Page 52 of Nearly Dead

I remember standing my ground.Finding balance.Costin arriving.For a moment, everything was fine.

Then…nothing?

This seems to be a pattern in my life lately.Consciousness, unconsciousness, rinse, repeat.I wonder how many more times I’ll wake up not knowing what happened to me or how much time has passed.

I swipe at my eyelids with trembling fingers.Flakes are crusted along my lashes.They sting as I peel them apart.I manage to pry one eye open.The destruction looks worse than I remember, like a bomb went off after Leviathan fled.Broken shelves.Scattered books.Shattered glass from a mirror.

No.It wasn’t this bad.

Pain radiates through my body as I try to move.It’s not the sharp agony of a spell, but a bone-deep ache, as if I’ve been pushed beyond my supernatural limits.Each muscle screams in protest as I force myself into a sitting position.

“Easy.”

Costin’s voice comes from somewhere to my right.I turn, wincing at the stiffness in my neck.He sits in a chair a few feet away, watching me with careful eyes.There is a bloody rip in his shirt sleeve.

“Did I do that?”I ask.

He waves a hand in dismissal.“It’s nothing.”

Costin doesn’t rush to help me.Doesn’t try to lift me or support me.He just waits, giving me space to find my own strength.

That’s new.

“How long was I out?”My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling gravel.

“A few hours.”He passes me a glass of blood without touching my hand.“You collapsed shortly after I arrived.”

I drain the glass, letting the warm liquid soothe my parched throat.Even my fangs ache, retracted but tender against my gums.

“Leviathan came back?”I ask.

Costin’s jaw tightens.“You don’t remember?”

I look around at the devastation, trying to force a memory.“Astrid’s going to be pissed about her books.”

His lips twitch with a ghost of a smile.“I believe her exact words were irreplaceable first editions and centuries of magical knowledge.”

Someone had given me a pillow and blanket, but I’m on the floor.I try to stand, but my legs buckle.I expect Costin to catch me, to sweep me up in his arms with vampiric speed.He doesn’t.He watches me struggle, his body tense with the effort of restraint, but he lets me find my own balance.

When I finally manage to stand, swaying slightly, I see something in his eyes I didn’t expect.Pride.

“You’re giving me space,” I observe.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He considers his answer carefully.“Because you need it.”

I wait for more, for the lecture about safety, for the possessive concern, for the sire bond to pulse between us with demands of obedience.None of it comes.

“That’s it?”I press.“No, ‘Tamara, you shouldn’t have faced Leviathan alone’?No, ‘you could have been killed’?”

“Would it change anything if I said those things?”He raises an eyebrow.“Would you do anything differently?”

I think about it honestly.“Probably not.”

“Then what would be the point?”He stands, keeping his distance.“You made your choice.You survived.You even found a way to balance your natures,” he gives a pointed look around, “if only temporarily.”

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