Page 8
“Remember who you are.” Astrid circles me like a predator, her hand smoothing indiscernible wrinkles from my dress.
I feel like a human sacrifice about to be led to an altar.
Well, minus the human part.
I watch her hands, remembering how many times they’ve tugged at my clothes just like this.
When I was a kid, I always felt an air of disappointment in the gesture, like if she could just make me presentable enough, it might hide the fact I was the family’s mortal embarrassment.
My eyes move to study her beautiful, perfect face.
Am I still an embarrassment?
The family’s monster?
A hairy beast dressed up in silk and heels?
Like usual, her steeled expression gives nothing away.
Maybe I’ve been too hard on her.
I’ve seen the moments of caring.
She did take in the bastard daughter of her philandering husband when my birth mother couldn’t protect me.
She’s stood by me since the supernatural hits started coming.
People are complicated.
Life?
Even more so.
“You should have let me go,” I tell her.
“It would have made everything easier.”
I don’t know if I’m talking about now or when I was a baby.
Her hands stall, but she pretends like she doesn’t hear me.
Costin’s home feels like an endless maze of rooms.
Just when I thought I’d seen it all, I find myself in a new underground wing.
Astrid has led me down a winding staircase to the antechamber of a formal meeting hall where we will face the council members.
Ornate sconces cast a warm glow that does little to dispel the chill emanating from the marble floors.
I smell the gas fueling their fires.
The air feels like we’re standing inside a giant tomb.
Under the staleness, I detect a hint of old blood emanating from behind the doors.
I imagine layers of it season the walls like a testament to those who died here.
Is this where I will meet my end?
As much as I say I want to die, there is a part of me that rebels from the idea.
The walls are black stone, and there are no fake lights behind fake curtains to make me feel like this place is anything other than the bottom of a deep pit.
Ancient tapestries hang over the stone depicting supernatural histories, their colors still vibrant despite centuries of existence.
I miss the daylight.
“I hate these old meeting halls,” Astrid grumbles.
“They somehow manage to make the gothic style feel both claustrophobic and cavernous at the same time, with none of the beauty and all the charm of the gates to hell.”
I see her point.
I don’t think it matters.
A tomb is a tomb.
The dress Astrid brought me is the color of burgundy wine.
In the shadows, it looks black until a thread of dancing light hits it just right to reveal the deep undertones.
It reminds me of dried blood.
Maybe if I make a mess massacring some creature, the material will hide the stains better.
I wish that were a joke.
The fabric feels like cool liquid against my legs as it falls to the floor.
Long slits move up the sides, and I can only imagine they’re for freedom of movement in case I need to fight.
It seems silly.
If my body shifts, I’ll tear the material.
The bodice looks elegant but feels like it’s reinforced with steel panels.
Armor beneath elegance or an attempt to keep me from changing forms?
“The council will be looking for any sign of weakness,” Astrid says as she pats my hair.
She’s tamed the curls back into a slick style.
I think it makes my cheekbones look sharp and my eyes even more feral.
In my opinion, the heavy-handed makeup doesn’t help.
Her own attire is equally formal.
She wears a slate gray suit with silver threads that catches the light like tiny knife blades.
I see blue threads of magic twirling over her fingers before she reaches into her pocket.
She pulls out a silver pendant and places it around my neck.
The metal burns slightly against my skin, and I automatically reach to pull it off.
“Leave it,” Astrid orders, producing one of her syringes.
She grabs my arm and unceremoniously injects me with it.
“The magic will help regulate your wolf side. They will be watching for any hint that you can’t control yourself.”
I think I might be better off if they had left me chained.
I flex my wrists.
The shackles are gone, but I can still feel their phantom weight.
My skin has healed completely, leaving no trace of the marks they’d made.
Another reminder of what I’ve become.
“They want to see what you are.” Astrid’s ice-blue eyes meet mine.
I’ve never noticed the depth of that color until now.
It’s like looking at the walls of a snow cave.
“Show them strength, not savagery. Remember, you are a Devine. You can control this. You are more than the forces inside you.”
She seems so confident in me.
I don’t know why.
She’s never expressed this level of surety when I was human.
The odds of my disappointing her feel greater now.
The shot Astrid gave me forces my mind to become clearer than it’s been in a while.
I feel the fog lift.
Three days have passed in a blur since Conrad’s ghost appeared in my room.
Three days since Costin went to the council about Leviathan.
Three days of blood and meat brought on silver trays, of servants who won’t meet my eyes, of staring at shadows and waiting for them to speak again.
Three days.
No news.
