Beauty Awakened aotd-2

by Gena Showalter

  The man turned and leaned against the wall, facing her fully. In that moment, she decided “very tall, very muscled” wasn’t an adequate description for him. The tallest, most muscled man she’d ever seen in person or on TV worked better, but again, the description failed to capture the essence of his absolute gigantorness. He. Was. Huge.

  And okay, yeah, he was also quite beautiful despite his murdering-and-pillaging aura. He had bronze skin, a gleaming bald head and a black beard tied by three crystal beads. His eyes were a surprising shade of gold, and capped by two thick brows with a prominent arch in the center. He wore a white linen shirt and white linen pants, each garment flowing as fluidly as water. On his feet was a pair of combat boots.

  And she was studying him as if he were a bug under a microscope, she realized, horrified by her behavior. Nicola had often gone to school with electrodes taped to her chest and tubes sticking out of her clothing, so she knew the pain of a single wide-eyed stare. Her attention darted to the glittery pink tennies her twin had given her for their birthday last year.

  “I’m quite large, I know,” he said in an accent she couldn’t place. At least he hadn’t sounded offended.

  Still, her stomach bottomed out. He’d noticed her examination of him, and now sought to...comfort her for her rudeness? How unexpected and sweet. Well, then, she would be brave.

  She raised her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Maybe I’m just amazingly tiny,” she said, trying for humor.

  His eyelids narrowed menacingly, hiding all that gold, leaving only the black of his pupils. “Do not lie, even through implication. Not for any reason, not even to be nice.”

  Her fingers went numb, and her heart once again fluttered. He was okay with staring, but joking was a killing offense. Good to know.

  “Lies are the language of evil,” he added in a gentler tone.

  A gentler tone, but still intense.

  The elevator stopped, the doors opened and a short, heavyset man took a step inside.

  “You’ll take the next elevator,” the big guy announced.

  The smaller man instantly froze. He licked his lips, backed up. “You know what? You’re right. I will.” He spun and raced away.

  For a moment, Nicola considered following his lead. There was being polite, and there was being wise, and the two didn’t always intersect. The fact that the Viking wanted to be alone with her couldn’t bode well.

  The doors began to draw together. Now was her chance to run.

  But... she couldn’t do it. “You didn’t yell at him,” she pointed out, unsure why she was having trouble keeping quiet—and why she’d stayed. “You seem like such an equal-opportunity yeller.”

  “I didn’t yell at you, either,” he said with a frown. A moment passed. He nodded as if he’d just realized something important. “You’re sensitive. I’ll be more careful.”

  What, he dreaded her wrath?

  He studied her as intently as she’d studied him, causing her to squirm. “You are five-two, aren’t you?”

  “Five two and a half, thank you.” She never forgot that very important half!

  “That’s a somewhat decent height for a woman, I suppose.”

  “For an eight-year-old boy, too,” she grumbled.

  “Not any that I know,” he replied, deadpan.

  Was he teasing her? Or was he just that blunt?

  Finally the box stopped for good, and the doors opened to the lobby. Her companion politely waved her forward. She offered a bemused smile, said “Thanks” and hurried out—alive.

  Almost alone, she thought wistfully. She would be able to sort through her thoughts and figure out what she was going to do when her sister... When Laila...

  She couldn’t think the word, even though she knew it would happen sooner rather than later. A mercy for Laila. Another sorrow for Nicola. She wasn’t sure how many more she could bear and still survive.

  Most people with their condition and underdeveloped heart died in their late teens. But she and Laila had lasted into their early twenties, a true miracle in itself, and she should be thrilled with the time they’d had together. And yet, she wanted more. For both of them. Laila wasn’t satisfied with her life, and a person should be satisfied before they died. Right?

  Nicola just...well, she needed to decide on a plan of action today. For once, her mind wasn’t shrouded by a thick veil of fear and anxiety. And why were people looking at her as if she were a hideous beast monster determined to—

  Not her, she realized, but the man beside her. The giant from the elevator. Nicola stopped, and so did he. He failed to maneuver around her, as if her slight presence was somehow blocking his path. She faced him fully, anchoring her hands on her hips. He stepped three feet away from her, and she found herself shivering all over again.

  The heat did come from him.

  He peered down at her, his golden eyes framed by the blackest, most luscious lashes of all time, so unexpected in that rough-and-tumble time-traveling-warrior face.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “No, but you can have coffee with me.”

  No, he’d said. Meaning, she couldn’t help him. He really took the honesty thing seriously. And had he just...asked her out? “Why would you want to do that?” she wondered aloud. And why hadn’t she just said no? She had to return to work, like, soon. Her lunch hour was almost over.

  “I’m not ready to go home.”

  Ah. Not a date, then. He simply craved a distraction from whatever had brought him to the Palace of Tears and Death, and oh, could she sympathize. And she wasn’t disappointed that he wanted nothing romantic from her. Really. Her mother had been right. Boys equaled excitement and excitement equaled another heart attack. And really, she hadn’t ever missed boys and excitement all that much because she’d always had Laila. But Laila was...was...

