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Chapter Eleven

I find myself back in the library.

Tears wet my cheeks.

I didn’t realize I had been crying.

Lorelai’s eyes mirror my own, haunted by the memory she just shared.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

She still holds my hand, only now she’s clutching it hard like she’s scared to let go.

The hybrid monster inside of me doesn’t like the emotions pouring through.

It’s hard to remain calm when I feel like I was just attacked.

“Take a breath,” Zephronis says, removing his hands from our shoulders.

Lorelai appears as if she wants to hug me, but I give a slight shake of my head and pull my hand away.

Her heart is hammering in her chest, and it’s taking everything in me not to reach for it to make it stop.

“Life force, life force, bright and new,” Zephronis recites the chant, his tone grave despite its singsong cadence.

“Magic untapped, power subdued. Feed the master, feed the need. Take the breath, plant the seed.”

A chill works over me and I stand from my chair.

The room spins for a moment as the memory’s effects linger.

“Stop saying that.”

“Do you know what it means?” Lorelai asks.

“I haven’t heard it for centuries. It sounds like a version of an old necromancer binding spell.” Zephronis remains calm.

Frankly, it’s annoying when all I want to do is scream and tear shit up.

“It’s a mark to claim you when your time comes.”

“What do you mean when her time comes?” Lorelai demands.

“He means that when I die, the necromancer has dibs,” I answer.

My hands tremble.

I keep hearing the sound, and it’s hard to concentrate.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

“But...” Lorelai shakes her head.

“Why? She was just a baby.”

“I think time has shown Tamara was never just anything,” Zephronis says.

“I don’t think a necromancer could have known what you would become, but his goblins could have sensed the value in you.”

“My father knew,” I say, anger rising in my chest.

“All this time, he knew exactly what was happening, and he didn’t say anything.”

“Davis knew about the supernatural threats, but I don’t think even he understood what the necromancers wanted specifically. He just knew you weren’t safe with me.” Lorelai tries to reach for my hand, but I jerk back.

Why is she defending him?

“This wasn’t the only threat. Werewolves and vampires came for you, too. And other magics. It was chaos.”

Thump-thump.

I begin to pace.

I feel the monster inside me begging to be unleashed.

“From what I saw, Davis believed the threat centered around manipulating him,” Zephronis says.

“He never heard the spell.”

What the wizard isn’t saying is that my father is a selfish person, and it probably never occurred to him that I could be in danger for any other reason.

“So what am I supposed to do now? Leviathan has been hunting me my entire life, and?—”

“We don’t know that for certain the necromancer is Leviathan,” Zephronis cautions.

“Oh, come on,” I snap, not caring that yelling at a powerful elder isn’t exactly prudent behavior.

But really, what’s he going to do?

Lock me up some more?

Kill me?

“The goblins tried to steal my breath as a baby, chanting about feeding their master my soul. Now he’s using Conrad’s ghost to torment me. My brother might be a dead liar who can’t be trusted, but we all know who has his spirit entrapped. He sent goblins to Costin’s home to attack me again after I’ve transformed into this... this… this thing .” I gesture at myself in disgust.

“It can’t be a coincidence.”

“You present a logical argument,” Zephronis says, surprising me.

“But we need more information before confronting a necromancer as powerful as Leviathan. He has allies. Magical balance has already been disrupted. We cannot risk more turmoil until the mess with Thane and Elizabeth’s ritual is cleaned up.”

I pace the library, the floorboards groaning beneath my feet.

The late afternoon sun filters through the seams in the curtains, creating pockets of light I instinctively avoid.

“Tamara?” Lorelai’s voice is gentle.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want this to be over,” I mutter.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to be a hybrid. I didn’t want to be hunted my entire life by some power-hungry necromancer. I don’t want to play in goblin entrails. I don’t want to eat people or tear them apart. I don’t want to avoid the sun. I don’t want?—”

“Few of us choose our path,” Zephronis states, his ancient eyes following me.

“But we can choose how we walk it.”

I’m about to respond with something appropriately sarcastic when a chill sweeps through the room.

The temperature drops so suddenly that Lorelai’s breath becomes visible in small, frightened puffs.

“What’s happening?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

I know before Zephronis can answer.

I’ve felt this before.

“Conrad,” I whisper, my eyes scanning the shadows.

The wizard moves to Lorelai’s side, one hand raised defensively.

“Are you certain?”

The lights flicker, and the books on the shelves begin to vibrate, some sliding out to crash to the floor.

A familiar voice that has haunted me since his death fills the room.

“Run, little sister. Run while you still can.”

Unlike before, Conrad’s voice doesn’t sound mocking.

He’s afraid.

“Conrad?” I call out, turning in place.

“Show yourself.”

“He’s coming. He’s already there.”

The windows rattle in their frames.

