“His last name is ‘Hunk’?” you screech into the void. This is an odd time for you to think about that, but you do you. Oh, by the way, you’re hurtling through nothing. As soon as your finger touched the flower’s petals, the world ripped away from you. On the bright side, your sight has returned, although it isn’t much help when you’re surrounded by nothingness. There’s nothing to see. Literally.

Until you face-plant in a grassy field.

You push yourself up onto all fours, spitting out grass. “What the heck are you doing to me now?”

Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m adding a new prompt with each chapter. The prompt I added in the last one was this: ‘The first flower to bloom in spring isn't just a sign of the season changing. It's a portal. When you touch it, you're transported into a magical world you never knew existed.’

You sit back on your knees and stare up at the bright blue sky. “Does anybody want a new protagonist?”

Nope. I take ownership of my creative content very seriously. You’re stuck with me.

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “Okay. Okay. The flower was a portal, and now I’m in a magical world that…” You stop and look up at the sky again. “Wait. It’s daytime. And I’m not burning to a crisp. Am I the kind of vampire who can go out in daylight, or is this just a fluke?”

You can go out in daylight. You just can’t get a tan. Oh, and if you don’t apply sunscreen, you’ll burn really badly, really quickly—except this is a magical world, so you won’t burn here. See? I’m not such a bad author.

“Okay, well, that’s something, I guess.” You stand and look around. You’re in a field of wildflowers. A light breeze is playing across the multicolored blooms, bathing you in the sweet scents of spring. Bumblebees buzz from flower to flower, dusting their fuzzy, striped bodies with pollen. A songbird flies overhead. You don’t know what kind it is, but it has a pretty song. Another bird chirps an answer from an old oak tree at the center of the meadow. This is nice. Calm, peaceful…

“Oof!” A sudden weight takes you down to the ground. You squirm beneath it, but it won’t move. “Get off ‌me!”

“Ow…”

You stop moving. “BTS?”

“My head…”

You manage to roll onto your back, bringing you face to face with Mr. Hunk himself. He's scrunched his eyes closed and is rubbing the top of his head. You can feel his breath on your lips, and now would be an ideal time for an awkward moment and a near-kiss—except there’s a trickle of blood on his forehead.

And you are hungry.

You zero in on it. Your salivary glands are working overtime, and your breath is coming harder and faster. That metallic odor is sweeter than any flower to you. It takes a Herculean effort, but you shove him off of you and scramble to your feet, turning your back on him and covering your face in your hands.

“What was that for?” he complains.

“You wouldn’t move!”

“Because I have a head injury! That candlestick hurt…”

Candlestick?

Your memory of the event is a bit foggy, since the first flower of spring sort of hypnotized you, but you remember someone shouting something about ‘Plan C.’ The chef? It wasn’t BTS. And the last time someone who worked for him shouted something like that, they were trying to kill you.

You wheel around to face BTS. “Your chef tried to kill me!”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to find good help these days.” BTS sits upright, looking at the blood on his hand. “Am I going to die?”

“Why would your chef try to kill me?”

“Probably because he heard me say I’d kill you if you told anyone about my meditation, and then you talked about it right in front of him. Should I be worried about this much blood loss?”

“You said you’d kill me if I didn’t promise, and I did!” You stop and stare at him. “Wait. He hit you with the candlestick?”

BTS looks up at you and shrugs. “I shoved him out of the way. It was just a glancing blow..”

Your heart just melted into a puddle of goo. “You were trying to protect me.”

He frowns and averts his eyes, muttering, “I didn’t want a lawsuit.” But his cheeks are turning pink, and he’s so adorable, and you want to throw your arms around him and squeeze the stuffing out of him. Or the blood.

Nope, bad idea. Don’t do that.

You clear your throat and turn away. “Um… Thank you. Now, where are we?”

He sneezes. “We’re in—” He sneezes again. “We need to—” Another sneeze, and you realize he’s allergic to something here, so it would be a good idea to get him out of this field and away from flower mania. He’s struggling to stand while doubling over with sneezes. You grab his arm and pull him to his feet with a strength that surprises you, and then you drag him along with you to the top of the meadow, where there’s more grass than flowers. The hilltop will be a better vantage point anyway. It’s a good strategic decision. Look at you, analyzing the situation and making rational decisions!