  “Coffee sounds great,” she croaked as her chin quivered. Clearly she needed a distraction, too. The planning could wait. So could work. Pulling herself out of this pity pit was more important. “There’s a little shop down the far corridor.”

  He stepped up beside her, and all that delicious heat returned. They kicked into gear, earning several more stares and even a little whispering. People had to be shocked by the difference in their sizes, and she couldn’t really blame them. The top of Nicola’s head failed to reach the man’s massive shoulders.

  “So, what’s your name?” she asked.

  “Koldo.”

  Cold-oh. Had to be foreign. “I’m Nicola.”

  “Nicola. Latin, meaning ‘a victorious people.’”

  They turned the first corner, though the scenery didn’t change. All of the hallways were the same: white and silver with signs posted along the walls. “Uh, did you just secretly look that up on a cell phone I can’t see or did you already know?”

  “I knew.”

  “Why?”

  “The words we speak are important, powerful, and since names are spoken every day, directed at specific individuals, people often become what they are called. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Well, she wouldn’t tell him she was the most defeated person ever and shatter his illusions. “What does Laila mean?”

  “Dark beauty.”

  Interesting. Laila was fair, but she was lovely. “What does Koldo mean?”

  “Famous warrior.”

  A warrior, as she’d first assumed? She wondered if he was in the army. “Are you truly famous?”

  “Yes.”

  No hesitation. No pride. In his mind, he must have simply stated a fact. She admired his confidence. “So, what do you do, Koldo?”

  “I’m in the army.”

  Nailed it!

  Two more corners, and they reached the shop. He directed her to an empty table. “What would you like, Nicola?”

  Her name on his lips...an embrace and a curse, all rolled into one. It was a little disconcerting. “Oh, I can—”

  “You won’t offer to give me money, and ins
ult me,” he said, and for once he sounded genuinely offended. “Now, then. Let’s try this again. What would you like? I’m buying.”

  She smiled. No one had ever insisted on buying her something to drink. Most offers came from the coworkers who knew about her situation, and were mere tokens. The moment she mentioned taking care of her own bill, the other person immediately acquiesced. “An herbal tea, please. Something without caffeine. And thank you very much.”

  A nod, and he was off, leaving her chilled. She watched as he approached the counter. Watched as the punked-out cashier stared at him with utter fascination. He didn’t seem to notice as he placed the order and waited for the drinks...and muffins, scones and croissants from the looks of it.

  What kind of woman would capture his attention? she wondered.

  Another warrior-type probably. Strong, capable, with big-enough bones to withstand any kind of abuse—uh, contact.

  He returned a few minutes later and spread out a feast before her, the scent of berries, yeast and sugar wafting up and making her mouth water. She hadn’t eaten in forever, it seemed, because she’d been too consumed with worry for Laila, dread over paying bills she hadn’t begun to make a dent in and, well, trying not to drown in a sea of despair.

  Today was different, though. Even as upset as she was, she felt better than she had in a long, long time, and her stomach rumbled.

  Cheeks flushing, she claimed her tea and sipped at the burning liquid, savoring the sweetness. “Seriously, Koldo. This means a lot to me. A thousand times thank you wouldn’t be enough.”

  “It’s very much my pleasure, Nicola.”

  So polite. She liked that.

  And the likes were certainly outweighing the dislikes now, weren’t they?

  “The food is for you, as well,” he said, pushing a muffin in her direction.

  Her eyes widened with astonishment. “All of it?”

  “Of course.”

  Of course, he’d said. As if she was used to eating for an entire legion.

  “You will keep up your strength,” he added. “Right now, you’re too pale, too frail.”

  She wasn’t insulted. She was pale and frail. Nicola selected one of the croissants, pinched off a warm, buttery corner. “So...were you here visiting someone?”

  “Yes.”

  Though she waited, attentive, he offered no more than that. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  Annnd...again he offered nothing more. “Do you come here often?”

  “That could be the plan, yes.”

  Silence.

  Talkative much? But okay, no problem. They weren’t really here to get to know each other, were they? They were here to forget their lives, if only for a little while. “I’m here a lot.” Every day, in fact.

  “Perhaps we’ll see each other again.” He lifted a steaming cup of coffee to lips as plush and red as candy apples and gulped. His expression never changed, the fiery temperature somehow not melting and welding his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

  “Perhaps,” she offered.

  Again, silence.

  What were girls supposed to talk about with boys they weren’t interested in romantically? Because, if she were being honest—something he would definitely approve of—this was kind of painful. It wasn’t what she’d expected or hoped for.

  “What do you do when you’re not here, Nicola?” he asked, at last taking up the reins of conversation.

  Relieved by his efforts, she relaxed in her seat. “I work. I’m an accountant every weekday morning and afternoon.” A job guaranteed to keep her blood pressure steady. She could crunch numbers, sort receipts and design a financial plan to get anyone out of debt. Anyone but herself, that is. She was still working through her parents’ bills, and her and Laila’s medical costs were still stacking up. “I’m a checkout girl at an organic food market every evening and on weekends.”

  “Neither of those jobs sprang from a childhood dream.”