The door to the library slams shut with such force that Lorelai yelps in surprise.

“Who’s coming?” I demand, though I already know the answer.

“Leviathan.” Conrad’s voice seems to come from everywhere at once.

“He wants what you are. What you can become.”

“Zephronis,” I say, my voice tight.

“Get Lorelai out of here.”

The wizard nods, taking my birth mother by the arm.

“Come,” he tells her.

“This is not a battle for mortals.”

“No,” Lorelai protests.

“I won’t leave her!”

“Your presence will only distract her,” Zephronis insists.

“But—”

“I will return,” Zephronis promises me.

“Remember, balance is key.”

Zephronis taps Lorelai on the forehead, and they both disappear into a spark of white light.

As they disappear, a shadow detaches itself from the ceiling, pooling on the floor like spilled ink.

I back away, feeling both my vampire and wolf natures stirring in response to the threat.

“Conrad,” I call again.

“What does he want from me?”

“What all necromancers want. Power over life and death.” Conrad’s voice sounds strained, as if he’s fighting to speak.

“But he can’t control me much longer. I’m fighting him, Tam-tam.”

The shadow on the floor begins to take shape, rising into a hooded figure.

The temperature drops further, frost crystallizing on the bookshelves and walls.

My breath clouds in the air.

I don’t take my eyes off the forming apparition.

“Don’t let him take you,” Conrad warns, his voice echoing into silence.

I know I can’t trust my brother, no matter how earnest he sounds.

It all feels like a manipulation meant to confuse me.

“How beautifully touching,” Leviathan mocks.

His voice slides over my skin like poisoned silk.

His dark form seems to eat the light.

“The devoted brother, trying to protect his little sister. After he tried to kill her and frame her for mass murder, of course.”

Every cell in my body recoils, but I stand my ground.

The cloaked form steps forward and solidifies into an imposing figure.

He’s lean and elegant, and disturbingly fluid, like he’s a half second from turning into smoke.

His unremarkable features are neither handsome nor ugly.

Honestly, if I’d met him on the street, I wouldn’t have remembered him.

“What do you want?” I demand.

He tilts his head.

His voice lowers.

“There is no reason to be defensive. I’m not here to hurt you, my little lotus flower.”

I snort.

“Yeah, right. And I am not anyone’s flower.”

“Sure you are,” he answers.

“It’s the flower of purity, of rebirth and transformation. That is exactly what you are. Beautiful. Delicate. Pure. A true supernatural queen.”

“Yeah, and no.” I frown.

“You’ve grown, Tamara. Or perhaps fractured is the better word for it. All those little pieces inside you, so many flavors of power fighting for dominance. Mortal soul. Vampire. Wolf. Suppressed magic. Your blood sings to me.”

I clench my fists, trying to hide the tremor.

“Back off.”

He smiles slowly, and his look appears indulgent.

“You were so much easier to reach when you were screaming in a crib.”

I flinch before I can stop myself.

“You failed,” I counter.

“You’ll fail again . ”

His smile widens, and he chuckles.

“You weren’t necessarily supposed to die as a baby, you know. I knew it was a possibility. And the innocence of babies is,” he sighs in pleasure, “delightful.”

“Gross.”

He continues as if I didn’t speak.

“Goblins are loyal, but not terribly smart. You’re lucky the butterflies interfered. But they did mark you, so I could track you. Though I am hurt that you never wore my birthday present. I wouldn’t have needed Conrad to watch you if you had just put on the ring. Such a waste of good craftsmanship.”

I think about the eyeball ring he gave me for my birthday.

Conrad had called it a “Peeping Tom”.

It’s still wrapped in a washcloth, buried in the back of my drawer at the penthouse where I’d hidden it.

The thought of him watching me through that thing makes my skin crawl.

Leviathan leans in slightly, and the shadows curl at his feet like pets.

“Let my brother go,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.

“Release him. Send his spirit on.”

Leviathan’s cold laugh is his only answer.

“I’ll never cooperate with your plans,” I say.

“You’ve lost. I’m immortal. You can’t claim me when I die.”

“You think?”

“I belong to no one,” I growl, feeling my fangs extend.

My claws push at the skin of my fingertips, eager to emerge.

“Fascinating,” he says, circling me slowly.

“You’ve maintained more control than the others. A true success at last.”

“Others? What others?”

“You didn’t think you were the first hybrid, did you?” He sounds amused.

“I’ve been experimenting with hybrids for centuries. Werewolf-vampire. Vampire-magic. Magic-shifter. So many failures. So many unstable abominations that tore themselves apart from the inside. A regular Island of Dr. Moreau.”

“Island of what?” I frown.

“H. G. Wells?” He tsks when I don’t respond.

“Old book. Hybrid monsters. You should read more. You’d appreciate the irony.”

