Page 3

I’m no longer restrained.

Thank the gods for small victories.

The hunger pains are still there.

The constant gnawing makes my stomach feel like a hollow bottomless pit.

At least the cravings are manageable.

For now.

I sit up slowly, inspecting my limbs, half expecting claws or fur.

There’s nothing.

Just my regular arms and legs.

I’m in one of Costin’s guest rooms, not one I demolished during my last feral episode, or the one before that.

This one is decorated in muted grays and blues with heavy curtains pretending to keep out the fake sunlight since we’re safely underground.

I remember getting a peek of this particular bedroom once.

A vampire was feeding on a willing human in the chair next to the bed.

Is that my future?

Drinking people?

The thought makes me want to gag, even as I salivate.

I keep staring at the curtains wondering if I’ll ever see the sun again.

I think about walking out into daylight and letting it turn me to ash.

During the worst of the pain it’s a persistent fantasy I can’t stop.

There is something beautiful to the idea of just blowing away.

“How are you feeling?”

I jerk my head toward the voice.

Anthony sits in a corner chair, his phone grasped in his hand like he’s been scrolling.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, then the truck backed up and parked on my chest.” My voice is rough.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days this time.” Anthony closes his book and leans forward.

“We’ve been taking turns watching you.”

Three days.

Fuck.

He hesitates like he’s going to say more.

His thumb brushes his phone screen, lingering there a second too long.

I catch a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, like he’s thinking about something that has nothing to do with what’s happening.

“Is something going on that I should know about?” I ask.

“Boy crush drama,” he dismisses with a small shake of his head.

He puts his phone down.

“That sedative our mother gave you is pretty strong. It’s the only thing that keeps both the vampire and werewolf sides dormant.”

“Lovely.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, testing my balance.

I feel stronger than I should after three days unconscious.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to sneak me out of here? That idea you had to hop on a cargo container to South Africa is looking good about now.”

“Sorry, Tam. No can do.” He doesn’t come close, and I wonder if he’s scared of me.

“Any chance of getting some food?”

He looks back at his phone screen and asks, “Staff member or pedestrian off the street?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s trying to make a joke.

The corner of his mouth lifts a little.

“Shut up!” I launch a pillow at his head, surprised by how hard it smacks against his arm when he blocks the attack.

Anthony’s expression falls and he stands.

“There’s a special diet Costin has prepared for you. I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

“Special diet. Great.” I have a feeling I know exactly what that means, and it doesn’t involve ordering pizza.

Before Anthony can leave, the door swings open and our father strides in.

I recoil as Davis Devine fills the room with his commanding presence.

I don’t want him to see me like this.

My father has always been larger than life.

People are drawn to him, especially women.

He’s charming and handsome, with silver-streaked dark hair and the kind of face that belongs on a statue.

Behind him, like a particularly persistent dark cloud, is Uncle Mortimer.

Perfect.

The Devine patriarchy has arrived to save the day.

“Tamara.” My father’s voice is carefully neutral as he looks me over.

“You’re finally awake.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I mutter, touching my face to feel if it’s malformed.

His eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s not fair. I’ve been concerned.”

“About me, or about what I’ve become?” I stand up, pleased to find my legs steady beneath me.

Someone has put me in silk pajama bottoms and a tank top.

I try not to think about who has been taking care of me while I was unconscious.

“There were delicate matters to attend before—” my father begins.

“Both are valid concerns,” Mortimer interjects.

He’s thinner than my father, with sharp features and more calculating eyes.

Where Davis commands through presence, Mortimer manipulates through precision.

“The council has heard about the unfortunate events you were engaged in and is demanding answers.”

“The council can go fuck itself.” The words come out harsher than I intended, with a growl underneath that makes everyone in the room tense.

“She’s clearly disturbed,” Mortimer mutters, waving a dismissive hand, as though he’s already written me off.

“Watch yourself,” my father warns.

