Page 92 of You’re So Vein

“Don’t touch her again,” he growls.

The deep thrum of his voice reaches right down through my body, stirring hot, wicked desire. I know I shouldn’t find it hot that he just threw a man across the room for dancing with me, a man who he’s supposed to be flattering.

But he is so fucking hot right now.

Murmurs rise through the crowd. Eyes bore into me. Vampires appraising, judging. Who is she? What makes this human so special?

And then everything shifts.

It starts small – a flutter under my ribs, a bird brushing its wings against my heart. The present and the past jam together. Their faces become Sam, my commanding officers, my sister, my parents every time they suggest I go back to my life or I insist that I stay, that they still need help, even though the truth is that I can’t leave because I have no life to go back to.

Because I broke everything.

Because I’m broken.

The desire is gone, replaced with terror. My pulse kicks, sharp and wrong, and the flutter becomes a pounding. I feel it everywhere. In my throat. In my fingertips. In the pit of my stomach.

Too fast. Too loud.

The twinkling lights of the club become the runway lights, the press of dancers are the medical team swarming around me, but it’s too late, too late…

I suck in a breath, but it doesn’t reach where it should. The air stops halfway down, thin and useless. I try again – deeper this time – and my lungs seize.

Darkness creeps at the edges of my vision. It’s not even dark, with the bright lights glinting off all the gilded features, but my skin hums and my chest is so tight it feels like it’s cracking open, and I gasp and gasp for air, and every face becomes the face of someone who could kill me.

Part of me knows that I’m fine, I’m not dying, I’m not on the battlefield or back at base. But I can’t make that part talk down the panic that consumes my body.

No. Not here. Please.

I’ve never had a panic attack when it’s not dark before. I’ve never had one in front of so many people.

I press a hand to my sternum, partly to keep my heart from breaking through, partly to remind myself that I’m still here, still breathing. I wish someone would touch me, help me, free me from the weight squeezing my chest, but then they would know…

“What’s wrong, Komal?” I hear Beth cry out.

Augustin rushes towards me, eyes flashing. Beth’s right behind him, but he reaches me first. “Komal, are you injured? Did he hurt—”

Something in his voice tugs me back to myself. It’s like squeezing that spell bag Dora gave me. It gives me a window to breathe.

I suck in air, and this time, it goes in a little deeper. The trembling slows. I must have collapsed, because I’m lying on my back. I come back to my body as the world comes into focus, and I see him above me. Augustin. His face a storm cloud, his eyes a forest ablaze.

He triggered this. He’s not safe.

“Komal… talk to me.” He’s saying my name. My first name. He never does that. This isn’t right. Nothing’s right. He’s made everything wrong.

I plant both hands on Augustin’s shoulders and shove him away. It barely moves him, but his eyes drop, wounded, confused.

“Komal?”

“No, we’re not doing this.” I find my voice. I cling to the only thing that will distract me from the panic attack. “This possessive bullshit may be hot in romance novels, but in real life, it’s gross.”

“You don’t understand. I know Dante. He will hurt you—”

“Then tell me. Explain. Don’t ignore me. Don’t kiss me under a table like you’re ashamed of me and then throw a vampire across the room for me!”

Augustin’s lips open and shut. “I would explain, if only you’d allow me to—”

“I cannot deal with you now,” I huff. The panic attack has left a hollow in my chest, a ghost bird fluttering against my heart. Or maybe that’s the look of wild, possessive fear in Augustin’s eyes. I’m hurting him, and I hate myself for it, but I have to. It’s the only way to keep my secret. “While you’ve been brooding silently at the bar, I’ve been finding the next important clue in the husker case.”