Sleeping Beauty and the Demon

by Marina Myles

  Truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to be back in his tiny New York apartment with Rose.

  Luckily, he’d packed earlier that morning. Now there was nothing to do but wait for his driver to arrive. Drago was thrilled that his reunion with Rose was quickly approaching. In fact, his entire body tingled with anticipation. Although he possessed the power to transport himself instantly to her, the last thing he wanted was to draw media attention. He’d spent years implementing this plan and if it failed, he would never forgive himself.

  CHAPTER 34

  Drago was one of the first passengers to get off the plane in Bucharest. It felt incredibly good to be back in his native country. Romania was a place he’d once lived in as an innocent mortal—before he gained his daunting powers. Before black magic tainted his life.

  Although the daylight fatigued him, he stood at the airport window and smiled at the familiar city shimmering in the early morning sun.

  After he claimed his luggage, he went straight to a cab stand. His nerves had started to build during the flight and now they were buzzing at an all-time high.

  Rose. My face is different, but will she remember my voice?

  The question made him was as anxious as an eleven-year-old boy about to get his first kiss.

  As the taxi transported him through the lively streets of Bucharest, he noticed they’d grown more glamorous over the years. Yet, he was glad the city had maintained a certain degree of old “Romanian” ambience—enough to keep the tourists pouring in anyway.

  The cab eventually took him to an exclusive car dealership. Using cash, he bought a black BMW sedan. Once he packed his luggage inside the car and zoomed off, he made a stop in town. Then he drove the high-performance vehicle to the outskirts of Bucharest. The car hummed beautifully along the mountain roads and soon the vibrant city disappeared behind him.

  As he found himself in the Carpathian Mountains, the sun had begun to set. And despite the fact that it was June, a chill seized the air. Through the tall fir trees, Drago could see the mountain top that housed his castle. He smiled. The massive thicket of thorns he’d commanded to grow around it was still intact.

  If someone didn’t know the castle was there, they’d never find it.

  Drago parked the car at the base of the brambles. Getting out, he glanced around. This road had always been abandoned—and the fact that it was still unpaved proved few people had been here for a hundred years.

  Assured that he was alone, he walked to the edge of the mountain ravine, withdrew the lei coin, and tossed it into its cragged depths.

  No one will ever find it there.

  He walked back to the base of the brambles. Taking a wide stance, he massaged the air in front of him with his hands. As he concentrated, the brambles vanished. He grinned again. The torture he’d endured with Morvina had left him with some damn good powers.

  Drago got back in his car and sped up the rest of the mountain-top road. After he parked the BMW and emerged from it once again, he inhaled sharply. It was time he readied himself for more magic.

  This time, he closed his eyes. Nose flaring, he conjured up the sight of the castle. The medieval structure—which had been invisible to the naked eye for a century—waved like the surface of the ocean before it became material again.

  Acknowledging the success of the illusion for only a moment, Drago withdrew an ornate key from his jacket pocket. Once he opened the massive entry gate, he marched up the stone-paved steps and unlocked the front doors.

  Even if he were blindfolded, he could maneuver his way inside the castle. Hurrying through the foyer, he stopped at the drawing room and breathed in the familiar air. It was musty, stale—but he’d expected nothing less.

  Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he strode to the fireplace. Using the poker that stood nearby, he sifted through the ashes and spotted the remnants of his pocket watch. It was melted to practically nothing, showing no trace of the photo of Rose he’d placed inside.

  Pulse speeding, Drago pulled a torch from its holder, lit it, then ascended the back staircase. His dress shoes clicked along the hard stone and his breathing grew ragged with anticipation.

  With his heart in his throat, he traveled to the castle’s topmost tower. It was so strange to be back here. As the torch illuminated a circular room, he could swear he’d been jolted by electricity.

  For a moment, he considered the torturous atrocities enacted here during the reign of Baron Vali, the castle’s previous owner. Vali had been a sadist who had imprisoned countless citizens in the confines of this very tower—citizens who’d been foolish enough to disagree with his unorthodox style of government.

  One dark night in 1874, Drago could have sworn he’d heard the prisoners’ mournful screams. He’d traced the ghostly sounds to this spot, only to discover a secret room within the tower.

  It was to that room he headed now. Moving to one wall in particular, he depressed the appropriate stone and made the wall shift enough to allow him entry. He set the torch in a holder then turned around. There Rose was. She was as beautiful as she’d been the last time he saw her.

  Fast asleep, she reclined on a bed of velvet. Her long, golden hair flowed over her creamy shoulders like ribbons of sunshine and her cheeks glowed a magnificent shade of pink.

  Drago knelt, but he couldn’t stop his legs from shaking. Reaching out, he laid a single rose beside the music box he had given her on her twentieth birthday.

  When he took Rose’s hand, her skin felt like smooth satin.

  If she doesn’t remember me when she awakens, I don’t know what I’ll do. Drago had never been so scared in his life.