Don’t patronize me, you think, casting an angry glare at the sky. Are you going to help me, or not?

First, I’m not up in the sky. I’m all around you, inescapable and omnipotent. And second, yes, I will help you. I just made BTS stop sneezing. You reach the top of the hill and drop him there while you look around, and he crumples to the ground, still recovering from the shame of a woman dragging him to safety. Misogyny is alive and well within the mafia, after all, and he is a mafioso. There’s another meadow on the other side of the hill, this one occupied by a cultivated garden instead of a field of wildflowers. There are cobblestone walls, hedges, statues, arches, trellises, the works. It’s as colorful as the field, and it makes your heart sink. BTS can’t go down there. Can he?

Wait. He has a conservatory at his house, you reason. So, he isn’t allergic to all flowers. Maybe it wasn’t even the flowers that bothered him before. Maybe it was something else. The grass? The bees?

He climbs to his feet, clearing his throat and brushing grass from his pants. “Oh, good, the garden. We need to go there.” He glances at you. “Well, I need to go there. You can do… whatever.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” You follow him, determined to get some answers. “What is this place? Why do you need to go to the garden? Is the way out down there? Why—”

He stops walking and claps a hand over your mouth. “One question at a time!”

You glare at him until he removes his hand. “Stop doing that.”

“Stop being annoying,” he counters.

“Stop being a jerk.”

“Stop being so creepy.”

“Stop being so hot.”

“Stop being—wait, what?”

You storm away, your face blazing with heat. Yes, you said he was hot. Embarrassing, isn’t it?

He jogs after you. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Please do.”

“And you can stop pretending you don’t know what’s happening, because I know you’re lying.”

You stare at him in disbelief. This man wants to be slapped. And kissed. And drained of all his blood.

“What makes you think I know what’s going on?”

“Oh, come on. You broke into my house while I was meditating and then asked me about a legendary weapon. Just admit it. You’re after the Frayed Tag, too!”

“Why would I be after a frayed tag? I own a clothing line, and every single piece manufactured has a perfectly good, brand new tag!” you exclaim, slipping further into your character and surprising yourself with a piece of information that may or may not be helpful for plot development. At the very least, it tells you a little more about yourself and your circumstances.

“Then you’re really just an idiot?”

You slap him. He growls by popular demand and rubs his cheek, which now has a bright red handprint and a few scratches. You look down at your hand and realize you now have long, bright red fingernails. That’s new.

“When did you have time to do your nails?” he mutters.

“I’m just that amazing.” You flounce away from him, flicking your glorious mane of glossy black hair over your shoulder. Do you want to know what the sight does to him?

No.

Probably a good idea. I’m not sure you’re ready for that level of authorial knowledge, so I’ll leave it up to the readers’ imaginations for now. In the meantime, you’ve entered the garden. The smooth stone paths are cool against your bare feet, which you’d forgotten about, but I hadn’t. The breeze, bumblebees, and birds are all here. It’s another quiet, peaceful corner of your world. You’re glad about that. The break in the action gives you time to think.

“Run!” BTS shouts.

“What?” You turn to look back, but he grabs your arm and yanks you after him. “What are we running from?”

“A dragon!”

“A what?” you shriek. “Why is there a dragon here?”

“That’s why I’ve been meditating! A fire-breathing dragon guards the Frayed Tag, and fire is my element! If I can master my magic, the dragon can’t burn me to a crisp!”

“Well, master it now!”

“While we’re running? This isn’t a movie! If I couldn’t do something in a quiet environment where I could focus, I can’t do it while I’m fleeing for my life from a fire-breathing dragon!”

“Then why can we have a full-on conversation without getting breathless and still somehow outrun a flying, fire-breathing dragon?”

“Would you stop calling me that?” a voice roars from above. “We don’t all breathe fire, you know!”

“Why is the dragon joining our conversation?” you shriek.

“You shriek too much!” the dragon retorts.

