Page 28 of Break Her Heart
He tilted his head, grin widening until the tips of his fangs glinted in the dim light, just as his eyes bled into crimson. “I’m hungry.”
I woke with a start, my breath catching in my throat.
The room was dark, save for the yellow glow slipping in through the curtains. My heart pounded against my ribs, the nightmare already slipping away like mist. I reached instinctively to the other side of the bed.
Empty.
My fingers brushed over the cool sheets where he should’ve been. I sat up slowly, rubbing at my eyes, and that’s when I saw him.
August was hunched over the desk across the room, his back to me, illuminated only by the dying flicker of a candle. His shoulders were tense, unmoving. Whatever he was reading or writing, he hadn’t noticed I’d woken.
Or maybe he had.
After the party last night, August brought me to our chambers and told me he had things to attend to. I didn’t bother staying up to wait for him. I welcomed the time away, and after being out nearly all night, sleep came easily. Thankfully, the nights I spent in the woods had already trained my body for this strange new schedule.
I walked over to him to see the journal open before him. Empty goblets and discarded scraps of parchment surrounded him. He had been at this for hours.
He didn’t look up. “You’re awake.”
The word scraped against my skin, but I ignored it. “So are you.”
He grunted, flipping a page with more force than necessary. I drifted closer, drawn despite myself.
The journal looked worse than I remembered. The ink was faded, the language twisted and ancient, half the margins filled with frantic notes in a hand that must have been August’s.
“Anything useful?” I asked, nodding toward the mess.
August finally glanced at me, his eyes rimmed in red from lack of sleep. “If it was useful, don’t you think I’d have done something by now?”
The bitterness in his voice landed hard.
I bristled. “I’m not standing here for fun, August.”
“No, of course not.” He dragged his thumb along a margin. “You’re just waiting to see what kind of monster I’ll be next.”
Snappy.
I crossed my arms.
“Half the journal’s written in dead tongues. It’s not just translating—it’s interpreting. Guessing. Hoping.”
I leaned in, frowning at the unfamiliar script, my arm brushing his where he hunched over the page.
The contact was brief, barely a graze, but it burned hotter than a brand.
I jerked back instinctively, nearly knocking over an ink pot.
August didn’t move.
He just stared at the journal, jaw tightening, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
I swallowed, glancing over to the notes he had written on a scrap sheet of paper. “You found something.”
I hated how aware of him I was. How even now, my body recognized the ghost of what used to be between us.
His eyes flicked to mine before he dropped them back to the journal.
“At the dying of the blood, he will rise not by voice, but by hand. The blade calls him home.It doesn’t make any sense.”