“The supernatural council isn’t something to dismiss.”

I can’t remember a time when my father was really angry with me.

He was often more dismissive than annoyed.

Normally Astrid was left to discipline.

My father was always the fun one.

As a kid, I idolized him.

The older I get, the more I realize his flaws.

Astrid is the real family glue.

“I wasn’t engaged in any activities,” I tell them.

“I was kidnapped and made to participate in a werewolf ritual.”

“They’ve called an emergency session specifically about you.” My father doesn’t appear to be listening to me.

“Lucky me.” I cross my arms.

“They want assurances that you’re not a threat.” Mortimer’s tone is clinical.

“No one has ever survived being bitten by both a wolf and a vampire, let alone an Alpha and a master vampire. The combination has been known as incompatible with continued existence.”

I take a deep breath, and it occurs to me that vampires don’t need to breathe, yet I do.

“Yet here I am. Existing. Sorry to disappoint.”

“This isn’t a joke, Tamara.” Davis runs a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration.

“The political ramifications are significant. The Devine family has always stood for order in the supernatural world. Now my daughter is an unprecedented hybrid at a time when the werewolf hierarchy has collapsed after their Alpha’s death, a death you were present for.”

“Their Alpha was killed by Elizabeth,” I remind him.

“While she was trying to steal all the magic in the world. Maybe tell them to focus on that instead of me.”

“Elizabeth has gone underground,” Mortimer says.

“The council is looking into those accusations. And she is not in question at the moment. Vampires are known equations. You are an…”

He hesitates.

“Abomination?” I offer to help him.

“Anomaly,” Mortimer corrects, but I can see he agrees more with my answer than his.

“So what’s your solution? Lock me in the basement until I learn to heel?”

“That would be the simplest approach,” Mortimer agrees, missing my sarcasm.

Or maybe he simply ignored it.

He turns to his brother.

“Davis, it is an accepted practice to lock away troubles until they can be resolved. We could keep her comfortable while we determine the extent of her condition. The council might agree to this, and it will show we’re handling the problem.”

“I’m not a condition.” My fingers curl, and I feel a prickling sensation as my nails begin to sharpen.

I bite back the growing rage, but it’s difficult to control.

“I’m not a problem to solve.”

“Tamara,” Davis says, his voice softening slightly.

“We’re trying to protect you.”

“Are you? Or are you trying to protect the Devine reputation?” The anger continues to bubble, rising up in my throat.

“That’s enough.” My father’s voice hardens.

“I understand you’re struggling but remember who you’re speaking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m speaking to.” I step closer to him, feeling a surge of power that’s new and intoxicating.

“The question is, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

The tension in the room is broken by Astrid’s arrival.

She sweeps in like a cool breeze, assessing the situation with one glance.

“Davis, Mortimer,” she nods to each, then turns to me.

“Tamara, I see you’re awake. Good. You’re looking better.”

“I was just explaining to our daughter that she needs to cooperate with the council’s investigation,” Davis says.

“Was that before or after suggesting she be hidden away?” Astrid’s tone is ice.

“It would be best if we moved her to the country estate,” Mortimer says.

“Tamara is a Devine. We will not hide her away like cowards. That is to imply we’re ashamed or scared. I am neither. Tamara is our daughter, and we will stand beside her.”

I blink in surprise.

Astrid openly defending me to them is new territory.

“The council—” Mortimer begins.

“Will be managed,” Astrid cuts him off.

“As it has always been managed. By me.” She turns to me.

“You have visitors. The werewolf delegation is here to speak to you.”

“Werewolves? Here? At a vampire’s home to speak to my daughter?” Davis looks incredulous.

“Without asking me for permission first?”

“You were gone. I gave them permission,” Astrid says simply.

“Get dressed, Tamara. They’re waiting in the west drawing room.”

“Wait,” I say, as everyone moves to leave.

“Why do they want to see me?”

Astrid pauses at the door.