No contact.
Just shadows and silence.
Three days of cycling between madness and sanity.
Three days of trying to claw Costin’s clothes off him whenever he comes to my gilded prison room.
The last one causes my lip to twitch up in the corner.
“Have you spoken to Lorelai? What about Paul and Diana?” The questions fall out before I can stop them.
“I tried to ask earlier, but you didn’t answer me. Are they safe? Does Lorelai know what’s happened to me?”
A flicker of something crosses Astrid’s face.
Annoyance, perhaps?
She probably doesn’t think I should be thinking of my human birth mother and my mortal friends at a time like this.
“We’ll discuss it later. You’re getting emotional. You need control, Tamara.”
“Please. I must know,” I beg.
“Lorelai is kept informed through appropriate channels,” she says, her tone clipped.
“She’s been calling daily but bringing her here to see you is unsafe. We have not told her where you are. It would be best if she went back to California. As for Paul and his child, they are under constant protection. The girl’s connection to Draakmar makes her valuable, and thus a target.”
That’s not what I want to hear.
I gave my amulet to Diana to keep her safe.
The child must be terrified after everything that’s happened.
“Are they…?” I feel the hybrid inside me stirring at my agitation.
I don’t know what I’m asking, or if I can handle the answer.
Happy?
Safe?
Mad at me?
Do they hate me?
“Are they well?”
“The child is resilient.” Astrid’s expression softens slightly.
“But yes, they are well. We’ve moved them to a secure location outside the city. Your, uh, friend Paul was reluctant, but he understood the necessity once the situation was explained.”
I wonder what explanation they gave him.
Sorry, but Tamara’s turned into a bloodthirsty monster who might eat your daughter if she gets too close?
Guilt eats at me.
I also wonder if they gave him a choice before they moved them.
I doubt it.
Supernaturals aren’t an ask-for-permission type of crowd.
Paul and Diana’s lives would have been so much better if they’d never met me.
No matter how I’ve tried to fix it, that fact never changes.
Out of all my regrets, that one stings the worst.
I feel tears threatening.
The monster inside me doesn’t like the emotion, and it starts to push itself to the surface as if it can protect me from the pain.
“What happens if I lose it in front of the council?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Then we’ll all pay the price.” She hands me a small vial filled with dark liquid that seems to absorb rather than reflect the light.
“Drink this. It will help keep the wolf calm for a few hours.”
I take the vial, rolling it between my fingers.
The glass is warm, as if the liquid inside generates its own heat.
Magic around my neck, a shot, and now a vial.
I worry it won’t be enough.
“And the vampire?”
“That’s up to you.” She steps back, giving me a final assessment.
“You are not a mortal anymore, Tamara. Don’t act like one. Don’t think like one.”
Footsteps interrupt us.
Anthony joins us, dressed in formal robes of deep blue that mark his status as a high-ranking magic.
His expression is tense, a small furrow between his brows that I’ve learned to recognize as trouble.
“They’re ready for us to go in.” He hesitates, glancing at Astrid.
“But…?” I prompt, uncorking the vial and downing its contents in one swallow.
It tastes like ash and copper, burning all the way down as it coats my throat with a film that seems to mute the constant hunger.
“There’s been a complication.” Anthony’s eyes dart toward the stairwell.
“The werewolves have arrived.”
I see them crowded in the corridor leading into the antechamber.
“The werewolves were not invited.” Astrid’s perfect composure cracks slightly.
“Try telling them that.” Anthony steps aside.
A group of five werewolves enters, led by Sully’s imposing figure.
While we are dressed in formal attire befitting a council summons, the wolves have come in a deliberate display of their nature.
Sully wears leather pants and a vest that leaves his muscular arms exposed, showing off intricate tribal tattoos that seem to shift subtly across his skin.
Silver chains hang from his belt like a challenge.
He fears no traditional werewolf weakness.
I touch my neck.
The necklace stings and I want to tear it off.
Behind Sully is Rhea with her blue-cropped hair, dressed similarly but with the addition of a long coat made from what appears to be wolf pelts.
Morbid, but whatever.
There is also James with his permanent snarl.
That feral wolf has gone even further.
His half-shifted state displays elongated teeth and claws.
Two others that I don’t recognize flank them.
One, a tall, willowy woman with unnaturally golden eyes, and the other a stocky man whose massive shoulders strain against his leather jacket to the point that the seams look ready to pop.
Sully’s eyes find mine, and instantly light with a challenge.
“Miss Devine.”
If ever I heard subtext in someone’s tone, this is it.
