Page 23 of Blood Heir

I begin to unbutton my shirt slowly, my hands working the buttons, but the entire time, I’m aware of her watching me. I feel her eyes on my back. The. I hear her stand and walk up to me. I feel it—her fingers. Her touch is light on my shoulder blade, tracing the cross tattoo. It’s so soft, it almost feels like a whisper. My muscles tighten involuntarily, and I finally turn, my chest rising and falling with each breath.

Our eyes meet, and in the silence, I tower over her. She stands there, transfixed, her hand still lingering on the tattoo, her fingers moving lower, tracing the scar on my ribcage. I’m so aware of the touch, so in the moment, it feels like everything else in the room fades away.

She looks up at me, and I know what I need to say, but it feels so difficult to get the words out.

“If you don’t leave now…” I start, my voice low, almost a warning. “Whatever happens next, you’ll take responsibility for.”

Her lips curve up so slowly, like she’s savoring the moment. It’s a look I can’t quite decipher.

“I may not remember my name,” she says, her voice almost a whisper now, “but I remember how it feels to be owned—and I refuse.”

Her fingers caress my chin gently, and I feel the sensation like it’s etched into my skin. She slides her thumb along my lips, and I freeze for just a moment before I realize I’m reacting.

But before I can stop it, she pulls away, turning on her heel and walking out of the room without a word.

I look down at myself, and it’s impossible to ignore the surge of heat that’s still coiling in my body. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog.

Chapter 7 - Fioretta

I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff, the rocks sharp beneath my fingers, my arms burning with exhaustion. I scream, but the sound is lost in the wind, swallowed by the endless abyss below. The rain pours, soaking me to the bone, the cold water streaming down my face, blurring my vision. The world tilts, the ground beneath me crumbles, and I try with everything I have to climb back, to find solid ground.

But it’s no use. My fingers slip. I gasp for air, but the air is too thick, too heavy. The world is spinning, and I can’t keep myself from sliding downward. I claw at the jagged rocks, my nails scraping against them, but I can’t find purchase.

And then, he appears.

Serevin.

He’s standing at the top of the cliff, his form shrouded in shadow, his face unreadable. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, it feels like time stops. The rain doesn’t matter. The wind doesn’t matter. It’s just him, standing there, like he’s the only thing that’s real in this nightmare.

My heart pounds. I reach out to him, my fingers trembling, desperate. I scream his name, but the wind steals it away before it can reach him.

And he stretches his hand down.

Hope surges through me, a burst of light in the middle of the storm. I grab for him, my fingers just brushing against his. Closer. I’m so close. I can feel the warmth of his hand, the strength in his grip.

But then—she appears.

Emilia.

She steps forward, almost like she’s always been there, her face twisted in something between victory and vindication. She grabs Serevin’s arm, pulling him back with force. His hand slips from mine, and I scream again, but this time it’s a cry of desperation.

And then—I fall.

The ground disappears, and I plummet. The air rips through my body, the wind howling, the rain stinging against my skin like needles. I try to reach for something, anything, but there’s nothing. Just darkness closing in, pulling me down.

I fall.

And fall.

I wake with a start, my body jerking upright, the remnants of the dream still swirling in my mind like a storm I can’t outrun. My breath is ragged, sharp, as if I’ve been holding it for far too long. I gasp, the air burning in my lungs. A scream echoes in the back of my throat, the feeling of falling still too real, too vivid.

“Fucking witch,” I mutter under my breath, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My chest is tight, my hands trembling as the images from the dream flash before my eyes again. Emilia’s face, Serevin reaching for me, and then—falling.

I feel a flash of anger, the memory of her pulling him away, of being abandoned in that moment.

I stand up quickly, my head spinning slightly from the sudden motion. The room is too bright, the sunlight streaming through the curtains in sharp, angular beams that make the room feel even more foreign. Morning has arrived, and it’s the last thing I want.

I walk to the bathroom, the cold tile beneath my feet a small comfort as I try to ground myself. The faucet is cool as Irun some water, splashing it on my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.

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