The Romeo Catchers (Book 2)

CHAPTER 6 Breathe

"Jesus Christ, Adele." He fell beside me.

I shielded my face as the light struck my eyes.

"Are you okay?"

My heart sunk as the full extent of what I'd almost done registered—and even worse, Isaac had found me here, lying against the door of our sworn enemy. I pulled my knees into my chest, nodding. I didn't have to look up to know he was clamping his jaw shut.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

I nodded. All I could do was stare silently at the floor.

"Then what are you doing here?"

The tears welled. Just tell him, Adele. You swore no more secrets. Tell him about Brigitte. Tell him that you want to get her out—that you need to get her out. That you want him to help you and not hate her because she's a vampire.

My chest burned, and when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. No words. No air. I looked up at him.

My throat tightened, and my lungs contracted, but they didn't expand. I tried to suck in air through my nose, but it didn't go past my throat.

"Adele?"

Invisible chains wrapped themselves around my ribs, cinching the bones tighter around my lungs, just like the thick iron links I'd smacked around Gabriel, crushing his bones.

My hand slapped the wall behind me.

"Adele, breathe," Isaac said, but the fear in his eyes made my anxiety grow.

I tried to suck in more air, to no avail. The wheezing noise from my throat sounded just like the first time I'd had a panic attack—just after my mother left, at the playground on my first day of kindergarten. After that the doctor ordered me to carry an inhaler with me everywhere. My father had been so concerned about me being lax, he'd explained death to me. When I asked him if Mommy had stopped breathing and that's why she went away, he got teary and said, "No, Mommy is just visiting with grand-mère."

I hadn't used an inhaler in years, so I didn't carry them on me anymore. This can't be happening. Not in front of Isaac.

"Adele, look at me!"

The wheezing worsened; I clung to his wrist.

"Adele, you have to breathe."

I frantically pulled the bow from around my neck. I really wanted to rip the entire shirt off. The chains pulled tighter. I tugged at the high waistband of the skirt, dizziness dancing up my spine before I slumped to the floor.

After everything that'd happened—after we'd finally won—I was going to die next to the sealed attic, cracking from the pressure.

A chuckle that couldn't slip out of my mouth flung out of my eyes in the form of tears.

Whispering under his breath, Isaac yanked the hem of my blouse from my skirt.

"Do not close your eyes!" he yelled, grabbing my jaw with one hand. His other hand slipped beneath my shirt.

Spots appeared all around his head—pink, red, blue—as his rough hands slid over my stomach and unhooked the clasp on my bra. The ease of tension around my chest brought a second of relief. I attempted another gasp, which just resulted in a deathly choke. I thought if the panic attack didn't kill me, I'd actually die from mortification.

A moment later, his touch no longer induced panic. I was barely aware of what was going on . . . barely aware as his hand slid from my ribs to just underneath my breasts, or when he applied a small amount of pressure and the last bit of air deflated from my lungs. I felt my eyes roll back in my head, and I became weightless, like I was floating.