The way he greets me sounds like a warning not to fight him.
I don’t know why he thinks I want to be Alpha.
I can barely manage my own life.
Like I’d want a shot at running werewolf politics.
“Ready to face judgment?” Sully asks, smirking.
“This council meeting is not about judgment,” Astrid says coolly.
“It’s about assessment. There is nothing for you to do but leave.”
“She’s a wolf. That makes it our business,” Rhea puts forth.
Her stance changes as if she’s ready to brawl.
Sully puts a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“She’s not a wolf,” Astrid counters.
“She’s something special. She’s a Devine. You have no blood claim.”
Sully’s lips curl, but he’s not smiling.
I can feel the tension building.
The emotions cause my monster to respond.
It tries to push its way to the surface.
Claws and fangs feel so much more appealing than silk and niceties.
I fight the temptation to shift.
Sully chuckles like he knows what I’m going through.
“Call it what you want, Lady Astrid. She’s a wolf.”
“What are you doing here, Sully?” I ask, feeling the potion beginning to work.
A cool stillness spreads through my limbs, dampening the wolf’s instinct to respond to his challenge.
“Making sure werewolf interests are represented. If they’re deciding your fate, then they’re deciding ours.” His gaze sweeps over me, taking in the elegant dress, the controlled posture.
“Playing dress-up won’t fool them, you know. They’ll still smell what you are.”
“And what am I?” I step closer, ignoring Astrid’s warning glance.
“I know what you should be.” His voice drops, meant only for me.
The heavy undertone doesn’t go unnoticed.
Before I can disagree, Mortimer appears behind the werewolves.
My uncle’s face is pinched with his usual disapproval.
His traditional council robes are charcoal gray and embroidered with silver sigils, marking his position as a senior magic representative.
“Your presence is highly irregular,” he scolds.
“The council called for the Devine family, not a pack of?—”
“Careful,” Sully warns, not bothering to look at him.
“We have every right to be here. This concerns werewolf succession.”
“Werewolf succession is not on the council’s agenda tonight,” Mortimer snaps, though I notice he doesn’t step any closer to Sully.
“It is when one of your family carries the blood of our Alpha.” Sully’s eyes never leave mine.
“The full moon is in eleven days. By then, Tamara Devine will have made her choice. She’ll stand with us, or against us.”
“Enough.” Astrid moves between us, easily commanding the space.
“The council is waiting. We will sort this out inside.”
She threads her arm through mine and pulls me along with her to the nearby doors.
The short corridor we walk through is a study in ancient power.
I feel as if modern time is fading into the carved stone walls inlaid with protective spells that make the air shimmer.
My likeness shines up from the polished obsidian floors, which reflect our procession like a dark mirror.
My heart is beating fast and hard.
Where is Costin?
I wish he were with me.
I see the glimmer of ancient symbols in the stone as we pass.
Contemporary notions don’t belong in this historical world.
They won’t care about my rights as a person, or my feelings.
None of this is about what I want.
There is no fairness.
The council is about power and control.
They don’t abide by human laws.
“Through the looking glass,” I mutter, wishing the Tamara walking with me in the floor would offer to switch places.
“Shh,” Astrid scolds, her grip tightening on me.
The air is still down here.
Sconces hold eternal flames to light our way, the fire neither flickering nor producing smoke.
I don’t smell the faint trace of gas that I did in the other rooms.
We pass alcoves with artifacts of supernatural significance.
Some I’ve seen in books, others I just guess at.
There are crystallized dragon tears in a bowl, the preserved hand of a creature still clutching a wand under a dome of glass, and a goblet that emits a smell I don’t want to investigate.
My heart beats faster.
I hear it in my ears, making everything else sound far away.
I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to be this…
this thing .
This monster.
This corridor looked short when we started, but it keeps going, as if we’re not crossing any gap and the doors stay the same distance away.
Sully falls into step beside me.
I feel his energy, wild and barely restrained, calling to something similar inside me.
Astrid tenses and keeps hold.
I glance back to see the other werewolves forming a loose perimeter behind us, as if they’re both escorting and containing me.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Sully murmurs.
The tiny hairs along my neck stand on end and I shiver.
“The pull of the pack. The call of your true nature.”
“I don’t have a true nature,” I reply.
“I’m just me. I don’t want to be your Alpha. I don’t want any of this.”
How many times do I need to say it?
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His hand brushes mine, the brief contact sending a jolt through me that has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with awareness.
“You’re stronger than you know. And after today, you’ll have to decide which side you’re on.”
“We’re here,” Astrid says.