“You should take a flying leap off a skyscraper,” I counter.

“Why would you possibly want a hybrid?”

I can think of a million reasons why something like me shouldn’t exist.

“Because the creature with the most power wins,” he says simply.

“Think of what we could do. With your blood we could create a super army. Creatures with the strengths of multiple supernatural species but none of their weaknesses. Imagine vampires who can walk in daylight, werewolves with the cunning of vampires, magics with the raw power of shifters. Following you, the great Devine hybrid. Born of a master vampire and werewolf Alpha. Loyal to us.”

“And what?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“I’m supposed to be your general?”

“No.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the grave-dirt and decay on him.

“You are to be my queen.”

I recoil.

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been,” he says conversationally.

“It’s overrated.”

“Aren’t you married?” I back up, trying to put distance between us, but he matches me step for step.

Rumor has it Leviathan’s wife passed years ago, but he summons her nightly to his bed.

“Like such things have ever stopped the supernaturals,” he says.

“Gross,” I whisper under my breath.

“You’re different, Tamara Devine,” he continues.

“From the moment you were conceived, I sensed your potential. A mortal child born to a supernatural father and a human mother, carrying dormant abilities that just needed activation.”

“You sent goblins to kill me,” I remind him.

“That doesn’t really say, hey, I want to marry you, does it?”

“Not kill you,” he corrects.

“Test you. Prepare you. The goblins fed your life force directly to me, creating a connection that would make your transformation easier to control. And you’ve transformed beautifully. Your hybrid nature is stable, more or less.” His eyes gleam.

“You just need guidance. I can help you.”

“I don’t want your guidance.” I recoil.

“And I definitely don’t want your control.”

“Don’t you?” he asks softly.

“I can feel your struggle, Tamara. The constant war between vampire and wolf. The hunger that never quite leaves. The rage that simmers just beneath the surface. I can help you master it all. Look at you. Tethered to a vampire. Hunted by werewolves. Half-lit with a power you barely understand. Your own family’s ghost rotting on your shoulder. You’re unraveling, Tamara. And you don’t even know which thread to pull first.”

My pulse pounds in my ears, but I keep my spine straight.

“I know who I am.”

“Do you?” he whispers.

For a moment, just a moment , I’m tempted.

The promise of control, of understanding what I’ve become, is seductive.

Just like when Elizabeth offered her version of it.

“And all I have to do is what?” I ask.

“Become your weapon?”

“My queen,” he corrects.

“My equal.”

“Bullshit.” I give a short, humorless laugh.

“You don’t want an equal. You want a lacky.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m offering you a choice, Tamara. Join me willingly, and I’ll teach you to harness your true potential. Refuse, and I’ll take what I want anyway. But it will be much more unpleasant?—”

“I’ll take unpleasant,” I say, feeling my wolf nature pushing forward, eager for battle.

“—unpleasant for everyone you care about,” he finishes.

Conrad’s voice breaks through again, weaker now.

“Tamara, don’t fight him. He’s too strong.”

“Listen to your brother,” Leviathan says.

“He’s learned the hard way what happens to those who defy me.”

“Let Conrad go,” I demand.

“You don’t need him.”

“He’s mine,” Leviathan says simply.

“Just as you will be.”

I lunge forward, my hybrid speed taking him by surprise.

My claws slash across his face, drawing blood that looks black in the dim light.

Leviathan staggers back, touching his cheek.

He looks at the blood on his fingers with something like wonder.

“Impressive. No one has managed to wound me in a very long time.”

Before I can press my advantage, he makes a sharp gesture.

The air between us thickens, and I’m thrown backward, crashing into a bookshelf that collapses under the impact.

Heavy books drop around me.

“I’d rather not damage you,” he says, approaching me as I struggle to my feet.

“But I will if I must.”

I snarl, feeling my body begin to shift.

Fur sprouts along my arms, my jaw elongates, and my senses sharpen to predatory focus.

The vampire in me is there too, calculating, cold, patient beneath the wolf’s rage.

Leviathan watches with evident fascination.

“Remarkable. You can partially shift without losing your mind. The others never managed that.”

I don’t waste time responding.

I launch myself at him again, faster this time, my hybrid strength propelling me across the room.

But he’s ready.

He speaks a word in a language I don’t recognize, and pain erupts through my body, stopping me mid-leap.

I crash to the floor, every nerve on fire.

“I’ve studied your kind for centuries,” he says, standing over me.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know how to subdue you?”

I try to move, but the pain intensifies.

It feels like my blood is boiling inside my veins.

Tears stream down my face and a cry rips from my chest.

“This is your last chance,” Leviathan says.

“Join me willingly.”

Through gritted teeth, I manage one word, “Never.”

He sighs, almost disappointed.

“Very well. We’ll do this the hard way.”

