Beauty Awakened aotd-2

by Gena Showalter

  “And neither do you.”

  “I know. For years we tried to pretend he never existed. It was easier, I think. But it was also a disservice to him, and he deserves better. I know that now.”

  That might be why Koldo had found no record of Robby in the heavenly archives. What you denied down here, you lost up there.

  “You must forgive yourself. Isn’t that what you told me?” Koldo reached up, the actions easier now, his strength returning bit by bit, and cupped the back of her neck. He applied pressure, tugging her toward him, but for the first time in their relationship, she resisted.

  “I know you didn’t marry that girl,” she said. “Axel told me. But you told tattoo guy you’d have her, and you never lie.”

  Was she jealous? He kind of hoped so. He actually liked the idea. “You’re right about my words. I said I would have her. He assumed the one I was talking about was Sirena—but I was talking about you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You want to...marry me?”

  Did he? No. No, he couldn’t. He was tainted, he reminded himself. “Having a woman isn’t the same as marrying one.”

  “Oh,” she said, her shoulders drooping.

  He pulled her the rest of the way against him. She settled atop his chest, her head finding the hollow of his neck, just the way she liked. “You’re disappointed?” Why? And why was he happy about her reaction? Did he want her to want more from him?

  “Me? I’m glad things worked out.”

  “Because I’m better than your other date?”

  “Immensely.” She toyed with the end of his beard. “I wish I could ask you about a last date.”

  “Why?”

  “So I’d know how I rank.”

  “I don’t need experience to tell you that. Simple observation proves you are the only one for me.”

  “And just what have you observed?” At least her tone was lighter now.

  “Over the centuries I’ve heard many a woman tell her friends that a man has to accept her just as she is or he doesn’t deserve her. But if she’s a lying, cheating gossipmonger, cruel to those around her, often angry, often hateful, of course he cannot accept her. He’s better off without her.”

  A choking little laugh left her. “That’s a good point, but the same is true for men.”

  “Yes.”

  “So...how do you know I’m none of those things?”

  Was she serious? “I’ve watched you interact with your sister, always placing her needs above your own. You’ve spent time with Axel, but haven’t killed him—a feat for anyone. And the way you are with me...kind, caring, sweet, thoughtful, helpful, considerate, compassionate, loving—”

  She gave another laugh, saying, “Basically, all of those words mean the same thing.”

  “Beautiful, exquisite, stunning, gorgeous, lovely, stunning, striking—”

  “So you want me, huh?” she asked huskily.

  “I do.” So badly.

  “Good, because you’ve got me. All of me.” She lifted her head, met his gaze directly. “I quit my job, and you’re now my official keeper.”

  He liked that, too.

  A lot.

  “Well, then, I had better start keeping you properly.” He cupped her cheeks and angled her head back, his hands heating up. A shiver rocked her as he pressed a soft kiss into her lips.

  Immediately she opened, welcoming him.

  He kept the pressure light, relearning her, reacquainting himself with her sweetness, going slowly, trying to fortify himself against the burning flood of desire rushing through him.

  This was Nicola. Every moment had to be perfect.

  But then she moaned, a heady, titillating sound, and her hands returned to his beard, and he lost the battle of gentleness versus need—not that he’d fought all that staunchly. He kicked the sheet away from him and rolled, half pinning her slight weight to the mattress. Her legs parted, allowing him to sink against her. Hardness to softness. Need to need.

  He reached up, tore the elastic from her hair and watched as strawberry curls tumbled over the pillow, spilling around her. All he could do was stare at her. He’d wanted to see her like this for so long, and now, here she was, far more beautiful than he ever could have imagined.

  “What?” she asked, shifting underneath him.

  “You are...” There was only one word that fit. “Mine. You’re mine.” With the claim ringing in his ears, he fed her another kiss.

  She met his intensity all the way. Her hands explored his chest, his shoulders, his back, her nails scraping. “Sorry. Sorry,” she gasped out. “You’re hurt, and I—”

  “Don’t stop.”

  She kissed the length of his neck. “’Kay.”

  “Do you have a special attachment to your shirt?”

  “No.”

  He ripped the material down the middle, revealing a white lace bra and soft, flat belly of the most luscious cream. A smattering of freckles dotted her skin.