  Standing, he brushed his hair out of his face. Then he bent over and touched his lips to hers. Her eyes fluttered open—still more stunning than the deepest amethyst.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, shrinking back a little.

  “It’s me, draga. Don’t be frightened. I have a new face now.”

  At the sound of his voice, recognition sparked in her eyes. “It is you, Drago,” she said groggily. “I like this face better than your demonic one.”

  He chuckled. “Happy birthday, my rosebud.”

  While tears welled in his eyes, he bundled her in his arms. He could feel the wild beating of her heart. It matched his leaping pulse. Cradling the back of Rose’s head, he lowered it slightly so that he could kiss her again. It was a lengthy, passion-filled kiss that conveyed everything he was experiencing now . . . as well as the countless years of loneliness and angst he’d suffered without her.

  Breathless, he drew back and stared into her astonishing face.

  “Where am I?” she asked as she tried to sit up.

  “You’re in Romania.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  He smiled gently. “A long time.”

  “I’m stunned by the change in you,” she said.

  “It’s taken me a while to get used to it, too.”

  “All I remember is letting go of the ladder.” She shivered.

  “And you pulled me with you,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Is that your last memory?”

  Rose took his hand and pressed it to her petal-soft cheek. “My last thought before everything went black was the promise you made to me. That we would see each other again.”

  He closed his eyes to absorb the happy moment.

  “Did you catch me?” she asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “It’s a long story, Rose. I’ll tell you all about it soon enough.”

  She smiled. “You made me travel through time, didn’t you? That’s why you’re wearing those strange clothes.”

  He couldn’t help but return her smile.

  “I’m just glad we’re together.”

  “So am I.” He kissed her again, long and hard. Then he helped her to her feet. “I want to show you something.”

  They moved to a hanging mirror. In its reflection,
they clung to each other, side-by-side.

  Drago took in a breath. His hair was dark blond now and cut in shaggy layers. His eyes were brown and had a more rounded shape than his previous ones. Overall, he was a decent-looking man in his thirties.

  “You look different,” Rose said, “but you’re still handsome.”

  “I haven’t seen my reflection for centuries,” he murmured with astonishment. While he preferred his original face, he didn’t look half-bad for being over five hundred years old. “As soon as I woke you, Rose, I became mortal. I gave up all of my powers—and now we can grow old together.”

  She gasped. “Was that the prize of the Victory?”

  “Yes, it was one of the prizes and the best one.”

  They faced one another.

  “I still don’t understand how we avoided the curse of the amulet,” she said.

  “When you pulled me off the building and everyone saw me plummeting as a demon, I was destined to die . . . as everyone knew me, anyway. That’s when I flew away and sought a new identity.”

  Confusion clouded Rose’s face. “But I was supposed to kill myself after I killed you.”

  Drago reached for her hands. “By pulling me off the building, you caused my ‘death’. Afterward you died, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rose Hayes no longer existed in 1913. The moment we went tumbling into space, you gave up your life as you knew it.”

  She ran her fingertips along his jawbone. “Do you really want to sacrifice everything you had to become mortal?”

  His grin stretched from ear to ear. “You’re worth it.”

  “Living a normal life together is all I ever wanted!” She leaned against him.

  “Our house will be filled with mirrors—and wonderful food that I can finally eat,” he joked. Before Drago informed Rose that the lei coin had helped him put her to sleep for a hundred years so that everyone else was left behind, he wanted to reveal some good news.

  “Your real parents are alive, Rose. I saved them from the fire Morvina set.”

  “You did?” Relief exploded in her voice. “I can’t believe it!”

  “It’s true.”

  “I never thought I’d see them again.” Her lips trembled with emotion.

  “I kept an eye on your parents’ apartment,” Drago said. “When it caught fire, I used my magic to take corpses from the morgue and substitute them for your mother and father. I wish I could have told you, but I didn’t want to risk anyone finding out.”

  “You saved my parents.” Rose choked out the words. “That means the world to me. Where are they? I can’t wait to see them!”

  Drago grinned again. “Your parents are asleep in another part of the castle.” He nuzzled her alabaster neck and purred, “Before we wake them up, I want to give you your birthday present. I’m not a magician anymore, but I can still give you something amazing.”

  He encircled her waist as she laughed. “Is it the kind of gift you can wrap?”

  “No,” he replied in a hungry timbre, “but it’ll be the best present I’ve given you yet.”

  Winding up the music box, he bore her back on the velvet bed then looked down at her with a ravenous grin.

  As Rose’s favorite Mozart melody floated through the air, he traced her collarbone and then the rise of her cleavage. Enthusiastically, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into kiss.

  “Oh, Drago,” she said against his lips. “Your touch will always be magical to me.”

  AUTHOR’ S NOTE

  To be awakened after a hundred years by the man who wouldn’t let you die . . . How utterly romantic!

