Page 20 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)
Chapter
Twenty
Costin’s dining hall feels more like a medieval great room than any place meant for eating. Or an abandoned movie set. It reminds me that I’m in the home of someone born when even dining was a show of power, when lords held court over feasts that lasted days. Astrid’s weekend parties have nothing on those guys.
If I close my eyes, I can imagine knights filling the room, their drunken, boisterous laughter ringing out as serving wenches walk between them refilling goblets. In reality, it sounds like a tomb. The only noises are the ones I make.
Today, those goblets wouldn’t hold wine, and the feast would be of a live variety.
I can’t forget I’m dating a vampire. I can’t romanticize what he is because of lust. I have to remember his darkness, not just the glimmers of light I want to see. As much as I hate it, Elizabeth’s words stick in my head. There is so much I don’t know about him.
I might not wish for his vampiric fate, but I empathize with him. I can’t imagine being forced to survive only on blood and moonlight.
Blood and moonlight. Everything keeps coming back to that.
The thick stone walls rise to a vaulted ceiling where wrought iron chandeliers cast flickering light from gas candles made to look real. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, its mantle carved with scenes of hunts—though I notice the prey looks suspiciously human. The hearth is large enough to roast an entire deer, as they would have in Costin’s human days when feasts meant survival through winter.
Tapestries depicting ancient battles hang between tall windows that must be rigged to show false daylight, as we’re underground, and sunlight would kill the vampire guests. The fabric has faded over centuries, but I can still make out knights on horseback, their banners carrying sigils I don’t recognize. I wonder if any show Costin’s family crest from when he was human nobility. The thought is surreal—this man once lived in actual castles, commanded actual servants, and arranged actual medieval marriages. While I grew up watching cartoon versions of his world, he lived it.
The table could seat fifty, lifted above the others on a platform and stretching longer than my apartment when I tried living on my own. Dark wood gleams with age and polish and is scored with marks that might be older than America. I sit alone at one end, pushing food around my bowl and running my finger over the wood’s scars. I wonder who sat here before me and stabbed the surface to forever mark it like a name carved into a school desk. A few feet away, I see what appears to be claw marks, evenly spaced fingers from when someone must have been pulled across the surface.
I rub my clean face. Thankfully, the dried blood is gone. However, the aches still linger.
I take a bite of the stew, but I don’t taste it. Everything feels like dirt in my mouth. My body needs sustenance after the memory recovery and Elizabeth’s visit, but my mind can’t focus on eating. The silver settings and crystal glasses feel like artifacts from a museum, making me intensely aware of how out of place I am in this world. Out of everything, I doubt the silver is real. If it is, it would be reserved for trusted human guests. Vampires don’t like touching the metal .
The amulet hums against my chest, stronger than before Draakmar woke. Since confronting him head-on in the underground city, his presence feels palpable. Like he’s inside my thoughts, trying to tell me something just beyond my understanding. The stone’s protection seems to have changed too. It’s less a passive barrier and more an active conduit to give me the dragon’s messages.
Too bad I don’t speak cranky dragon. The ancient’s messages are hard to decipher.
Draakmar is older than this room, older than Costin’s human memories of nobility and power, heck, older than humanity. His agitation has been growing since Elizabeth left as if the dragon is trying to warn me to be careful. I touch the stone, hoping for clarity, but all I get is that familiar sense of ancient power and growing urgency.
I try to message back with my mind, “Use your words, Draakmar. Your human words.”
I don’t think the creature hears me.
“You need to eat.” Costin appears in the doorway. His clothes have changed, but his face still carries the weight of his sister’s visit. He moves to stand behind my chair, his cool fingers brushing my shoulder. His formal posture and perfect manners don’t seem contrived in this setting. They’re muscle memories bred into him during his human era.
“Are the werewolves gone?” I ask .
He nods and turns his attention to my food. “Eat. Your body needs strength.”
“I need answers more.” I set down my spoon, the metal ringing against the dish. His skin doesn’t look as translucent as before, and his wounds are already healed. I wonder if he stopped to feed. “Talk to me. What is going on with you?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’ll refuse. Finally, he takes the chair beside me, turning it to face mine. In the candlelight, his eternal youth seems more like a curse than a blessing. It’s like I forget sometimes how long he’s lived. I know the truth, but it gets buried in my short timeline with him. There is so much I don’t know, might never know, might never understand.
But is it mine to judge?
I think of my worst sins, the ones that keep me up at night, the ones that fill me with shame. Would I want to be judged for those moments over all the rest?
I think of Paul and Diana, where they are now, all because they showed kindness to me, a stranger. That is my biggest shame and my eternal guilt. If they die, that is what I will carry inside me. Tears enter my eyes at the thought.
We stare at each other, unable to speak. There’s an exhaustion between us that settles like a thick, smothering blanket. So much has happened to me in a short time. It’s hard to believe I’m not who I was six months ago.
Is this my life now? Threats and apocalyptic adventure? It’s so far from the normal, mortal life I dreamed of.
