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1
Calla
Forget everything or become a vampire.
My gaze drops to the glittering plate of half-eaten food in front of me. The decedent smells wafting under my nose from the lamb and potatoes turn my stomach. Nausea ripples through me as my hand slips off the table, dropping to my thigh, where I instinctively reach for the dagger strapped a few inches above my knee. I curl my fingers around the hard white ash as my pulse races.
My lips part in surprise when Atlas covers my hand with his before I can pull the dagger out of its holder.
Ice fills my veins and the air in my lungs gets stuck there. Betrayal whips through me, tendrils of dread weighing my shoulders down as I turn toward him with a glare. How can he sit there and take his parents’ side when they want me to—
“No.” Atlas tightens his grip on my hand and shakes his head so subtly I almost miss it. I have no idea if he’s speaking to me or his mother. Maybe both of us.
What the fuck is happening right now?
I turn my head at the sound of a deep growl from across the table to find a look of pure rage etched into Kade’s darkened features. Lex is nearly vibrating with anger beside me, and Gabriel is sitting deadly still, his jaw set in a tight line.
Taking a deep breath, I lick the dryness from my lips and pull my hand away from Atlas’s rigid touch. “I am not going to become a vampire.” I’m shocked my voice doesn’t waver or crack. Screw that. I’m fucking proud it doesn’t.
Simon sets his fork down next to his plate and offers me a barely-there smile. “Then you should be happy to get your life back.”
Kade scowls. “Even if Calla was agreeable to being glamoured to forget vampires, that option isn’t viable. The hunters will come after her for having been associated with us. Without her memories, she’ll be in greater danger from them.”
Lenora arches a brow at him. “The girl’s safety as a human isn’t our concern.”
Well, fuck you too.
I clench my jaw to keep from snapping at her, knowing full well she can backhand me across the room and break my bones effortlessly.
She lifts her cloth napkin to her lips, dabbing at literally nothing before setting it back in her lap. She oozes pretentiousness, and I can’t help but wonder how the hell Atlas has put up with her for so long.
“Lenora—” Gabriel starts, and she holds up her hand, silencing him.
“This matter is not up for debate or discussion, boys.” Her sharp silver gaze slides to me. “You have one month to decide what you’ll do. If in one month you’re neither a vampire nor living blissfully unaware of vampires, I will kill you myself. Understood?”
“Understood?” I echo incredulously. “Fuck you.” The words are out of my mouth before I’ve even realized what I said. My eyes pop wide, and I push the chair back as I stand.
I think one of the guys calls my name, but my ears are ringing so loud as I retreat the way we came in, I can’t be sure who it was.
I nearly trample one of the house staff in my haste to get out of that room and mutter a quick apology. The slight, middle-aged woman steadies me and offers a polite smile, which immediately makes me feel worse for nearly taking her out. And when I spot the partially healed bite marks along her arms and on both sides of her neck, I recoil, unable to stop a frown from forming on my lips as the bottom one quivers.
“Can I help you find something, dear?” she asks, unfazed by my reaction to her.
“Bathroom,” I force out between shallow breaths, because there’s a good chance I’m going to hurl or collapse, and I’d rather have some semblance of privacy to do either.
The woman nods and points to a door across the grand entryway. I’m heading toward it before she can say anything else. I grip the handle and burst inside, slamming the door shut behind me and flipping the lock out of habit more than anything else. Because in a house full of vampires, that tiny piece of metal is virtually useless.
Stumbling toward the white marble vanity, I grip either side of the sink and stare at my pale, wide-eyed expression as I try to stop hyperventilating. I can’t seem to pull in a steady enough breath to fill my lungs, and the longer I try, the harder it becomes.
I have about three seconds of warning to drop to my knees and grab the toilet before the contents of my stomach come back up and into the bowl. I heave until my throat is raw and tears burn my eyes. There’s a dull pounding in my temples a few minutes later when I lean back and flush the vomit away.
After forcing myself to stand, I turn on the faucet and rinse out my mouth, wiping away the tears that slipped down my cheeks. My complexion is flushed and uneven, my eyes still glassy. I don’t feel in control of my body as I rake my fingers through my hair and try to catch my breath. I clench and unclench my hands at my sides, closing my eyes to help me focus better.
Breathe in.
Hold it.
Breathe out.