“Because their Alpha is dead, and you, my dear, are the closest thing they have to a connection to him.”

“The hell they…” my father’s voice tapers off.

“You can’t be serious,” Mortimer exclaims.

Astrid pushes him out of the room and shuts the door on the men before turning to me.

She pulls a shot out of her pocket.

“You need a small dose. It’ll help suppress your anger. Don’t tell those two you need it. They’ll use it as an excuse to chain you up.”

Astrid jabs the shot into my thigh.

I feel the cold flowing through me from the injection site.

It calms me.

“I thought the wolves would be here before your father and uncle showed,” she says.

“Werewolves are hot-tempered, especially without their Alpha to keep them in line. You don’t want to rile them up. I’m worried Davis and Mortimer will make things worse.”

“Why are they here? What does it mean?” I ask.

“It means,” she gives me a slight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “that supernatural politics just became even more complicated.”

She goes to a drawer and pulls out a silk robe.

“Costin should have let me die,” I tell her as she holds the sleeves so I can thread my arms inside.

“It was always my fate.”

Her hard eyes snap to mine.

She reaches for my face and grips it tight.

I feel her fingers digging in.

“You are a Devine.”

She doesn’t say more but she doesn’t have to.

I feel the weight of that statement and everything it means to her.

I’m no longer the mortal girl child she raised.

I’m supernatural, whatever that means in my case.

Her expectations for me are higher now.

She lets go and proceeds to cinch the belt around my waist.

“We can’t do anything about your hair, but they’re only wolves. They won’t notice. There are slippers by the chair.”

I do as she commands, putting them on.

We don’t speak as we leave the room.

I watch her move in my peripheral.

She’s so calm.

I only remember seeing her worried once, and that was when I was supposed to be dying.

She gave Costin permission to do this to me, but I don’t blame her.

I blame him.

He is the one who broke his promise.

The west drawing room of Costin’s underground mansion is a study in controlled tension.

Three werewolves are on one side, my father and uncle on the other, with Costin between them standing on an invisible line that no one crosses.

I see him trying to meet my gaze and I look away.

I feel the sire bond growing and it makes it hard to be mad at him.

Magics, vampire, and werewolves stand in a room.

It sounds like the start of a bad joke.

Fuck, I don’t have the capacity to deal with this.

I want to turn around and go back to bed.

The animosity is so thick I could cut it with my newly acquired claws.

I look down at my hands.

They appear normal, but they feel numb.

I feel a slight tremor as I look at the wolves.

They radiate a raw energy that seems to thread between us.

It stirs the feral creature inside of me.

They’re dressed in biker leather and t-shirts.

The clothes act almost like a badge of rebellion in the vampire master’s refined home.

Out of the three, I recognize Sully.

He acted as our escort the first time I ventured into the werewolves’ city territory.

He is a giant mountain of a man with a beard the color of dark iron that would make Vikings jealous.

It’s braided in places, like he put effort into his menacing appearance.

His crossed arms and wide stance are almost regal, but the kind of royalty earned in blood, not birthright.

I can’t stop staring.

His eyes glow with recognition and something else.

Not deference.

Not challenge.

Consideration?

Like he’s taking measure of the mess fate dropped in his lap.

I wonder what they want with me.

Beside him stands a woman with cropped blue hair and scars that speak of a hard life.

The third is a stocky man who looks stuck in a half-shift.

His elongated mouth opens to show sharp teeth.

“Tamara Devine,” the woman speaks first, her voice gravelly.

“I am Rhea, first lady of Alpha Thane.”

“I’m sorry about Thane,” I say automatically, though the truth is more complicated.

The Alpha tried to kill me, after all.

“Are you?” the stocky wolf growls.

“His blood is in your veins, vampire-wolf. Some would say you stole his power.”

“James,” Sully warns quietly.

“One of us should be next in line,” James says to Sully, clearly not my biggest fan.