“Costin—?”
A servant appears, making me jump. “Lady Astrid has returned with the book. She awaits you in the library.”
Costin is instantly on his feet. I think he must feel relief not to have to talk about his feelings.
I stand, and my legs are still shaky from everything that’s happened. The amulet’s heat intensifies, and I swear I can feel Draakmar’s consciousness pressing harder against mine. The dragon’s whispers have become almost like a white noise. Whatever’s in that book, the dragon already knows it’s not good news.
We step past the destruction from Elizabeth’s attack, and I see a servant already cleaning up the mess in the office. Costin doesn’t seem bothered by the splintered furniture and crumbling stone columns as he leads me to his library. It’s lighter than we’d left it, and I can see the details previously hidden by shadows. It’s funny how light can change the feel of things. Where before it was gothic and unwelcoming, it now feels regally romantic. Well, except for the whole researching the ritual that wants to kill me thing.
Unlike the battle-scarred corridor, this space feels like a sanctuary. There is a musk, subtle in the air, of decaying parchment. Shelves extend from the floor to the high ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes. I would say there are too many to read in a lifetime, but then Costin is immortal, so that’s not true.
Astrid waits for us at a wide oak table, perched on a chair, reading the tome open before her. If she battled werewolves while keeping the book safe, there are no signs of it. Magic weaves around her fingers as she turns a delicate page without actually touching it.
“So many pieces…” she muses, not looking up. “They must have been planning this for decades.”
Her voice is so calm. If I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t know if she was angry or impressed.
I come closer to see for myself. It’s not surprising that I can’t read the ancient text. That’s one of many regrets I have from my childhood. I wish they would have taught me more about magic and the old languages. Being mortal, my education was focused more on protecting myself, not wielding or understanding true power.
Astrid’s finger hovers over lines and I follow even though I can’t read. “They would’ve been waiting for the right combination of sacrifices.”
My eyes find words I do recognize, “ Sanguis et Lūnāria .”
Costin appears as silent as a shadow beside me. “I remember reading this centuries ago when the book first came into my possession, but I don’t recall the details.”
“The sheer complication of putting this together… It’s a wonder it could even come to pass,” Astrid says.
“The more complicated, the more dangerous. One thing I’ve learned is with time, any combination of things can happen,” Costin answers.
“What does it say?” I prompt so one of them will translate it for me.
“All right, let’s dig in. As we know from Peter, this ritual requires three specific types of power.” She turns a page so we can see the intricate drawings of an altar. It is the same one Thane showed me in his sanctuary. The words “ Sanguis et Lūnāria ” are drawn across the illustration.
The amulet burns against my chest. Draakmar’s consciousness presses harder. He doesn’t like this.
“Death magic to anchor it, draconic magic to amplify it, and forgotten magic to channel it,” she continues. “Paul’s death in the erased timeline marked him with death magic that acted as the anchor to this could start. You have Draakmar’s power amplified through the amulet. Dragon magic is ancient, some of the most ancient, born before time was time.”
“We already guessed this much,” I say slowly. “Why Diana? Surely, there is someone else who forgot magic. Think of all the people walking around with erased memories. Not to be callous, but they’re a dime a dozen. Why hurt Diana? She’s just a kid.”
Astrid waves her hand over the book to turn another page. This time, there is an illustration of a child surrounded by pure light.
“Children possess magic in its purest form,” Costin answers. “They’re innocent, untouched by time. They still carry the magic of coming into creation before rules, and society corrupts them.”
Astrid nods. “It’s why they can see things adults can’t, why they believe in magic so easily—Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, imaginary friends, monsters under the bed. Most lose this power as they grow up, but some...” She looks up at me. “Some children retain traces. The book calls it forgotten magic because it’s what everyone has a touch of before they forget how to use it.”
My throat tightens, and terror shivers its way over me.
Costin touches my shoulder and adds, “It’s deeper than that. Diana underwent a magical ordeal, and then the amulet took those memories away from her. She retains that childlike ability to believe in magic without questioning it. She’s touched by draconic magic and a descendant of death magic. She has been touched by all three.”
“She’s perfect for the ritual,” Astrid agrees. “Young enough to channel pure power, but old enough to survive the initial surge.”
“Fine,” I feel my frustration rising, fueled by Draakmar’s restlessness. I hate feeling helpless. I throw my arms to the side, raising my voice so that it echoes around us. “But why? Why even do this ritual? What’s it for? What’s it going to do? End the world? Why is everybody always trying to end the freaking world? Don’t they understand that it’s going to end them too!”
Costin and Astrid remain calm. I find it annoying. I want them as worked up as I am. I feel the dragon’s growing rage, and it amplifies my own. I want to give in to it. It feels good, tempting.
“Why go to centuries of trouble?” I demand. Nothing can be worth all of this sacrifice. “Why do all three of us have to be sacrificed?”
I don’t want to die. I don’t want them to die.