  He’d always hated freckles. These? He thought he...loved. On Nicola, they were a road map he longed to follow, to lick his way from one to another.

  “The bra?” he rasped.

  “You have a thing for destroying clothing, don’t you?”

  “The bra?” he insisted.

  “Get rid of it.”

  He did just that, baring her to his view. And oh, the newest flood of desire to wash through him nearly undid him. His muscles shook. His bones vibrated. His soul shouted, Yes. Yes, this is the woman I was created to enjoy. The one who would lift him up, never tear him down.

  He could only drink her in, every one of his senses humming a lullaby he’d never heard. The intoxicating song surrounded him, caressed him, owned him. He was lured, not to a place of slumber but to a place of shattering change.

  He would never be the same.

  The cinnamon and vanilla that was so much a part of Nicola clung to him, embedding in his pores. She branded him with her very own essentia—he was hers. A half to a whole.

  Those stormy eyes watched him, glassed with a hunger-charged yearning. Light trickled over her, complementing pleasure-flushed skin.

  “You’re staring at me,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry.” Then, “No. I’m not sorry. I like doing it.”

  “Well, then, I’m glad.”

  He couldn’t hold in his next words. “I want to be with you, Nicola.”

  “I want that, too.”

  He moved the back of his hand along the length of her neck, soft, light. “I’ll be careful.”

  She shook her head, all that fiery hair dancing over the pillow. “I don’t want careful.”

  “But that’s what you’ll get.” And he would make sure she liked it. Whatever he had to do.

  He explored her, and every new point of contact sent him deeper and deeper into a pool of need, until he was drowning, desperate. But he knew, in the depths of his core, that his every action was a declaration of his feelings for her. She was someone of value. She was someone worth saving. She was the woman he wanted at his side. Everything he’d needed, nothing he’d known.

  He stripped her of the rest of her clothes, marveling at every new revelation of this woman who had so captivated him, and spread his essentia all over her, leaving no inch untouched, causing all that flushed skin to glow so much more brightly.

  “Koldo,” she breathed. “I feel so hot...burning.”

  “That’s the essentia, sweet Nicola.”

  She looked him over, saying, “Flawless,” before closing her eyes and moaning. “Essentia?”

  “A powder my body produces just for you.” The tension inside him expanded...and he no longer wanted, he realized—he needed. Every muscle he possessed was clenching on bone. His blood was molten in his veins.

  “Oh. That’s nice.”

  Nice?

  But then she was gasping, writhing atop the mattress, and he was gasping out word after word of approval and praise, a deluge he’d kept trapped inside far too long. They clutched at each o
ther and they kneaded at each other and he could feel the fast beat of her heart as they kissed each other desperately. A beat that was faster and faster with every moment that passed, as if she neared the edge of a ledge.

  “Koldo,” she said on a moan.

  Such a heady entreaty. Nearly more than he could bear. “Yes?”

  “I need...”

  “I need, too.” But his concern for her well-being suddenly overshadowed everything else. He wouldn’t take her, no matter what she said and no matter what he felt. Not until she was ready for him.

  No matter how desperate he was, her health was more important, and nothing would change that. Because he didn’t want to take from her, he realized. He wanted to share with her. And it would be difficult to stay this course, he knew. All his life, he’d been denied the things so many others took for granted. Acceptance, softness. Affection. He finally had them. And now he had to wait for them, when they were so freely offered?

  “Nicola,” he said.

  “Koldo,” she moaned.

  “One day we’ll be together.”

  “Yes. Today. Now. We already said so.”

  Sweet mercy. “No. There’s been a change of plans.”

  Her hands tightened on him, her nails digging into his back. “I can take it. I can!”

  Maybe. Maybe not. But he couldn’t. The thought of hurting her, even in so small a way, destroyed him. If ever he gave her reason to look back and think of him with disappointment, regret or anger, he would willingly fall on his own sword.

  “Can’t...continue like...this,” she said. “Please.”

  Never beg, he wanted to say. But he liked it too much to stop her from doing it again.

  “Pleeease.”

  “I’ll help you with these feelings.” Somehow. Someway. Though he lacked experience, he touched her here, there, seemingly everywhere at once, but it was never enough, not for him, yet she began crying out, gasping so hard, straining against him, begging, begging, begging for more.

