Page 82 of Barely Breathing

I hesitate to step inside. I see something flicker in Peter’s expression as he looks at me—that old boyhood crush. He knows about Costin and Paul, but there still seems to be a lingering hope that maybe someday…

There will never be a someday for us. I think logically he knows that.

“Maybe I should go with you,” Peter says, his voice trembling.

“No.” Astrid’s tone allows no argument. “If they catch you helping her, Thane will kill you. Anthony would never forgive me.” She touches his arm. “You’ve done enough showing us the way. A car will be here shortly to take you to the country estate. You will be safe there until this is over.”

“Just... be careful, Tam. These tunnels change people. And Paul...” He hesitates. “They haven’t been kind to him.”

The way he says it makes my stomach clench. “You’ve seen him?”

“Thane made the pack watch his demonstrations. He wanted to ensure us that Paul was really touched by death magic.” His voice carries genuine fear. “Thane likes to remind us of what he’s capable of.”

I place my hand on his trembling shoulder. He’s terrified.

“Thank you for helping us, Peter,” I say with a small squeeze. “Astrid’s right. You should go to the estate until this is over.”

He nods, then turns away quickly.

“I’ll make sure he’s safe. Be careful,” Astrid looks at my amulet. “Don’t take that off.”

“You’ll find Diana?” I ask. “You’ll tell Costin I’m sorry I didn’twait for him?”

“I’m doing everything I can,” Astrid says.

I pretend not to see the shine in Peter’s eyes as Astrid leads him back the way we came.

I step inside the tunnels. They remind me of the labyrinth, and I tell myself that if I survived the supernatural challenges of those trials, then I can survive a walk through werewolf territory. I hold my fist around the amulet.

I can’t be killed. I can’t be killed. I can’t be killed…

I follow the faint green glow of wolf paws. The tunnels grow older and less even as I continue alone. Centuries of supernatural traffic have worn down the stone path. The air feels thick with magic and smells of decay. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, each drop sounding in lonely echoes. My flashlight beam catches on claw marks scored deep into the walls. I don’t want to know what caused them.

I can’t be killed. I can’t be killed.

The wolf tracks lead me deeper, past abandoned chambers that smell of old slaughterhouses. I don’t want to think about what unimaginable torments they have seen. Finally, I reach a section that feels like it’s been maintained a little better than the tunnels. Iron doors line the passage, each marked with various spells against supernatural strength. The locks are simple enough, meant to keep creatures in, not humans out.

I peek into the small windows. The first appearsempty but has a horrible smell. The next has a troll having an invisible tea party with himself and a rock. His eyes meet mine, and he turns his back as if I’m interrupting. I find Paul in the third cell.

The space is barely larger than a closet, with walls of rough stone that weep moisture. The drip-drip sound from within would be torturous after a few minutes of listening to it. A single lamp burns with enchanted fire, casting a sickly yellow light that makes the stains on the floor look black. The thick chains holding him are silver, designed for werewolves.

“Paul?” My whisper feels too loud in this place of pain.

He slowly lifts his head, and my heart breaks. His face is a map of bruises, and one eye is nearly swollen shut. They’ve stripped him to the waist, and I can see where claws have left deep scratches across his chest. But his eye—the one that can open—still holds that same gentle strength I remember.

“Tamara?” His voice is rough as if he hasn’t used it in days. “Is it really you?”

I slip inside. “I’m here.” I rush to him and kneel on the floor where he sits. My fingers find the chains, and the silver irritates my skin where Draakmar’s magic touches it.

“They kept saying you forgot me.” He stares at me like he thinks I might disappear on him. “Theyshowed me things. Made me think I was imagining our time together.”

“I’m so sorry, Paul.” I tug at the chains, trying to free him. I ignore the pain it causes my hands. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t brought this supernatural chaos into your lives?—”

“Diana?” He cuts me off, struggling to sit straighter. “Have you seen her? Is she safe? They won’t tell me anything. They just keep saying the forgotten magic needs to stay pure. I don’t understand what they’re talking about. They keep saying ritual.”

Of course, his daughter comes first. It’s one of the things that made me fall for him—that absolute devotion to Diana. “I’m going to find her. I promise. But first, I need to get you out of here.”

“They’re going to hurt her, aren’t they?” The fear in his voice makes me work faster at the chains. It gives him renewed strength as he tries to struggle free. I manage to pull a pin from his manacle to free his hand. “Whatever this ritual is, they’re going to use my baby girl, aren’t they?”

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