Page 3 of Barely Breathing (Merely Mortal #3)

Chapter

Three

Peter’s retro coffee shop choice is so unremarkably normal that it feels strange that we’d be talking werewolf kidnappings amongst a sea of writers absorbed in their projects. The clack of keyboards underlies the indie rock pumped through old speakers and the sound of grinders. The smell of espresso is so intense that I feel jittery just breathing it in like my body will absorb the caffeine-filled air through my lungs and skin.

The golden sunlight of evening streams through large windows, casting hazy rectangles across the wooden tables. Anthony sits beside me, radiating protective older brother energy. He refused to let me come alone, even though I don’t think there is anything to fear from Peter. I’ve known the werewolf forever, at least from the peripheral of his friendship with my brother.

Anthony stirs a third packet of sugar into his coffee as he tries to appear casual, but I notice how his eyes track every movement in the café. I can well imagine the magic humming beneath his skin, ready for an attack.

“Relax,” I whisper. “We’re only meeting Peter.”

“I am relaxed.” He takes a sip and grimaces. “This isn’t nearly as good as the candy chef’s.”

“You just like watching our mother get riled.”

Anthony grins. “Guilty.”

Seeing several people on their phones, I feel compelled to check mine. There are no messages from Costin. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.

Then again, he’s not one for texting. He usually just appears out of the shadows.

I recheck the sunlight, seeing the subtle shift in color as the evening approaches. Where is Peter? I had hoped this meeting would be over before sunset.

The bell above the door chimes, drawing my attention. Peter is exactly as I remember him. He’s lanky and tall with messy brown hair that falls into his eyes. The years haven’t changed him physically, but there’s now a wariness that wasn’t there when we were younger. I suppose age does that to us all. It takes away our innocence and replaces it with a more cynical shell.

His smile, however, is the same goofy boyish grin. “Tamara!” Peter’s voice carries more than he probably realizes. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He spreads his arms wide, like entering the coffee shop is part of a performance and he’s the star. “Darling, you look as beautiful as ever.” He glances at Anthony and laughs. “Can’t say the same for you, old chap.”

Several patrons glance our way and then quickly return to their devices.

To look at Peter, you wouldn’t think werewolf. It’s a stereotype, but I always picture big, beefy shoulders and hairy lumberjacks.

I stand to hug him, and he squeezes me so tight my ribs protest. The scent of pine needles and earth is faint under a layer of cologne. I don’t know where he’d run through pine trees in the city. The familiar scent brings back memories of childhood games in the forest behind the estate.

“You look well,” he says, pulling back to study me. His nose twitches slightly. “Though, I guess the rumors are true. You smell like a vampire.”

I lean down to sniff my shirt, but I don’t smell anything beyond the lingering of my soap.

Anthony kicks out a chair. “Sit down before your loud mouth says something that draws the wrong attention. ”

Peter drops into the seat, still grinning. He lowers his volume. “Please. These tech addicts wouldn’t notice a supernatural if we danced naked on their table. Speaking of naked, remember when we?—”

“No,” Anthony and I say in unison.

Peter laughs. His eyes dart to the windows, then back to us. He’s worried about something. Or someone.

“So,” he says, lowering his voice even more. “Anthony says you need werewolf intel. That’s treacherous territory these days, Tamara. Especially for someone sporting vampire cologne.”

I resist touching my neck where Costin’s bite has long since healed. “I don’t care about the danger. I owe it to a friend to ask.”

Peter’s smile fades. “A mortal or vampire friend?”

“Mortal. His name is Paul,” Anthony says. “We’re not trying to jam you up with your pack. All we want is a conversation.”

Peter glances between us and looks uncomfortably around the coffee shop before hunching forward to lean on the table. All of his playfulness fades. “I don’t think I can help you.”

“He was taken off the street by a werewolf about a week ago here in Manhattan,” I say. “I just need to know who and why.”

“A week?” Peter repeats carefully as if stalling. “I don’t need to explain how this whole thing works to you two. If a werewolf attacked your friend a week ago in the city, then you’re either waiting for a dead body to float up in the Hudson or for the next full moon to pass. Either way, he’s not going to be what you remember. I think you should just forget it all about?—”

“You know something,” I interrupt. “You’re not a good liar, Peter. Just tell me.”

I don’t need lessons on the danger of werewolves. And I’m sure as hell not going to just forget about Paul.

“I know lots of things.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “Most of which I shouldn’t tell you or anyone.”

A chill runs down my spine, and I glance toward the windows. I can tell by the light that the sun has just set. For a moment, I swear I see a shadow move—fast and deliberate. Costin? The thought makes my pulse quicken.

I can’t know for sure. Several creatures move like that.

“Peter,” Anthony says, his tone carrying a warning. “We’re not asking you to betray pack secrets. But if you know something about Paul’s kidnapping?—”

“Kidnapping is such a harsh word.” Peter’s gaze fixates on my amulet.

I lean over to make him meet my gaze. “What do you want me to call it? An abduction? I was there. I saw what happened.”