  Some scholars believe Charles Perrault wrote the original version of Sleeping Beauty, while others believe it was Brothers Grimm. Thankfully, the premises of these dreamy fairy tale versions are identical. A princess born into privilege is cursed to die before she has a chance to grow up. Unfortunately, her own curiosity sets her curse into action.

  Will a prince come to her rescue? Or, as in the case of Sleeping Beauty and the Demon, can magic overturn her spell?

  I loved Sleeping Beauty as a child. Since I had long blond hair (and an overactive imagination), Aurora was the princess I identified with most. Ha! Wouldn’t we all love to look like Sleeping Beauty?

  When I grew up and became a writer, I watched illusionists such as David Copperfield, Criss Angel, and David Blaine perform, and their smoldering personas gave me the idea to base a romance hero on a sexy magician.

  Turns out that when I actually sat down to create Dragomir Starkov’s character, I ended up basing him on a more classic illusionist—Harry Houdini. Not only was Houdini one of the most alluring figures in history, it was hard not to believe he had a genuine connection with the paranormal. Mysterious and hauntingly intense, he was a consummate performer—and when I wrote this story, I thought it would be fun to showcase a hero who embodied those very qualities.

  Dear readers, if you enjoyed Sleeping Beauty and the Demon, please look for Cinderella and the Ghost (The Cursed Princes # 4), coming in February of 2015.

  Until then, you can catch up on all of the Cursed Princes stories . . .

  Beauty and the Wolf

  A UNION OF CURSES

  Isabella Farrington’s marriage was hasty. For all her new husband’s riches, Lord Draven Winthrop is whispered about, avoided, and feared. Yet Isabella is drawn to Draven’s dark good looks, his strength, and the charm he can turn on as easily as she can blink. The impoverished daughter of an Egyptologist, she knows there are rumors about her, too, and the amulet she wears. Nothing more than superstitious babble . . .

  But when Isabella returns to Draven’s remote coastal manor, she senses there is something more at work in the grim gardens of Thorncliff Towers than superstition. Draven is passionate and seductive, but he has a brutal, uncontrolled side too, and a history of secrets. To live in peace she must discover the reasons behind a gypsy curse and a mother’s scorn. Especially when she learns Draven believes his sweet young bride is doomed to a fate even darker than his own . . .

  “Dynamic and sensual, paranormal readers will gobble up this sexy read.”

  —Donna Grant, New York Times bestselling author of Midnight’s Warrior

  “Beauty and the Wolf is a deliciously dark retelling of the classic tale that will make you fall in love all over again.”

  —Erin Quinn, author of The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love

  Snow White and the Vampire

  FOG AND FASCINATION

  Alba Spencer thought her past in Romania and the dark magic that haunted it was behind her forever. She is one of the first female barristers now, safe in London. But London has its dark side, too. A man called the Ripper stalks the midnight streets. There are rumors that her hated stepmother has found her again, suggestions that the nightmares of her childhood are returning. And with them appears the cursed Gypsy boy she once loved, grown into a man more seductive and more terrifying than she ever could have dreamed . . .

  Dimitri Grigorescu has become a surgeon, a gentleman—and a vampire. The lusts that drive his body are scarcely under control, and even he does not truly know what he is capable of. To fight evil and confusion, Alba must rely only on her wits—and a desire that overwhelms her doubts . . .

  “A story to remember. LOVED EVERY THRILLING MOMENT OF IT!”

  —Addict of Romance Blogspot

  “Definitely a series worth watching!”

  —Bodice Rippers, Femme Fatales, and Fantasy

  A Warlock’s Dance

  A Cursed Princes Novella

  Encore, Please

  Giselle Swenov is a radiant opera star whose beauty is second only to her voice. That is, until a jealous enchantress strips away her talent and looks, transforms her into a mute and haggard old woman, and forces her to leave the man of her dreams at the altar on their wedding day. Now there’s only one person able to reverse the spell: Giselle’s warlock ex-fiancé, Lucian Ivanu.

  But three year
s have passed, and the ever-dashing Lucian seems to have moved on—he’s inherited a vast fortune, forsaken his scandalous powers, and is even set to marry again. Will he recognize his former flame when she shows up at his engagement party and begs for help? Can she recover the powerful magic ring needed to break the curse before it’s too late? Giselle’s plight has a darker twist as she discovers just how far the enchantress’s grasp reaches . . .

  “. . . a sweet, sweet read. Like a fairy tale for grown-ups!”

  —BookBeauty’s Reviews

  About the Author

  Although Marina Myles lives under the sunny skies of Arizona, she would reside in a historic manor house in foggy England if she had her way. Her love of books began as soon as she read her first fairy tale and eventually led to a degree in English Literature. Now, with her loyal Maltese close by, she relishes the hours she gets to escape into worlds filled with fiery—but not easily attained—love affairs. She’s busy being a wife, a mother, and a member of Romance Writers of America, but she is never too busy to hear from her amazing readers. Visit her at www.marinamyles.com.

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