Page 15 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)

Chapter

Fifteen

This time, when I wake up disoriented, it is to daylight and the lingering sensation of Costin’s touch. My neck and thigh itch where he fed, and my body aches as a reminder of all that passed between us during the night. I feel closer to him than I ever have. There was a vulnerability in him I’ve never seen.

That has to be real, right? I didn’t imagine it.

I want to trust Costin, but it comes hard.

The amulet radiates warmth against my chest, its magic trying to heal the marks Costin left behind. The wound might fade, but the mark will not.

I realize I’ve been in this room way too long. I’m hiding. That’s not good.

I look at the nightstand, hoping to see food. There is none. Trust Astrid not to enable laziness for too long.

I go to the bathroom to stare at the horror show looking back at me in the mirror. Dark circles mar my under eyes, and my hair is a wild mess of untamed curls. My skin is pale from blood loss, which makes the dried crimson streaks more pronounced. The puncture wounds are healed over. Two pink dots remain as evidence of his feeding.

“In two nights, the werewolves will try to sacrifice Paul and Diana,” I whisper to my reflection as if saying the words out loud will make the idea manageable. It doesn’t. I don’t know what to do. There is a sick anticipation building in my stomach. I want it to be over, and yet I don’t want the night to arrive. The two conflicting feelings battle inside me.

Do I go into hiding? If the wolves don’t have me, they don’t have a complete ritual.

Although, I can’t imagine the Alpha shrugging his shoulders and just letting the two humans go free in response.

A sharp pain shoots behind my eye, and I press my fingers into my temple, closing my eyes tight. It only lasts a few seconds. I blink several times to clear my vision. It’s weird but hardly concerning.

I have to figure this out.

Do I try to amass an army? Use my position as Lord Constantine’s girlfriend to…? To what? Start a wa r between vampires and werewolves? That would only lead to supernatural chaos and so many more deaths. Besides, that’s too big of an ask. No one will want to go to war over three mortals and a ritual. The supernatural community probably would laugh if I even suggested it.

Then what?

I touch my amulet. “What do you think, Draakmar?”

I feel the creature stir like a sleepy child turning in a warm bed, refusing to wake up.

“Thanks,” I drawl sarcastically. “That’s a lot of help.”

It might be helpful if I knew what this ritual was for. I mean, the fact they’re going through all this trouble and calling it a ritual signifies that it’s not a good thing. What the hell is wrong with supernaturals? Are they so bored they have to invent new ways to fuck things up? Why can’t a ritual be like… I don’t know. Is world peace too dull?

I stare at the mirror.

“Too bad zombies don’t get respect from the supernaturals,” I mutter, pushing my hair back from my face. “I might actually have a chance.”

My brain goes onto autopilot as I start making myself look presentable. I pull my hair back and put on some makeup, making sure to cover up the healing bite wounds. After I dress to the lowest of Astrid’s standards, I leave the room searching for breakfast.

Astrid’s voice drifts from somewhere in the penthouse, pulling me toward it. From the one-sided conversation, it sounds like she’s talking on the phone. “The Freemonts are involved. They’ve been seen with the Alpha...”

The mention of the Freemonts triggers something. Another sharp pain lances through my temple, and I stumble. I press my palm over my eye. This is worse than the first time.

The hallway feels like it tilts sideways, and I grab the wall to steady myself. The scent of salt water and diesel fuel fills my nose, so intense and sudden it makes me woozy. Images flash through my mind like a strobe light, each one hitting harder than the last. I see Chester’s face illuminated by red light, feel the press of uneven metal against my back, and hear the distant sound of chains clanking.

None of it makes sense.

The pain becomes more intense. I suck in a deep breath and hold it. Astrid’s voice fades as if she’s being pulled away from me. The penthouse disappears, and I feel as if I’m flashing through time.

Flash. I’m sixteen, peeping through the spyhole in the Devine library, watching as Mabel and the vampire Robert plot to overthrow Costin. Sweat trickles down my spine .