“It’s a power redistribution.” Astrid leans over the book as if reading before answering, “When the moon is full tomorrow night, they’ll use her forgotten magic as a conduit to strip power from all supernatural beings.”
The amulet flares are so hot I gasp and lean forward to drape it away from my skin. Draakmar’s fury floods through me. That’s why he’s been restless and angry, why he tried to surface when he did. When they steal all supernatural powers, they’ll try to take his as well. But it’s not just the ritual that gets him agitated—it’s Diana’s role.
“Draakmar.” I press my hands flat against the table to steady myself. I take several deep breaths. “He’s saying something to me about Diana.”
“Tell him we know. They’re going to sacrifice an innocent child to reshape the supernatural world,” Costin says in disgust.
“It’s not just that.” I shake my head and grab the amulet. It burns my palm, but I close my eyes and try to listen. Draakmar’s insistent presence feels different. “He knows something about Diana’s magic that we don’t.”
“The ancients are notoriously vague. Let us know if he says something useful, but we don’t have time to decipher his riddles.” Astrid takes a deep breath as if centering herself. “They have orchestrated their plan perfectly. They have one shot to get it right. Tomorrow’s full moon is the first total lunar eclipse since the amulet shattered and the timeline reset. Paul’s death magic is still fresh, your connection to Draakmar is at its peak, and Diana...” She presses her lips together. “They won’t get another chance like this one. The moment the Earth passes directly between the sun and moon, it will create the blood moon.”
“Blood and moonlight,” I whisper.
Astrid nods. “Blood and moonlight.”
“ Sanguis et Lūnāria ,” Costin adds.
We stand in silence, feeling the weight of the revelation. Astrid was right. There are so many little pieces fitting together. It feels like impossible odds. My mind spins with the magnitude of it all. “If they strip all supernatural powers, what happens? To vampires, to magics, to?—”
“To everything,” Astrid puts forth. She glances at my amulet like she wishes she would have smashed it long ago.
“They’ll redistribute it the way they want. Thane and Elizabeth want the same thing—dominance over the vampires and anyone else who opposes them. It’s a match made in hell. It will never last. Once the thrill wears off, they’ll destroy each other with their greed for more,” Costin says.
Astrid smirks. “The Freemonts are vain enough to think they can control where the power goes and use that chaos to establish a new order. They don’t understand what Elizabeth is capable of or what she’s willing to do to get what she wants. Even the other vampires fear her particular brand of ambition. Mabel has always been jealous of us Devines because deep down, she knows she’s nothing but a two-bit hack who married poorly.”
They’re talking more to each other than to me.
Astrid’s perfect posture somehow becomes even more rigid. “And now they ally themselves with wolves. As if Thane’s feral pack of backwoods bikers could ever maintain the delicate balance we’ve built. The treaties may seem restrictive, but they’ve kept the peace for centuries. Without them, we’d be back to territorial wars in the streets, wolves hunting in broad daylight, vampires draining whole neighborhoods dry. The humans would notice, and then where would we be?” She smooths an invisible wrinkle from her silk blouse. “The wolves forget there’s a reason they were restricted to industrial zones. Their kind can’t control their baser instincts. In the 1950s we tried giving them a small town. After two weeks it looked worse than those nuclear test sites.”
“Elizabeth should know better,” Costin adds.
“How do we stop them?” Everything in me is filled with panic. I don’t want this battle. I want to curl up into the fetal position and never move. I think of Draakmar and the sleeping ancients like him. Power that old and raw could tear the world apart .
“Elizabeth knows vampire weaknesses and how to neutralize our defenses,” Costin says. “I can’t know everyone she’s turned against me during the years, but I can guess. She’s always resented the old order, just like the wolves resent their territories. But there’s a difference between resentment and revolution.”
“The dogs won’t go against their master. Thane is a dictator. Peter is terrified of him. We can’t expect him to do more. They’ll have the ritual site fortified.” She stands and leaves the book on the table. Waving her hand, she magically forces it to close. “I’m going to make sure Peter is safe. If Anthony were here, that’s what he’d want us to do.”
I’m glad Lorelai and Anthony are safe in Kansas City. As much as I’d like my brother at my side, I can’t ask that of him. Plus, I suspect Astrid won’t call him to come back. She’ll want to protect her son and the Devine magical heir.
They don’t say more. They don’t have to. I think of Diana, so young and innocent, being used as a conduit for this ancient magic. Of Paul, marked by death, forced to anchor it. Of all the carefully laid plans leading to this moment. And I know that it’s my fault. If I had just walked away from them the first time we met, not accepted their help, not dragged them into the supernatural world to save myself. If I had done the right thing, none of this would be happening.
Guilt eats at me, consuming my insides as it burrows in deep.
Draakmar’s fury shows no hint at lessening. It makes it hard to hear past the anger. The dragon’s knowledge stays just out of reach like I’m trying to remember the details of a dream. Whatever the creature is trying to tell me about Diana, I pray I figure it out before it’s too late.