He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small crystal orb similar to the one that he had used to trap Conrad’s spirit.

This one is empty.

“I had hoped to avoid doing things this way, but you leave me no choice.”

As he begins to chant, the orb glows with an eerie light.

I feel something tugging at me, not my physical body, but something deeper.

My essence.

My soul.

“Stop,” I gasp, fighting against the pull.

“Use both sides,” Conrad’s voice cuts through the pain.

“Vampire and wolf!”

I close my eyes, focusing through the agony.

Conrad is right.

I’ve been treating my dual nature as separate parts fighting for dominance.

But what if they’re meant to work together?

Balance.

“Remember, balance is key,” Zephronis had said.

I reach inside myself, not suppressing either side.

The vampire’s cold calculation and the wolf’s primal strength.

The hunger and the rage.

The predator and the pack hunter.

Power surges through me, different from anything I’ve felt before.

The pain recedes, and I feel my body responding to my will, not just shifting, but transforming in a controlled way.

Strength flows into my limbs.

My senses sharpen beyond anything I’ve experienced.

Leviathan’s chanting falters.

“Impossible,” he whispers.

I rise to my feet, my body a perfect blend of vampire and werewolf.

My claws are extended, my fangs bared, but my mind is clear.

For the first time since my transformation, I feel good.

I’m in balance.

“Get out,” I growl, my voice deeper than normal but still recognizably mine.

“Get out now.”

Leviathan backs up a step, genuine uncertainty in his eyes.

“This isn’t over, Tamara Devine. You can’t run from what you are. You can’t run from our destiny. It’s been foretold.”

Foretold.

Destiny.

Fate.

Prophecy.

How many times have I heard this spiel already?

“I’m not running,” I say, advancing on him.

“You are.”

He makes a gesture, and the shadows around him begin to swirl.

“We’ll meet again,” he promises.

“And next time, I’ll be better prepared.”

The crystal orb in his hand pulses, and Conrad’s voice rings out one last time, “…fight.”

Then Leviathan is gone, melting into the shadows, taking Conrad’s voice with him.

The frost remains.

So does the silence.

The temperature in the room gradually returns to normal, the frost on the windows melting away.

I stand alone in the destroyed library, my body slowly regaining its human form.

But something has changed.

I can still feel both sides of my nature, no longer at war but existing in an uneasy alliance.

Light flashes and Zephronis reappears.

His eyes immediately take in the destruction.

“I don’t care what you say. I have my proof. Leviathan has been hunting me my entire life,” I say, my voice hollow with exhaustion.

“He wants to use me as some kind of breeding stock for a hybrid army.”

Zephronis nods gravely.

“This is not good news. Necromancers have always sought to control life and death, to twist the natural order to their will. To know Leviathan has gotten this far in his plans?—”

“He said I’m the first success,” I say.

“That all his other hybrids destroyed themselves.”

“Which means he will not give up easily,” Zephronis concludes.

I look around the room.

“Where’s Lorelai?”

“Safe. I’ve sent her away from the estate with protection.” He studies me carefully.

“You’re different.”

I flex my fingers, feeling the power humming beneath my skin.

“It’s like you said. It’s about balance.”

A rare smile crosses the wizard’s face.

Before I can respond, the door to the library bursts open.

Costin stands there, his face a mask of barely contained fury and concern.

His eyes sweep the room, taking in the destruction before landing on me.

Red swirls in his eyes.

“Tamara,” he says, crossing to me in an instant.

“What happened? I felt…”

“Leviathan,” I say simply.

“He was here.”

Costin’s face darkens.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” I look down at myself, realizing my clothes are torn from my partial transformation.

“Not physically, anyway.”

He pulls me against him, his arms protective.

The sire bond hums between us, less like a leash, more like a thread.

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

“I handled it,” I say, pulling back to look at him.

“I found a way to control both sides. At least temporarily.”

His eyes search mine, surprise evident.

“How?”

“By not fighting it,” I explain.

“By accepting what I am.” I glance at Zephronis, but he’s gone.

“By finding balance.”

“Leviathan will be back,” I continue.

“He thinks I’m the first successful hybrid he’s created. He wants to use me to create some kind of supernatural army.”

“Created?” Costin repeats, his brow furrowing.

“He didn’t turn you. Thane and I did.”

“He’s been manipulating things from the beginning,” I explain.

“Since I was a baby. He sent goblins to steal my breath, to create some kind of connection. He’s been waiting for this, Costin. For me to become this.”

Costin’s expression hardens.

“He won’t touch you again. I swear it.”

“You can’t be with me all the time,” I point out.

“Then we’ll find somewhere safer,” he insists.

“Somewhere he can’t reach you.”

I shake my head.

“There is no such place. You know that. Not for long. And I’m tired of running and hiding.”