“See? Even the dragon thinks so, and it just met you!” BTS shouts, flashing you a smile that is in danger of blinding you again.

“My pronouns are she, her, and hers, thank you very much!” the dragon corrects him.

You skid to a stop. BTS stops, too, and jerks on your arm. “Come on! We need to run!”

“Are you sure? Because I’m not. The dragon is talking to us. You thought she breathed fire, and she doesn’t. What if she isn’t guarding the frayed tag at all? What if your information is wrong?”

“Thank you!” The roared voice and a gust of wind whip your hair back. “Nobody ever tries to talk to me. Do you know how frustrating that is? I’m an extrovert, and I’m trapped in a magical world with nobody to talk to! It gets really lonely.”

You scan your surroundings. Colorful flowers, lush green leaves, various stone and metal decorations—but no dragon. She isn’t in the cloudless sky overhead, either. “Um, where are you?” you ask.

“Right here.”

Her voice is as loud and deep as ever, but when you follow it to the source, you clap your hand over your mouth and bite your lips to keep from laughing. She’s a European-style dragon, with a stout body, four powerful legs, bat-like wings, and a long neck and tail, and she’s the size of a bumblebee. In fact, a bumblebee just bumped into her and seems somewhat irritated at her being in its way. She shuffles backward on her perch, which is a leaf, and mumbles an apology to it.

“You’re… tiny…” BTS says.

“You’re adorable!” you coo, unable to contain yourself anymore. You put your hands on your thighs and bend over to get a closer look. “And so pretty!”

“Do you like my scales?” She lifts her head and turns this way and that, letting the sunlight dance across her iridescent scales. The colors change with the angle.

“Yes, I do! They’re gorgeous!”

“Thank you.” She sets her front feet down and sits tall, like a smug, preening cat. “I have a very strict beauty routine. It takes several hours out of my day, but since I have nothing else to do…”

“Would you like to come with us?” you offer.

“Um, Y/n…”

“Can I?” The dragon leaps to her feet, bouncing in place on the leaf. “Can I really?”

“Of course! We’re looking for a frayed tag. Do you know where it is?”

“Y/n,” BTS tries again, tugging at your sleeve.

“I know exactly where it is,” the dragon says. “It’s a real eyesore. I’ll be glad to have it gone.”

“Well, I was thinking you could come back to our world, too,” you tell her. “It sounds like you could use a change of scenery.”

“Y/n, I really think we should talk about this…”

“Best day ever!” The dragon takes flight, zooming in circles around you. “This is amazing!”

“Y/n!”

“What?” You glare at BTS. “You can’t seriously be thinking about abandoning this poor dragon here?”

“You can’t seriously be thinking about taking a dragon back to our world with us?” he counters.

“But look!” You hold out your hand, and the dragon alights upon your palm. “She’s so little! Nobody will even notice!”

“And I’m clean,” she says. “I don’t eat much.”

“You sound like a roll of thunder whenever you talk,” BTS points out.

The dragon lowers her head and shuffles her feet. “I can’t help the way my voice sounds.”

“It’ll be fine,” you insist. “I mean, you’re a werewolf and a mage, and I’m a werewolf and a vampire, and—”

“Hold up. You’re a vampire? When were you going to tell me this?” BTS shrieks. I think you’re rubbing off on him.

You bite your lip and avert your eyes. “Um… never?”

“I don’t believe this!” He drags his hands down his face. “Okay. One thing at a time. Where’s the Frayed Tag?”

The dragon lifts her head and smirks. You didn’t know a dragon could smirk, but that is definitely a smirk.

“I ate it.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

The ground shakes beneath you. “What in the—”

“Deploying Plan D!” you hear in the distance.

“Your servants are trying to kill me again!” you accuse BTS.

“Yes, well, they make up in loyalty what they lack in intelligence,” he mutters. Then he grabs you and pulls you into a tight embrace. “Hold still.”

You hope that order doesn’t apply to your heart, because it’s ready to burst out of your chest. He’s all muscle and masculinity, and the urge to kiss or bite him is back.

“No, for real this time, deploying Plan D!” the voice echoes again, and then there’s another explosion, and the world falls out from beneath your feet.