Page 12 of Blood Heir

I place a hand over my chest, feeling the rise and fall of my breath. It’s controlled—but then my hand drifts down. Over my ribs. My fingers brushing soft scars, faded now, like a history that won’t fade away completely. Knife marks. Faint but there. I remember nothing of how they got there, but the scars don’t belong to someone like me.

I move lower, almost too slowly. There’s a birthmark on my shoulder. Small. Almost like it was meant to be there. It’s the only thing that feels familiar on my skin.

Then I see it. My wrist. My left wrist. A tattoo.

A rose winding around a dagger, ink faded, but still visible. A little ragged from time, but still there. I stare at it longer than I want to. I don’t know why I have it. I don’t know who put it there, but something in me feels drawn to it. Like it’s the only constant in all this confusion.

My thoughts are moving too fast.

Why was I in the hospital in the first place?

What happened?

I gasp, a rush of air escaping my lungs.

I can’t breathe. I don’t understand any of this.

I’m tired.

I need a moment. I need a break from all this noise in my head.

I walk back to the closet, still naked, still unsure of my own skin. I reach for a nightgown—simple, soft, the material cool to the touch. It slides over my head easily, like it’s made to fit me, like it was always meant for me to wear.

I crawl into bed.

The sheets are soft. So soft.

I pull the blanket up around my shoulders, but it doesn’t block the storm of thoughts inside my head. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. My mind still races.

^^^^

I wake up in pitch darkness, the sheets cool against my skin as I stretch and let out a big, yawning sigh. For the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I actually feel refreshed. Like I’ve had some real sleep—not the kind where you just blink and time skips ahead in chunks.

My stomach growls, loud and demanding. I glare at it as if it can be silenced with a death stare.

“Alright, alright,” I mutter to myself, pushing the covers off. “I’ll take a bath and go look for food.”

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. As I stand, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look…well, I look a bit like a wreck—bedhead, the nightgown barely clinging to my frame, and disheveled. But I’m alive, right? At least that’s something.

With a sharp roll of my eyes, I pull the bathrobe off the hook beside the door. My fingers work the fabric loose when—click. The door swings open.

And there he is.

Serevin.

The look on his face is priceless.

I can see it in his eyes—shock. Stunned silence. His eyes dart away almost immediately, like he’s trying to ignore the fact that I’m standing there, naked as the day I was born.

And you know what? I can’t help it. I laugh.

He doesn’t turn back. He just keeps his back slightly turned, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Put on some clothes,” he says, voice tight. “I came to show you around the house.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest, bored. “Aren’t I your wife? You’ve seen it all already.”

His jaw tightens. There’s an awkward silence as he stands there, hands clenching at his sides.

I chuckle. “You don’t have to be all shy about it. It’s not like I’ve got a secret stash of charms or anything. I’m just...me.”

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