Flash. Chester’s hands are glowing with magic. He reaches for my throat, and I feel the power stinging my skin. His voice whispers, “What are you even doing here?”

Flash. Cool fingers caress my face. Costin’s eyes swirl with red. “Sleep now. Forget...”

My lungs force out my breath with a rough pant, and I realize I’m on the floor of the penthouse hallway, propped against the wall. The walls stretch like a bad acid trip. My stomach tenses. My headache throbs in time with my quick pulse, and each beat releases waves of pain throughout my skull.

I try to decipher the images flashing through my thoughts, but the memories feel like shards of broken glass, cutting deeper each time I try to grasp them.

“Mom,” I cry, desperate for help. I never call her that, but it’s all the sound I can eke out.

“Tamara?” Astrid’s voice pierces through the fog, closer now. She appears in the doorway to the library, her phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Her heels click against the marble floor with rushed precision. “What’s happening?”

I try to answer, but my thick tongue feels clumsy. I taste blood. The metallic flavor floods my mouth as another fragment surfaces. I can’t lift my arms to reach for her as she leans over me.

Flash. Chester’s face is bathed in blinking red lights, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. The image vanishes as fast as it comes, leaving a lingering echo of clanking chains and the phantom sensation of magic burning against my throat.

When my sight returns to the present, Astrid kneels beside me on the floor. “You’re bleeding. Tilt your head back.”

The amulet pulses against my chest like a second heartbeat, its heat matching the fever in my blood. Deep within me, Draakmar thrashes as if the dragon is writhing to shake the memories free.

Astrid grabs my hair and forces my head back. For once, I feel like her perfect composure cracks. She pulls me against her chest to prop my head against her shoulder to keep my face pointed at the ceiling. I feel her pinching the bridge of my nose. Tiny pulses of magic come from her fingers.

“There we go,” she soothes. “It’s just a little nosebleed.”

The words are unconvincing, and I wonder which of us she’s trying to persuade.

“I can’t…” I try to explain. My body convulses. Draakmar keeps trying to pry open the locked door.

Another memory hits like a physical blow. I taste burned meat and the sound of magic crackles through the air. Something presses against my throat, and I hear the distant howl. It’s too painful, and I try to fight it. The fragment shatters, leaving me gasping.

The pain lessens, and my vision clears. Astrid holds me tight, her fingers pulsing magic into my nose. I still taste blood and reach for my face to wipe my mouth.

As my mind clears, the feeling of being held by her becomes awkward. She releases my nose, and I push up to sit against the wall. She drops her hand and adjusts her tangled legs to a more ladylike position before moving to stand.

“What did you see?” Astrid asks, reaching to pull me to my feet.

My legs feel disconnected from my body. “How do you know I saw something?”

She arches a brow and hooks my arm to lead me toward the living room.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Chester? Red lights?” I close my eyes, scared to pry too deep for fear it might start again. “The shipping office?”

“The shipping office,” Astrid repeats, frowning. We continue walking slowly together. My feet shuffle on the floor.

I open my eyes. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Chester was never at the shipping office, but it feels like I lived… Costin.”

“Costin?”

I sigh. “I think he must have erased a memory. ”

Another memory.

“Of the Freemonts and the shipping yard?” she clarifies, bringing me to the couch to sit down.

I see dots of blood on her blouse. My blood.

I touch my nose. It’s stopped bleeding. “Chester, at least.”

“Has that vampire done this to you before?” Astrid puts her hands on her hips, not sitting next to me. Her expression frosts over, and I know that I cannot refuse to answer truthfully.

I nod again, feeling very much like the little kid caught doing something wrong.

“Tell me exactly what you remember,” she orders.

I sink back into the couch, pressing my fingers against my temples as if I can physically pull the memory into place. “Just Chester and our shipping yard. Red warning lights. The sound of those enchanted security chains. You know, the ones that used to be there. I think they took them out because they kept attacking gnomes or something—I can’t…” The images spiral away like leaves in a whirlwind, leaving only the residue of terror behind. “Maybe I dreamed it?”

