, were now consumed entirely, swallowed by nature's grace. His vine pulled back, retreating into his wooden form, as the sunflower faded from view, leaving only a soft trace of its presence.

The room felt peaceful then, the quiet between them comfortable. Woodward set the empty bowl aside and looked down at Iveyna, her eyes still soft with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty. “Rest, my dear,” he whispered. “We will continue this path together.” Iveyna nestled closer, her breath steady as she let herself relax against him, her trust in him growing by the moment.

Woodward’s expression softened, the stoic, commanding figure she had come to know giving way to something more tender. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, the strands like silk against his wooden skin. “She’s adrift,” he said quietly. “But she’s not beyond reach. And you… you’re becoming something of a compass, Iveyna.” She gave a soft, skeptical huff. “That’s not exactly what I planned to be.” “None of us choose the roles that matter most,” he murmured. Then, after a pause, “Would you like to hear something? Something… older than most remember.”

Her brow lifted slightly. “A Druidic riddle? Or is this one of your forest sermons? Recycling saves the world” A corner of his mouth lifted, and he leaned in, his voice a whisper against her temple. “No sermon. Just something I learned in solitude… waiting for someone who might understand it.” She didn’t speak, only nodded once, and he let the silence wrap around them before he began.

“Beneath the soil where secrets sleep,

Where root and rot entwine,

I waited in the hush of dark,

For fire that would not shine.

But then a wind; a whisper; came,

A footstep near the bough,

And all the stillness in my limbs,

Remembered life somehow.

She walks with coal upon her hands,

And fire behind her eyes,

She cuts through wood, but does not know,

The forest still replies.

And I; of bark and broken vow,

Of sap and ancient grief;

I watched her burn, then bloom again,

And found in her… belief.”

The room was utterly still.

Iveyna stared at him, her mouth parting slightly, but no words came at first. Her hand slid over his chest, slow and reverent, like she was touching something sacred. “You… wrote that?”

His gaze dropped to her lips before returning to her eyes. “It came to me over many winters. But it only made sense after I met you.”

Something in her chest tightened, as though his words had pressed against a part of her long left dormant. Her fingers curled lightly into his chest. “I don’t know if I deserve that,” she whispered. “You do,” he said simply. “You were always meant to.”

Then he kissed her; not with the hunger from before, but with a kind of aching reverence that felt more dangerous than any fire. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask.

It claimed.