  No, but dreams died...and if you weren’t careful, the ghosts would haunt your present. “Why do you think that?” She wasn’t fond of her jobs, but she’d always done whatever was needed to survive.

  “I’m highly observant.”

  And quite modest.

  “So, what did you want to do?” he asked.

  Why not tell him the truth? “I wanted to live,” she said. Really live. “I wanted to travel the world, jump from airplanes, dance on top of a skyscraper, deep sea dive for treasure and pet an elephant.”

  He tilted his head to the side and steadily met her gaze. “Interesting.”

  Because she’d mentioned activities rather than a career? Well, there was a reason for that. She’d never known how long she would live, so a career had seemed pointless. “What about you?” she asked. “What did you want to do?”

  “I’m doing it.” He refused to look away. “You could still do all of the things you mentioned.”

  “Actually, I can’t. My heart couldn’t take it.” Let him assume she meant her nerves would get the better of her rather than the truth.

  “You’re right.”

  Wait. “What?”

  “If words are the power of life and death, you just pointed a loaded gun at your head.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s absurd.”

  “You speak what you believe, and you believe you’re doomed. If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout the years, it’s that what you believe is the impetus for your entire life.”

  A spark of anger caused her heart to skip a beat. “I believe in reality.”

  He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Your perception of reality is skewed.”

  Oh, really? “How so?”

  “You believe what you see and feel.”

  “Uh, doesn’t everyone?”

  “Everything in this natural world is changeable. Temporary. But the things you cannot see or feel are eternal.”

  She slammed her tea on the tabletop. Liquid splashed from the hole in the lid, burning her hand. “Lookit. Maybe you’re not getting enough oxygen up there where your head lives, but you sound like a crazy person.”

  “I’m not crazy. I know you can be healed.”

  Healed? As if she hadn’t tried everything already. “Some things can’t be changed. Besides, you don’t have any clue about the things I’ve done or the future I have.”

  “I know more than you think. You’re so afraid to live, you’re actually killing yourself.”

  Heavy silence descended. He’d...nailed it, she thought. She’d watched as fear slowly ate away at her sister’s happiness, tainting every aspect of her existence. And in the days before she’d landed in the hospital, that’s all Laila had had. An existence.

  Her stomach had always hurt, ruining her appetite. Nicola was already striding down that road.

  Laila had lost weight, and even her bones had seemed to wither. Give Nicola another few months.

  Laila’s hair had lost its glossy sheen. Blue and black smudges had become a permanent fixture under her eyes. Yeah, another few months should take care of that for Nicola, too.

  “Somewhere along the way you lost hope,” Koldo said, and there was a grim quality to his voice, as if he had suffered a loss of his own. “But if you’ll listen to me, if you’ll do what I say, your heart and body will mend and you’ll at last do all the things you’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Are you a doctor?” she demanded. “How do you know that? And what do you think you can do for or to me that hasn’t already been tried?”

  Ignoring her questions, he said, “Selah, Nicola.”

  And with that, he disappeared, there one moment, gone the next.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DETERMINED TO PROVE A POINT to Nicola, Koldo flashed out of the hospital to his underground home in West India Quay. The place of his greatest shame.

  The place he kept his mother.

  The small, hidden cave was illuminated by a soft green glow emanating from a lak
e of water uncontaminated by human life. Air so fresh it literally crackled with vitality enveloped him.

  Just like the home in South Africa, he kept no furniture here, no wall hangings, no decorations and no amenities of any kind. Unlike the other home, there was a cage, a bucket for food, a bucket for water and a blanket. He would have provided his mother with a bed, but then, she’d never given him one.

  “Well, well,” she said. “Look who’s returned.”

  And there she was. Cornelia. A name that meant horn. And she was certainly that. Sharp and deadly, able to puncture a man’s heart and coldly walk away as his very life drained from him.

  She sat in the corner of the cage, wearing a robe made by human hands and natural fabric. One Koldo had tossed her after ripping off the one made in the skies, for the robes their people wore could clean themselves and their wearers. But he hadn’t wanted Cornelia cleansed in any way. He’d wanted her to know the feel of dirt that could never be scrubbed away.

  Her skin was pallid, her freckles a stark contrast. Her long hair had been shorn and now fell to her ears, the locks tangled and sticking out in spikes. He hadn’t been the one to do this deed. A few weeks ago, she had been captured by a horde of pică and dragged into hell in an attempt to force Koldo to betray Zacharel. He hadn’t. He had rescued her instead.

  He had no idea what else had been done to her, only that torture had, indeed, taken place. When he’d found her, she had hovered at the edge of death, and that was the only reason she hadn’t fought him as he doctored her back to health. Now, here they were.

  Her, as hate-filled as ever.

  Him, shockingly dissatisfied with the situation.

  As a child trapped under his father’s reign, he had dreamed of punishing her in the worst of ways. And he still wanted to. Oh, did he want to. The desire was always there, burning in his chest. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d allowed himself to do little things, like denying her the bed and proper robe, but nothing else. He was nothing like her, and every day he proved it. He would come here, pit himself against the pull to act and then leave.