“She was halfway to deep sleep when the door creaked, a noise loud enough to rouse her, yet soft enough to doubt her having heard anything. She lay motionless, listening but hearing only the wind outside, the clock, the sounds of an ancient building. Normal sounds, but still her skin prickled. Pressure built in her head. Her pulse beat in her ears. The feeling of pressure thickened, stealing over her, a sense of envelopment, a shift in perception. Not her pulse, but footsteps. Someone pacing. Ten steps toward the fireplace. Ten back to the foot of her bed. The susurration of fabric against fabric. Metal sliding along metal, a low ringing sound, and mixed with that a murmuring. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. No moving shadows, no figure approaching her bed, just the inert shapes of furniture and the resulting shadows. The resonance in her head grew, half convincing her she heard footsteps and the low, regular sound of breathing. The murmuring began again, a breath, then a whisper.My love.Steps paced near, and she swore she could feel the air thicken. Pain lanced along her temple.My heart.Unendurable pressure. She tried to move, but couldn't. Her limbs were frozen, trapped in her nightmare. More footsteps. A breath on her cheek. Cold air wafted through the room.My own.A face flashed before her eyes. She tried to breathe and couldn't get air into her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut, but the face didn't go away. The features blurred, looming, threatening, laughing. She knew that face, but the recollection refused to come. Terror like she'd known only once before in her life consumed her. Her lungs refused to expand. Or couldn't. She was going to die. She knew it. A scream bubbled in her throat.”

“Morgan could feel her cheeks burning hot as the freezing air drew the heat from her. Her fingers ached as they pushed, and her breath clouded the air before her, making it difficult to see. Her nose burned and her eyes watered, but she kept pushing, Breathing was quickly becoming difficult, because the more cold air she sucked in, the harder it was to draw the next breath.”

“His breath was a sucking gasp that sounded more like a draining tub than a man filling his lungs with air. Then she heard him form the words “Play dead.”So Livia did. She closed her eyes as much as she dared. She could still see outlines through her lashes. She squeezed her hands against Blake’s chest. Hold on, Blake. Stay with me.”

“In the sounds of the night Aria heard footsteps, far off and faint, but she recognized them instantly.She shot into the darkness, letting her ears guide her. She followed the crunch of his feet on stones and small twigs, coming faster, louder, as his walk became a jog, then a run. She chased the sounds until all she heard was his heartbeat and then his breath and his voice, right by her ear, telling her, in tones as warm as fire, exactly the words she wanted to hear.”

“Outside, as she passed the kitchen window, she watched her breath appear before her in the lamplight and then it died away in moist clouds. This was the smoke of her internal fire and her soul. Every breath was a letter to the world. These she mailed into the cold air leaning back with pursed lips to send it upward. ”

“He covered her face with a pillow and lay on it. She got half a breath before he crushed her, and she thrashed like hell but in that second she knew it was foolish.”