Page 12 of Mostly Shattered

My gaze goes to his parted lips, to where I’ll find sharp fangs. They’re hard to see in the shadows, but my mind can easily fill in the darkness. I use it as a reminder of his threatening nature. Feigning bravery, I turn my attention back to the mirror.

I don’t see my reflection. Instead, flashes from my erased timeline fill my memories. Costin had died in my birthday fire. I had tried to save his life and put him out, but he’d turned to ash beneath me. The tactile sensation of his death fills my hands, a pressure triggered by memory. Later, his sister Elizabeth had led a brood of vampires to attack me. If not for my amulet, they would have killed me. The memory locks my legs into place and makes it hard to breathe. I remember the feeling of them surrounding me behind a dark gas station in the middle of nowhere.

I reach for my neck, but the amulet’s protection is no longer there.

Vampires. There is a reason they hold a high throne in the horror echelon.

I drag in a breath, forcing myself not to panic. That moment no longer exists.

Of course, Costin won’t remember any of that. Why would he? No one else does.

He’s not speaking. Or moving.

It’s creepy.

I turn toward him, not making direct eye contact. Vampires can mesmerize, and it’s one of those fears I’ve carried since childhood. I don’t want my will to be taken away from me. Most kids worry about an invisible boogeyman under their bed. I met the boogeyman and all his supernatural friends. My parents invited them over.

I ignore every instinct inside of me to scream and run.

I stare at Costin’s chest. Power radiates from him. Not some visual aura, but a magnetic energy I can feel. It hangs thick in the air, demanding attention. It’s not magic, not like the members of my family wield. It’s more primal and primitive. I imagine it to be death trying to suck the life from everything around him like a black hole making its own gravity. At his core, Costin is a predator. He needs to drink blood to live. This isn’t a monster I want to be alone with.

I need to remember that. He’s not my friend.

My gaze follows his long black hair upward before darting back to his chest. His face is cast in shadows, but the windows outline his body to reveal his shape. He looks exactly the same as when I was five—a monstrous sculpture built of nightmares and bloodlust. It’s unnerving, but I’m used to it. Myparents don’t look like they age either. It’s strange to think that in twenty years, I’ll look older than they do.

The difference between when I was a kid and now is that now I appreciate Costin’s handsomeness. I wouldneveradmit it out loud. Most women I know like to fantasize about bad boys, and vampires tick those tough, naughty boxes. However, admitting someone was attractive in the abstract is one thing. Pursuing a vampire, in reality, is quite another.

I mean, he’s hundreds of years old, eats people, and is a supernatural chauvinist. I can’t get past any of that.

He is the exact opposite of the safety and mortality that Paul represents.

He tilts his head. The subtle movement breaks my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring at the elaborate stitching on his waistcoat.

Did I mention he often dresses like he’s about to strut an 1800s catwalk?

I watch his chest lift as he takes in a deep breath.

What is he doing here?

“Did you come here to stare at me, or did you need something?” The rude words come out before I think to stop them.

I’m grouchy and on edge. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped dinner.

“You’re bleeding,” he says in a way that makes me think he’s looking for a snack. “It’s distracting.”

I frown and look at my palm to where the dot of blood has dried. I instantly ball my hand into a fist to hide it behind my back.

He steps closer and smirks. A chill runs down my spine. The scent of him—dark and earthy—tickles my nose. He looks clean, but I can imagine him sleeping inside a coffin deep within the earth. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, bore into me, as if daring me to move, to flinch, but I hold my ground. A soft glow enters his gaze. I watch from my peripheral as he gives a meaningful glance downward.

“Oh.” I gasp in surprise as I realize his meaning before instantly grimacing. “Ew. I’m not discussing my period with you.”

He arches a brow. This conversation is clearly more uncomfortable for me than it is for him.

Before I realize he’s even moving, he’s suddenly closer, invading my personal space with ease. I glance up. It’s a mistake. I find his eyes peering deeply into mine. The way the inner light swims in his gaze mesmerizes me.

Fuck.

I can’t look away. He’s pulling me in.

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