“Perhaps you should rest. You look pale.” Astrid’s tone carries a hard edge beneath the concern. “The tea?—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “No more tea. No more forced sleep. I need to focus. Diana is missing, Paul is captured, and the Freemonts...” I struggle as the kaleidoscope of fractured memories threatens to return. “They’re working with the werewolves. They have been for years. I don’t know how I know that, but it feels true in my bones. The Freemonts, Costin’s sister, and the wolves... this all has something to do with them. And blood and moonlight.”

Astrid sets her phone on the coffee table with deliberate care. “Slow down. You’re mumbling your words.”

“It’s like...” I rub my temples and search for words to describe the sensation. “Like trying to catch reflections in a broken mirror. Every time I think I see the whole picture, it shatters into something else. There are too many pieces.”

How many times? How many memories did Costin take from me?

I want so badly to trust him, but the evidence keeps coming back to all these secrets that feel like lies.

“There are spells, but they are painful and complicated,” Astrid says carefully. “The easiest route is for him to tell us what he erased.”

“I can handle pain,” I answer, needing to know the truth. I hope it’s true. “Do what you need to.”

Astrid shakes her head. “No. Even if you were to survive the magic needed, you wouldn’t come out the other end the same.”

“So we’ll confront him tonight.” I lean my head back on the couch. “Have you heard from Anthony about Diana? Is he still in Kansas City?”

“Diana is not there. The grandparents are in the hospital. They were severely attacked, and the police are working under the assumption that they’re dealing with a kidnapping home invasion scenario.” Astrid doesn’t sugarcoat it. “They had also reported their son missing when he did not call to check on his daughter, which initiated a wellness check. I told Anthony to manage the situation in Kansas City for us before coming home. We do not need the humans meddling in our affairs. Our fixers are handling the police locally. The investigation into Paul will be closed.”

I don’t know what to say.

“Are the Cannons…?” I think of the nice man I met in that other timeline. Paul’s father was a kind and loving soul.

“We’re taking care of it,” she says.

“What does that mean?”

She looks at me like I should know the answer already. I half expect her not to say.

“We won’t hurt them,” she assures me, “if that’s what you’re asking. It means that their medical bills will be taken care of, and we’ll see to it they have the best doctors. Memories might have to be erased. The police reports will be handled depending on the outcome of this whole situation. If we don’t stop their plans, all of this preparation might be for nothing. But they matter to you, so they matter to this family.”

That last sentence might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.

I can’t feel pleasure in it, though.

“The wolves won’t…” It’s a stupid question, and I stop myself before I finish it. Of course, the werewolves will hurt Diana. That’s the whole reason they took her.

“I should tell you that I sent Lorelai with him. She wanted to help, and I thought it best to get her out of the city.” Astrid’s voice carries that familiar dismissiveness toward humans. It’s how she’s always handled complications by removing them from the equation. “There is nothing she can do here but get in the way. This battle is not for mere mortals. We can’t be distracted by… well.”

I don’t tell her that Anthony already told me.

“I understand,” I answer, recognizing the pattern. Astrid is managing every detail, just like she managed the truth about my birth for twenty-eight years. Some things never change. However, I noticed she at least told me about sending Lorelai away this time. Maybe that’s progress. At least Lorelai will be safe.

“Go put on your shoes,” Astrid orders. “I’ll have the chef make you a breakfast sandwich to go.”

“Go where?” I frown.

“Constantine’s,” she says, her eyes dipping to my amulet. “He can’t come to us, so we’re going to him. We are Devines. And Devine ladies do not wait for men to grace us with their presence. If we left the world to men, we would have lost it long ago.”

The change in her toward me is starting to make sense. I wield Draakmar’s power through the amulet. I may be mortal, but I now have access to powerful magic. This makes me closer to an equal in her eyes.

It’s not quite what a daughter wants from a mother, but then I don’t live in a world of perfect families and happy endings. I live in the real world. This world. The supernatural world.