Page 16 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)

Chapter

Sixteen

It feels strange standing next to Astrid as the elevator descends into Costin’s underground sanctuary. Everything about my mother is stately. She’s changed into black slacks and a dark red blouse. A black scarf covers her head so only her sunglasses show. There is no trace of my blood on her as if the nosebleed never happened. She takes her scarf down and unwraps it from her face to let it drape over her shoulders.

I see my warped reflection next to her in the elevator doors. I wish I could say the same for myself. I wear jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt under a cardigan. It’s too late to do anything about it, but I’m not elegant. Not like her.

The metal box carries us deep beneath the city. Astrid stands perfectly still, her chin lifted as if she’s posed for her entrance. “I spoke to your father earlier. He won’t be returning from Europe to help with this situation.” Her tone carries no surprise or disappointment. “He sends his regards.”

Of course, he does. I wonder if he’s with another woman, creating another family drama. It wouldn’t surprise me if he returned with a new sibling or twelve in tow. The thought of his benign neglect doesn’t hurt like it used to. Maybe because I now know the truth. Davis Devine might be the smiling face of our family’s power, but Astrid has always been its spine.

I want to ask her why she stays married to my father, but I won’t. Those fleeting glimpses of affection between them hardly seem more than an old habit. Once, when I tried to broach the subject, she told me, “Life is not meant to be easy. It is meant to be lived.”

The doors open to reveal Costin’s gothic home. The air feels weighted with anticipation. It’s tomb-quiet, with soft lighting casting long shadows across the cold mausoleum-esque stone. A servant appears as if he’s been waiting in the shadows for just such a moment, bowing deeply—to Astrid, not to me, despite my being Costin’s... whatever I am. There is something familiar about him. I’d seen him being fed upon through a cracked door. His clothes are perfectly pressed, and I notice all the usual feeding marks are covered. The vampires knew we were coming.

“Lady Astrid.” The man’s voice carries genuine reverence. “Lord Constantine awaits in the library.”

“I know the way.” Astrid doesn’t break stride as she leads us through corridors I didn’t know existed. Of course, she knows his home’s layout. She probably knew him before I was born, back when the supernatural world was even more of a boys’ club than it is now. Though, to be fair, I’ve spent most of my time in his bedroom.

We pass under arched doorways and between towering bookcases that disappear into the darkness above. The timeworn volumes look like they would hold many secrets, bound in materials I don’t want to identify. Firelight flickers from ornate sconces, making the shadows dance across the stone. Everything in Costin’s home is carefully curated to remind visitors of his age and power, from the medieval weapons mounted on walls to centuries-old tapestries.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little intimidated by all of it.

We pass by several servants who all stop to hold still as Astrid passes. She keeps her head up high. I think of all the meetings where men like Francis Freemont and my father dominate conversations while their wives sit silent and decorative. Yet here’s Astrid, commanding respect without raising her voice, solving problems while her husband chases his latest distraction. The supernatural world might pretend to honor tradition, but the real power waits quietly and knows when to strike.

“Remember, you are a Devine,” Astrid says as if reminding me to be strong.

Doors are pulled open at our approach, releasing a rush of cool air to greet us as we enter. The library stretches two stories high, its walls lined with books. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, its carved mantle depicting a hellish battle. I see a pile of bodies carved in great detail as if they have been dropped from the mantel above.

The firelight outlines a leather wingback chair positioned near the hearth. Movement catches my eye as Costin rises from it. I find it odd that his clothing choice matches Astrid’s. He’s dressed impeccably in black slacks and a blood-red shirt. The firelight casts over his features, making him look more like a statue than a man.

“Lady Astrid, welcome. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, though his eyes fix on me. His expression is neutral, but I see tension in his shoulders.

“Lord Constantine.” Astrid moves to sit in a chair next to his without waiting for an invitation. The firelight plays across her stern features. I know that look. I’ve been the recipient of that look.

I look around before slowly going to a smaller chair placed against the wall. I reach for it to carry it over when Costin suddenly takes it from me. He places it next to his chair before resuming his seat.

“It’s time to return what you took from my daughter,” Astrid states.

The word daughter sounds intimately weird coming from her.

Costin grins. “I’ve taken nothing that wasn’t freely given.”

His gaze drops to my neck, where his marks are hidden beneath makeup. I automatically lift my hand to cover my neck. Draakmar’s connection stirs within the amulet. The dragon feels restless.

“She means the memories you took for me,” I explain before Astrid can respond. I move closer to the fire, letting its warmth chase away the chill of the underground, and slowly sit down next to him. “The ones you erased. I want them back. All of them.”

“No.” His expression doesn’t change, but something swirls within his gaze.

