Page 32 of Barely Breathing

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. The crimson bleeds into his irises, and I recognize that swirling pattern—the same one I’ve seen before, though I can’t quite remember when.

The amulet flares with sudden heat, making us both flinch. Draakmar’s consciousness slams into mine with the force of a battering ram. The dragon’s presence feels different, more awake and aware. His ancient power grows restless with purpose. It triggers a memory of a dark passage, a spy hole, and the taste of terror in my throat. He warns of a change coming over me that will alter everything.

“These old passages can be dangerous...”

I stumble away from him, fragments of memory threatening to surface. “You’ve done something to me,” I whisper. “Made me forget things.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. “Tamara?—”

“Don’t.” I press my hand against the amulet, which thumps like a second heartbeat. “I remember...”

The memory hits me like a physical blow, and I’m sixteen again, watching through a spy hole as Costin teaches someone a very permanent lesson about loyalty.

Chapter

Nine

Devine Country Estate, Twelve Years Ago...

My hands shake as I press my face against the spy hole, trying to see more of the library beyond the wall. The secret passages are strictly forbidden—especially when the supernaturals are partying like it’s 1799—but I can’t stay in hiding another minute. They’ve locked Conrad and me away in the protected wing again, treating us like we’re made of glass just because we’re mortal.

Conrad is in one of his grumpy moods and being impossible. He’s been ranting for hours about some spells he read to ensure people return as ghosts and how our parents and other magics keep the knowledge from us. It’s like being locked in a cell with a conspiracy theorist. Seriously, who the hell wants tocome back as a ghost? I barely want to be here as I am.

My hideaway is cramped and musty, making it hard to breathe. I’ve been told the secret passageways are here for security reasons to sneak us out of the house when under attack. Or to hide refugees. I’m not supposed to talk about the tunnels, and I’m definitely not supposed to venture around inside them.

Sweat makes my palms slip on the smooth wood around the peephole, and I press them softly against my jeans. Cobwebs catch in my hair, tickling my scalp, but I don’t dare move to brush them away. One wrong sound, and they’ll hear me. Several supernatural creatures have crazy-good hearing, and I don’t know what I’m spying on.

Vampires in formal evening wear circulate through the library, their movements reminding me of sharks circling prey. Blood-red wine sloshes in crystal glasses, but I know it’s not wine. Even from here, I can see the predatory gleam in their eyes, the way their fangs flash when they laugh.

My fingers find the amulet my grandfather gave me. I clutch it like the talisman it’s supposed to be. I don’t think it works, but its presence always makes me feel safer.

Mabel Freemont stands near the fireplace with a blond vampire I don’t recognize, herperfectly manicured hand resting on his arm like she’s marking her territory. Her smug smile is exactly how I remember it. I have no clue why she’s at the party. My mother doesn’t care for her. I can tell by the way Lady Astrid’s eyes tighten whenever the woman laughs—that fake, tinkling sound designed to draw attention.

The blond vampire has hair that is longer than is fashionable and a too-handsome face. The sharp angles make it look as if he’s sculpted of stone and Botox. All vampires have an eroticism about them, but this one looks like a graphic novel come to life. Conrad says their beauty is meant to lure their victims, namely us humans. Only a fool would fall for it.

Conrad says a lot of things. My brother has a great many opinions, and very rarely are his conclusions happy ones.

“The North American territory is too vast for one master,” the blond vampire says. “Constantine’s control is slipping. Even his own sister questions?—”

“Careful, Robert.” Costin’s voice slices through the room like a blade. He appears from nowhere, making several vampires stumble back. A shiver works over me, and I try to hold my breath. My heart nearly stops as I lean to find him through the peephole. “You’re speaking of matters you know little about.”

“Lord Constantine.” The blond traitor bows, buthis tone is defiant. “We merely suggest that perhaps it’s time to discuss... changes. The Freemonts have concerns about?—”

Costin moves so fast my eyes can’t follow. I have to readjust against the peephole to see his hand around Robert’s throat. Mabel stumbles back, white wine spilling down her designer dress. Her face drains of color, and her mouth works silently like a fish gasping for air. She takes another step back, bumping into the fireplace mantel, but doesn’t dare run. I see her fingers trembling as she clutches her throat to protect her arteries.

“The Freemonts,” Costin says with terrible gentleness, not looking at Mabel, “should remember their place in the hierarchy. As should you.”

“The others will—” Robert’s words choke off as Costin’s grip tightens.

“The others will what?” Costin’s smile makes me want to run, but my legs won’t move. I can’t let them hear me. “Rally behind you? I dare you all to question my authority. My dungeons are empty, and I do so love making examples.”

I shouldn’t be seeing this. I need to look away, but terror holds me frozen.

“I challenge—” Robert’s words are cut short as Costin’s hand plunges into the vampire’s chest. The wet tearing sound makes bile rise in my throat, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to stiflea whimper.

“A heart,” Costin turns to the others in the room, holding up something dark and pulsing, “is such a delicate thing.” His fingers squeeze, and the organ crumbles to ash.

The vampire’s body collapses into a pile of dust on Astrid’s favorite rug. My mother is going to be pissed. As Costin’s dust-covered fingers flex, I watch Mabel press against the wall, trying to become invisible. The room has gone so quiet I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I wonder if they can hear it, too.

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