Breath Novel Novels & Stories

I forced myself to keep reading, my pulse loud enough to drown out the quiet hum of the coffee shop around me. The next line waited beneath the first, short, urgent, impossible to misread. *Whatever you do, do not trust the man you married.*

Dylan found himself relish the quiet sounds that came from their lips touching, his strong firm hold still on his waist, and the sweet smell of his cologne that felt awfully familiar messed with his senses. The stranger broke the kiss with a gasp and when Dylan's eyes slowly came open to meet his, he felt his heart melt up at the hot gaze and voice that came after. "Breath." The heat in his head doubled so he let himself take in a deep exhale that made him realize he'd been holding his breath. How do people kiss and breath at the same time?

The instant she saw my corpse, her legs went weak, and she collapsed to the ground on her butt. There was a blank look in her gaze, and while she opened her lips, not a single sound left them. The coroner handed James a preliminary autopsy report. "Before her death, the victim suffered severe oxygen deprivation. Her cause of death was drowning, facilitated by an acute asthma attack. In layman's terms, after her oxygen was cut off underwater, she suffered an asthma attack which resulted in her respiratory system failing within a short amount of time. "Before she lost consciousness, she remained awake for roughly three to four minutes as she suffocated. During that period, she was completely a

Breath syncing without intention. When he kissed her, it was different from before. Not cautious. Not restrained. Still gentle, but deeper. Like a question, I finally asked out loud. She responded without hesitation, fingers sliding into his hair, grounding herself in the reality of him. The kiss was unhurried. Warm. Honest. No urgency. Just presence. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. “We are terrible at timing.” He smiled. A real one. Soft around the edges. “We are excellent at choosing anyway.”

My breath came shallow. I rose onto my toes, peering through the peephole. And there he was. My breath caught instantly, the air snagging in my throat. The phone trembled slightly in my hand as I held it. My chest felt like it forgot how to breathe, as if every inhale had to fight its way past the knot in my throat. “Damon?” The whisper escaped me, faint, barely even a sound. What is he doing here?

The night is so still that even the fire in the hearth seems to hold itself back, as if afraid to break the silence, and I wake without knowing why—just that strange pressure in my chest, like something unseen had called me. There’s no wind, no creaks out of place… and yet, there’s a different weight in the air. I sit up, let my feet slip out from under the blanket, and walk barefoot to the window. The glass is cold against my skin when I bring my hand close, but what makes me hold my breath isn’t the temperature—it’s the fresh smear of condensation, an irregular circle, as if someone had pressed their face to the outside and breathed onto the glass.

His breath stank of cigarettes. "Let me go!" I gagged, struggling hard. The next second, the guy flew two feet back, passing out with a grunt. A familiar, cool scent hit me as someone helped me up. I looked up to see a handsome face, and tears poured out. "You left the party early," he said, his voice deep and soothing. "I got worried and checked the surveillance. I'm sorry I'm late."

The silence is different now. It’s not the Cage’s hum, not the void’s hunger. It’s the quiet of a held breath. The quiet of a room where someone is sleeping, and you’re listening for the next inhale. My breath. It’s a shallow thing. I can feel the air moving in and out of my lungs, a fragile bellows. I never used to think about it. Breathing was just… background. Now it’s an event. Every raspy pull feels like a victory. Every exhale, a tiny release of tension.

It’s as if I’m holding it as alpha drags his finger through the hair on top of my head. “Breath Cole. How often you hold your breath is quite worrisome.” I remain silent as I grab a hold of the mattress beneath me squeezing it in my hands as the persistent burn sitting at the base of my neck flares into an all encompassing fire raging through my entire body.

About the choice to keep breathing even when the heart wants to stop. About the house that stays open. About the tide that comes in. Goes out. Comes in again. Always. She wrote until dawn. Then she closed the notebook. Set it on the table beside the cold coffee mug. Walked to the bedroom. Climbed into the bed that still smelled faintly of him. Closed her eyes. Breathed once. Twice. Smiled. And let the next wave come.