Page 2 of Barely Breathing

I shut my eyes, trying to get my bearings. Is this moment real, or am I drifting into another fragment?

“Open it.”

I open my eyes at the familiar voice to see my grandfather sitting on the edge of my hospital bed. This delusion is so vivid that a lump forms in my throat. I know this isn’t right. He died from Covid. And yet, here he is, smiling at me expectantly. I want to tell him I miss him, but that’s not what happened. Instead, I open a jewelry box to find the amulet. My hand looks small, too small. I was young when this happened. One of my arms is in a cast after my brother Conrad pushed me from a balcony at the country estate.

The smooth stone of time comes skipping along, stuttering the moment when I would have it linger. I feel safe with my grandfather, even though I’m in the hospital. He loves me and wants me to feel protected.

When time rights itself, his hands are in the air. A swarm of magical butterflies flutters around us. It’s a simple glamour spell, but their delicatebeauty looks real. One lands on my cast and then bursts like a bubble. The spell ends.

“The world needs butterflies, Tamara, as much as it needs dragons. Probably more. We all have our place.” He kisses the tip of his finger and then presses it against my forehead. Before he makes contact, I’m back in the bedroom alone.

What the fuck is this insanity? Am I having a fever dream? Am I under a spell? Why am I reliving snippets of my life?

Fuck. Am I dead?

I’m holding the amulet in my fist. My grandfather told me it would protect me. And it has. The magic connected to the stone has saved my life multiple times, shielding me from supernatural threats. Then Conrad broke it when he tried to steal it, causing chaos and disrupting the balance of power in the paranormal world. That’s when Morvok helped me fix it.

I’ve since repaired the amulet’s magic, which has given me a degree of control over the sleeping Draakmar. However, the full extent of the amulet’s power and my link to the dragon are still not fully understood. A sense of uncertainty and danger haunts me.

My fingers continue to trace the amulet. It’s a familiar weight trying to remind me of something. I feel a sharp cut against my finger andimmediately lift it to see. It’s okay, but the sensation reminds me of the stone shattering around Conrad’s neck, killing him and resetting the timeline of those around me like pieces shuffled on a game board.

The amulet pulses faintly, like the ancient heartbeat it belongs to. I see Draakmar’s face. I don’t want to drift, so I stare up at the bedposts, trying to anchor myself in the fog of my thoughts.

This is not my bed, and these are not my clothes.

The bed swallows me whole in crimson sheets that shimmer faintly in the quivering light. My hand brushes the cool fabric, soft as water against my fingertips. The intimacy feels intrusive, and I sit up. An ache in my limbs is a dull reminder of the recent chaos.

Costin’s bedroom.

I take a closer look around me. The intricate carvings on the bedposts rise toward the ceiling like sentinels. Ornate in a way that borders on overindulgence, each post is etched with twisting ivy and perched ravens. I don’t remember seeing them before, but then last time I was conscious in here I wasn’t focused on the vampire’s interior decorating skills.

Like everything about Costin, this room displays a power that should intimidate me. Instead, it sends an unwanted thrill down my spine. I’ve spent my life avoiding supernatural seduction, yet here I am,surrounded by evidence of Costin’s otherworldly allure.

A draft caresses my cheek, carrying that faint scent of floral incense and wood polish. Beneath that is an unmistakable essence that is purely Costin—dangerous and achingly familiar. My body remembers his touch even if my thoughts are murky.

The idea of him draws my attention back to the present. Somewhere around me, a faint creak echoes. It’s the groan of old wood adjusting to pressure. The scent haunting me mixes with something more profound—musty and metallic, like old blood lingering in the air.

The room stretches into darkness as heavy velvet curtains swallow the light. The flicker of candelabra flames casts shadows in motion, alive and restless. Silence feels deliberate as if the walls are holding their breath.

Thick, dark wood furniture looms like guardians of another era—heavy wardrobes and an intricately carved four-poster bed. I detect small details in the polished wood. There are faint scratches, like claw marks, and faded spots where countless hands have rested.

The fireplace across the room is dormant. The mantel is cluttered with centuries’ worth of trinkets—goblets, rings, and curiosities whose stories are lost to time. Their arrangement hints of melancholyas if they are mementos of lives Costin has outlived. I wonder what meaning they carry for an immortal vampire. Costin doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type, but I can well imagine there are swirling depths beneath his calm surface that I haven’t seen.

This is not my…

“I will take care of everything.” Costin’s voice echoes through me. I look around, but he’s not there.

I’m dating Costin. I’m dating a vampire.

It occurs to me that words like dating and boyfriend don’t fit when you’re with a powerful, immortal supernatural creature. Flashes of Costin appear before me—holding my burned hand in a dark forest, standing over me in the driveway when I broke my arm, following me in the labyrinth, fingers stretching toward my face before he kisses me.

I blink and look for another anchor to keep me in reality.

A sword hangs above the hearth, its hilt encrusted with rubies that match the deep, rich hues of the room. It perfectly reflects the vampire. It’s elegant, timeless, and unnervingly precise.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, testing my groggy voice. “Dangerous.”

“I will take care of everything.”

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