No? Just no? I’m not sure what to say to that. There’s no denial or reasoning. Just… no.

Astrid looks at me expectantly, like this is a learning opportunity .

“That’s not your choice to make,” I say.

“Some memories are better left buried,” he counters. His fingers trace the arm of his chair as if examining the leather.

I open my mouth to counter, but Astrid cuts me off.

“That is not for you to decide,” Astrid says, her tone holding just enough chill to be a threat. She crosses her ankles and adjusts her position to face him more directly. The firelight catches the diamond on her wedding ring, sending rainbow prisms dancing across the wall. They’re out of place in the darker room. “This is a Devine matter and a Devine decision. It is only out of respect for my late father-in-law and his affection for you that I am giving you a chance to mend this affront. The Freemonts are making moves against us. Whatever you buried about them, we need to know. You need to tell me.”

“I—” I try to interject. This is a strange argument. Neither side is yelling, and yet I feel like they should be.

“With all due respect, Lady Astrid,” Costin’s eyes catch a glint of fire, and his voice sharpens with a dangerous edge, “you don’t understand what’s at stake. This is not a Devine problem, not exclusively.” His fingers stop their tracing and curl into a fist. “You have no right to come into my home and make demands of me.”

“I—” I try to say again.

“You have no right to steal from my family,” Astrid counters. “Those memories belong to us.”

“I think?—”

“You will return them,” Astrid continues.

Every time I open my mouth, it feels like they talk over me. Ugh, what am I? Five? I’m tired of feeling like a little kid waiting for the adults’ attention. They aren’t even pretending to include me in the conversation. I hate when they act like I’m not in the same room.

Costin’s expression is controlled like a predator waiting to pounce if forced. I see the tension rippling through him. I also know that look on my mother’s face. They might not be screaming and flailing their arms, but a fight is brewing.

“I made a choice to protect—” Costin begins.

“To protect me?” I interrupt loudly, carrying over their quiet tones as I force them to listen.

They both look at me in surprise.

The amulet feels warm against my skin, a constant reminder of its presence. I lean toward them and direct my attention to Costin. “Like you protected me when you let the wolves take Paul in my place?”

His jaw tightens, and a muscle ticks beneath his skin. “I didn’t know they would come for you regardless. ”

I can see he doesn’t like the miscalculation being pointed out to him, especially not in front of Astrid. But I’m tired of tiptoeing around supernatural egos. Paul and Diana do not have much time left. We need to figure out what the wolves are planning. I need to understand what blood and moonlight means.

Astrid removes her scarf and drapes it over her chair’s arm with deliberate precision. The unhurried movements show confidence but also contemplation like she’s buying time to gather her thoughts.

“You’ve been watching over her since she was a child.” Astrid’s gaze drifts to the battle scene carved on the mantle, and she sighs. “I am not here to fight you. You’ve been a family friend for a long time. We have not forgotten that.”

I stand and move so they are forced to look up at me. My hands shake, and my voice is rough as I say, “Stop treating me like a mere mortal. I tamed a dragon and stopped the apocalypse. I survived the labyrinth. I have proven myself capable of handling far more than any of you ever expected.”

“This is different,” Costin answers. “You are not ready for this war.”

“I’m already in it,” I snap.

“None of us are ready for this war,” he continues, ignoring my anger.

“War?” Astrid’s eyebrow arches at Costin. She smooths invisible wrinkles from her slacks .

There are few things more annoying than being pissed off and having the targets of your irritation staring at you like they’re calm and rational. I want to scream in their faces and shake them into listening.

“I’ve been trying to stop it,” Costin answers. “The fewer people looking, the better my chance of discovering what’s happening. I wasn’t sure who I could trust.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” I cry, waving my hands like a lunatic. The amulet heats. Draakmar is all for unleashing my anger. “I’m right here. Tell me!”

Costin’s hands grip the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white as if he might rip them from the seat. Firelight makes his skin look almost translucent as veins rise along his temples and snake down his cheeks.

“I need to protect you,” he whispers, looking up at me. I see desperation dancing with rage. “It was the only way.”

“The Freemonts threatened her?” Astrid clarifies.

Costin hesitates before slowly nodding once.

“Whatever happened at the shipping yard is clearly about more than the Freemonts,” she concludes. “It’s much bigger. Who else do you suspect is involved?”

Costin doesn’t move as he stares at me. I see he’s torn and trying to control himself. Then, blinking slowly, he looks at the floor next to my feet.