Peter’s attention moves around the shop. “Let’s call it a necessary relocation.”

“Relocation for what?” Anthony persists.

Peter shakes his head. “I can’t.”

I reach for Peter’s hand. I know it’s manipulative because he likes me, but I must know. I give him a light squeeze. “You can trust us. What’s going on here? What are you scared of?”

“Listen,” Peter takes a deep breath. “I heard a rumor that this Paul guy is Devine protectus.”

If Paul claimed Devine protectus, then he remembers more of our shared past. When we were together, before the amulet broke, I had told him that if anything supernatural tried to mess with him or Diana, he needed to tell them he was Devine protectus. It’s an old Latin term for protected humans, a rare honor that isn’t really used anymore. And it isn’t something that I can enact as a mortal.

Anthony gives me a strange look but doesn’t call me out. “If the wolves know that and they still have him, that’s an affront to our family.”

“You have to know this is not an attack on your family. You have to know that,” Peter insists. “None of us wants to go up against the Devines. You know we have very little say in what the Alpha and his guard get up to. I mean, I barely see the guy and I kind of prefer it that way.

“If you don’t want it to be open season on werewolves, you need to tell us something, buddy. Come on.” Anthony’s threat is veiled, but it’s enough.

“There’s a ritual—” Peter stops abruptly, nostrils flaring. His gaze snaps to the window, and he jerks his hand away from me. “They have been collecting pieces for years. Since that night at the shipping yard...” He cuts himself off, looking guilty. “Forget I said that.”

“What ritual?” I whisper insistently. “What night?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter quickly stands, and his chair legs scrape against the floor. More heads turn our way in irritation at the disruption. He leans forward. “Listen, Tam, for old times’ sake—stay out of this. The Alpha... He’s promising things. Change. Real change.”

Anthony wraps his hand around his coffee and taps his fingers.

Peter studies us and then looks around to see if anyone is listening. He lowers his voice. “You two grew up in the elite circles. You don’t know what it’s like for the rest of us. The vampires get their ancient estates, the magics get their ivory towers, and we get industrial wastelands and shipping yards. But Thane says that’s going to change. He’s found a way around the old treaties, around all the rules that keep us in our place.” His eyes flick to my amulet. “Some curses run deeper than dragon fire. You don’t want to mess with this. This is so much bigger than your mortal boyfriend. Bigger than any of us.”

“Paul’s not my boyfriend,” I say automatically.

Peter’s laugh is hollow. “No, you upgraded to a vampire king. How’s that working out for you?”

Even though I can’t see him, I feel the weight of Costin’s invisible presence. I find the disappointment of broken dreams on Peter’s face. There was never anything real between us beyond friendship and his boyhood crush. I know he doesn’t love me, not like a man should.

Is this what a future with Costin will be like? Everyone judging me by the vampire in my life? Could I even blame them? Until recently, I imagine I had that same look of disdain when it came to vampires.

“Be careful with him, Tam, seriously. You don’t know what Lord Constantine is capable of. He’s not… He’s not a nice guy.”

“Peter, please,” I start, but he’s already backing away.

“I have to go. But Tam?” His expression softens. “Whatever you think you know about Paul’s situation, you’re wrong. And getting involved will only make things worse. For everyone. ”

I stand to stop him from leaving. “Peter?—”

“Be careful with that vampire. You can’t trust him.” He avoids my hand and strides toward the door, pausing with his fingers on the handle. “Oh, and Anthony said you’re wondering about Paul’s dog. She’s safe. We’re not monsters.”

He leaves. I slide back into my chair and watch Peter disappear into the crowd outside.

Anthony lets out a long breath. “Well, that’s cryptic and unhelpful.”

“He told us enough. The werewolves took Paul for a ritual, which means he’s alive, and they’re scared enough of something to risk pissing off our family.”

“Ugh, I hope this isn’t another prophecy,” Anthony mutters, running his hands through his hair before stretching. “I can’t handle another apocalypse.”

“Don’t go there. He didn’t say anything about an apocalypse or prophecy. He said ritual.”

“You say that like it’s better somehow. Honestly, I kind of thought it had something to do with the Freemonts paying a wolf to take him to get back at you. Guess that would have been too easy.” Anthony nods toward the window. “Speaking of boyfriends...”

I turn to see a shadow solidifying into a familiar silhouette across the street. Even at this distance, I feel Costin’s eyes on me. My amulet pulses with warmth, and I get the sense the dragon is readjusting in his sleep. I wonder— not for the first time —just how much control I have over my life.

“You okay?” Anthony asks.

I touch the amulet, drawing comfort from it. “No. But I will be once we figure out what the hell is going on.”

The problem is, I’m not sure I will like the answers.

“Want me to chase him off?” Anthony asks, sounding very much the protective big brother.

“No, don’t get in the middle of us.” I appreciate his caring, but my relationship drama is not his battle. “If he wants to talk to me, he’ll find me. I can’t run from him.”