Page 48 of Creatures that Breathe

He takes my elbow, breaking through the ice forming on my skin. “Calm. Down.”

“And cruel! And terrible!”

“We have a deal,” he snaps, winding me into him like a runaway kite. “And in light of recent events”—he makes a great show of sliding his eyes up and down my scantily clad form—“I very much intend to see it through. Regardless of how many insults fall off your sweet little tongue.”

A heavy stone drops into my stomach. Our deal feels like an eternity ago. An agreement I made with a different, better person.

“Deal’s off,” I declare through chattering teeth.

“It’s not. Whether you want it or not.”

He can’t mean—“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” It’s not challenging. It’s self-deprecating. As if reading the question in my head.

If he can thrust a knife through Odren’s heart without remorse, what won’t he do?

I misjudged this male. As poorly as I misjudged myself, overestimating my abilities.

Reckless. Dangerous.

“Good,” he says tightly, as if horror shines in my eyes.

I’m trapped in a cushion of warm muscle before I can call him reprehensible.

“Don’t look so scared, Leni.” His dark words curl around me, peel the fight from my blood. “One day, you’ll wake up and forget everything about me.”

He doesn’t know how right he is.

11

Leni

potentially traveling to beach

“First time flying private?” Lev’s cocky as he relaxes back on the cushy linen seat, lap belt struggling to contain his bulk as he props the heel of his neon orange Charmander sock on his opposite knee, effectively commandeering all of the communal foot space between us.

Why are males.

He’s showered and changed. His shirt says Dance For Me and his bottoms are sweats dotted with corgis in sunglasses.

Style. Eclectic casual quirky style, but style nonetheless.

I turn away from it. Outside the oval window, the sun blooms upward, pink and fiery, swirling in the morning haze. A beautiful vista if you ignore the police tape and body bags littering the shoreline.

The knot in my stomach feels like a permanent fixture, causing me to question if I’ll ever digest again or if it’ll remain a bucket of churning rocks until I die. Plus five years.

Starvation. Now there’s a slow, creeping death.

I keep my back straight, socks flat on the carpet, my seat belt securely fastened, with my hands on my thighs, palms up in repent.

“Don’t tell me you thought Poseidon would rescue you,” Lev continues, flipping up his armrest to unfold a small table. “All you creatures are the same. Any problem and you’re burning incense and sacrificing a sheep, hoping the Gods will handle it. Do you think just because you’re family, they give a fuck about you?”

Ironically, they might now.

Blood crimes are on caliber with Divine comeuppance.

“Drake’s gonna have fun with you,” he tells me haughtily. “Pretty things break into the littlest pieces. Too small to fit back together.”

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