“Elizabeth has been plotting against me for as long as I can remember, since before we were turned. She’s rash and has no power with the vampire council. They’ve condemned her methods. I worry what they would do if they discovered the lines she’s willing to cross.” His expression darkens with something that looks like guilt. “Even if she managed to kill me, they would never let her have my throne.” His eyes dart to me, and then Astrid with a wry smile. “She’s a woman, after all, and they are ancient men.”

Fucking misogyny. I don’t have the energy to rant against the supernatural patriarchy right now. But it’s freaking annoying.

“It seems she’s found another way to unseat not only me but the council of elders. The Freemonts provided her with the resources and connections. The werewolves were her means.” His chair scrapes against the floor, the sound harsh in the library’s quiet as he stands. He turns his back to me and tilts his head to stare at the ceiling. “None of them expected Tamara to be at the shipping yards in the middle of the night.”

“I worked the night shift,” I say. “My parents thought it would be safer with less supernatural traffic in the offices.”

I see the ghost of a smile threaten his mouth, but he doesn’t look happy. “So you told me.”

I don’t remember telling him that.

“If you had remembered what you saw...” He presses his lips together and finally returns his gaze to mine.

“Your sister would have killed her,” Astrid finishes. She doesn’t sound surprised.

“Not just Elizabeth.” His eyes flash crimson. I’m beginning to recognize the subtle changes in his moods. Before, I thought his monstrous characteristics were simply to incite fear, but they’re just micro expressions revealing so much more when one knows how to read them. “The Freemonts, the wolves, their allies. I made her forget to keep her alive.”

“I don’t need protection.” I quiet my tone and move toward him. Pleading, I add, “I need truth, Costin. I need to trust you.”

I see real emotion crack through his careful control. He reaches for me but stops short of touching my face. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect you.”

I ignore the fact Astrid is watching us. “You say you want me to choose you, but how can I when you won’t let me make my own choices? When you hide parts of my life from me? ”

His expression softens slightly. He touches my face. “Tamara…”

“Tell me,” I whisper, mimicking his touch. I stroke his cool cheek. “Let me fight beside you.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. There was no time for me to see everything before I suppressed them. I don’t know everything that happened that night.”

“Then give me back the memories you have stolen.”

“It will hurt,” he warns.

“Then let them hurt. Let me choose what risks to take.” I keep my hand against him. “Let me decide what I can handle.”

“The girl has dragon fire in her veins now.” Astrid’s voice cuts through our private moment like a blade. She hasn’t moved from her chair, but her presence fills the room. “Whatever you’re protecting her from, she’s faced worse. Show her.”

“Constantine, please.” I touch the amulet. “I’m protected now. They can’t kill me.”

“Death comes in many forms, and the stone can’t stop them all,” he whispers, and I see the war in his eyes. The need to protect me battles with his desire to trust. His gaze lingers on the amulet before trailing up to my face. Finally, he nods. “If I do this, there’s no going back. It won’t be like the last memory with Robert in the Devine library. That memory I carried. This one I suppressed. Do you understand the difference? I can’t stop the pain once it starts. What you’ll remember will change things.”

I catch his wrist as he tries to pull away, stopping him. I sense him trembling slightly. “Everything’s already changing.”

“You have to take off the amulet,” he warns. “Draakmar can’t protect you from this part. His magic will interfere.”

The amulet flares hot against my chest, warning me not to do it.

I hesitate before nodding. “I need to know.”

I lift the necklace over my head and push it into my jeans pocket.

Costin’s thumb traces my lower lip, and I feel the familiar pull of his power. The firelight dims, causing shadows to gather around us. Books rattle on the shelves, the pages noisily trying to escape as if desperate to be read. I glance up at them. They must be reacting to the pull of his magic.

“As you wish.” He leans to kiss me softly. Blood trickles out of my nose. Shadows rush over me, bringing with them an intense agony.

Pain shoots through me from his mouth, exploding inside my head like someone is beating the back of my skull with a hammer. The taste of copper floods my mouth, mixing with his kiss. I try to cry out for him to stop, but the sound catches in my throat. I can’t run from it or fight back. The magic holds me trapped between memory and reality. The blood spills faster from my nose, hot against my lips.

I hear Astrid’s voice as if from the bottom of a well. “Be careful. If you kill her by bringing this memory back, Constantine, there won’t be anywhere in this world you can hide from me.”

My ears pop like balloons bursting underwater, taking with it all external noise. Blood runs from my ears down my neck, soaking into my cardigan. The library blurs and fragments. Books appear to be falling like stone walls crumbling into darkness. I feel my legs give out, the muscles turning to jelly. Costin’s hands keep me propped up even as my arms fall limp at my sides.

And then, all I register is the shipping yard’s smell of salt water and diesel fuel. The darkness and pain pull me into the memory of that forgotten night.