Page 46 of Barely Breathing

Astrid bristles. “How can I help you?”

Francis makes a show of being put out as he says, “The council has concerns about your daughter’s recent activities.”

At the mention of the council, my temple throbs with a sharp, unexpected pain. Something about Francis mentioning the council feels dangerous, like a half-remembered warning, but I can’t place why.

My exhaustion burns away under a wave of irritation as I remember seeing Mabel conspiring with Elizabeth in Thane’s court. Of course, the Freemonts would try to use this against my family. Did Mabel go straight from the werewolves to the council? Shereminds me of those people who have the police on speed dial to self-righteously report every infraction of her neighbors.

“The council has no authority over my personal life,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady despite my exhaustion. The Freemonts have sought leverage since the wizard Zephronis declared my engagement to Chester impossible. “Zephronis made that clear.”

“This isn’t about your shameful rejection of our Chester.” Mabel’s lips thin as if she’s tasted something rotten. “Though I must say, trading a respectable marriage for a vampire lover hardly speaks well of your judgment. Every choice has consequences, girl. You chose to spurn our family’s protection, and now you’ll see what it means to make powerful enemies.” Her smile turns cruel. “I think Chester did well not to marry you.”

Anthony moves to stand beside me. “If you’re only here to insult my sister?—”

“We’re here,” Francis interrupts, “because your mortal meddles in werewolf affairs. The Alpha himself contacted us about her interference.”

Sure, he did.I feel the sarcasm radiating off me.

It’s evident Mabel being at Thane’s court isn’t a coincidence. The Freemonts are working with both the werewolves and Elizabeth, probably hoping to use the chaos to grab more power.

Assholes.

“Really,” Astrid’s tone drips sarcasm. “Why would the Alpha contact you instead of coming to us directly?”

“Because we understand the delicate balance of supernatural politics,” Mabel says.

Anthony snorts and doesn’t try to hide his laughter.

“Something your daughter obviously has no clue about,” Mabel continues. “Running around with vampires, starting fights with werewolves… The council won’t stand for it.”

“You’re lying. There was no fighting,” I grumble in annoyance. “I had an audience with the Alpha. You should know, Mabel. Or were you and Elizabeth too busy making out with werewolves?”

Anthony laughs harder, not trying to hide it.

Francis’ face turns a deeper shade of angry red. “How dare?—”

“How dare she what?” Astrid demands. “Tell the truth?”

“If she says she had an audience, she had an audience,” Lorelai speaks up, her quiet voice carrying unexpected strength. She steps forward before Astrid can respond, and I see my adoptive mother’s jaw tighten at the intervention. But for once, they’re both fighting the same battle, even if they can’t entirely fight it together. “You can tell your council to go to hell if they don’t likeit.”

Mabel’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lift. “Who are you to speak to me?”

“Someone who doesn’t like you,” Lorelai answers. I see Astrid’s lip twitch in what might almost be a smile.

“This will not be tolerated. You will—” Francis starts, lifting his hand as magic forms in his palm.

Astrid cuts him off. “You have delivered your useless threats. Now get out of my home, or your lost shipment won’t be the only thing the merfolk are looking for at the bottom of the ocean. And if you think I’m bluffing, I’ll remind you why the Devines don’t need political conniving to maintain our position.”

Magic crackles in the air—not from Francis this time, but from Astrid. I’ve rarely seen her display power so openly. The Freemonts take a step back.

“Threaten a member of my family again, and you’re fish bait,” Astrid strides toward them, forcing them toward the elevator. Francis holds magic in his hand but is too hesitant to use it. Mabel frantically presses the button to open the doors. When they finally slide apart, Francis pushes her inside. As the door closes, the magic dies on his fingers, and I hear their muffled arguing coming through.

Astrid snuffs the magic in her fist and slaps her hands together as if dusting them off. “I believe we were discussing breakfast. I’ll speak to the chef.” Shestudies my face. “You look pale. Come to the kitchen. You need herbal tea, not coffee.”

I follow her, too tired to argue. She pulls herbs from a cabinet and begins preparing the blend herself. The scent of chamomile fills the air, mixed with something I can’t identify. It reminds me of that night with Chester and the engagement contract, how she’d made me the same tea before everything fell apart.

“Drink,” she says, pressing the cup into my hands. “It will help you relax.”

“Is it…?” I take the cup and stare into it. I want to ask what’s in it.

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