  The pressure inside him increased. It reminded him of the times he’d gone to his cave and exploded, the rage too much for his body to contain. But this wasn’t rage. This was raw, animal hunger. She was just so exquisite to watch, her eyes closed, her lashes casting spiky shadows over her cheeks, her lips red and plump, her scent intensifying, the fragrance of her honey eclipsing all that cinnamon and vanilla, and his mouth watered, and his insides...his insides...shattered.

  And then she was shouting his name. And he was roaring at an exquisite agony that consumed him, utterly stunned, gasping, sweating, perhaps even babbling.

  Yes, babbling.

  “What happened? That was... I can’t describe... I’ve never... What we just did... Did you feel that... How could...” The realization left a film of embarrassment and a desire to flee, but he remained in place.

  Nicola was hugging him.

  He collapsed on the mattress. He was shaking, and...smiling despite his emotions. “Did you experience what I experienced?” Finally. A coherent sentence.

  “Yes, and I didn’t pass out,” she said with a smile of her own.

  “Neither did I.” He hadn’t lost control, hadn’t taken what he shouldn’t. Had stayed the course and taken another step on the path to claiming her. He had given her pleasure, and had, apparently, taken his own.

  Soon, he told himself. Very soon, he would take the next step—take her fully. And they would fall off the ledge together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AS THE DEMON SCREAMED in pain, Thane removed the horns on its head.

  As the demon cried and sobbed, Thane plucked out its eyes.

  As the demon mewled, Thane peeled away huge hunks of the creature’s flesh.

  Black blood ran down his arms in tiny rivulets, stinging, leaving welts. The scent of sulfur coated the air. At his sides, the walls to the cavern dripped with bodily fluids from the other victims. At his feet was a pile of organs he’d removed.

  “If you refuse to talk,” he said, “I’ll remove your tongue before I kill you.”

  The creature babbled, but all Thane heard was, “Blah, blah, blah, please. Blah, blah, blah, better than me.”

  “You think you’re better than me?” he lashed out. “Or that I’m not any better than you?” Either way...

  Giving in to the rage, Thane sawed at the demon’s tongue, as promised. But that wasn’t violent enough, and he ended up sawing through the creature’s throat. The body slumped against the chains binding it.

  Perhaps the next one would be— There was no next one, he realized. He’d killed them all.

  He scrubbed a blood-soaked hand through his hair.

  He had arrived in Auckland two days ago, tracked a path of evil to the slums and found a group of homeless men and women that had turned on each other. They’d fought over the rights to a trash can, killed each other by sheer physical brutality, and the only survivor had then turned on the patrons of a nearby coffee shop, slaying three innocents before the cops arrived and gunned him down.

  Thane had shown up as the remaining patrons were being questioned. Two had displayed tempers that hadn’t fit the situation, and he’d ended up following the worst offender to an office building. The male had yelled at everyone he encountered, and the employees had huddled around the watercooler to discuss how odd his behavior was.

  That was when Thane realized the truth. Demons of strife were here, infecting humans. Probably obeying their leader—one of the six that had killed Germanus.

  So, Thane had gone out, hunting the minions. Within half an hour, he’d found eleven, roaming the streets like hungry lions searching for gimpy prey. He’d initiated battle and immediately killed two. One had gotten away. The other three he’d managed to injure so severely that they weren’t able to run. He’d scooped them up and brought them back here, to his cave.

  He’d spent the past few hours doing things that had once been done to his friends. Terrible things. Horrendous things. The only things that brought Thane any measure of peace. But no matter what he’d done, he’d gotten no answers.

  Where was the leader?

  Frustrated, he flew up, up, up to the opening of the cavern, then flattened out to dart through the narrow passage. Light spilled inside, chasing away the darkness and showing the way to the surrounding forest. Within minutes, he was outside, in the air, soaring above the rushing river, the tall, lush trees and the snowcapped mountains.

  The scent of sulfur dissipated and the crimson stain of blood vanished from him, his robe cleaning itself as well as his body. The heat dropped off him like a winter cloak, cool air slapping against him. But nothing could wash away the feel of defeat.

  A rustle sounded behind him.

  He summoned his sword of fire as he turned—but there was no one there. The sun was in the process of setting, casting rays of pink and purple, the sky a darkening blue. The clouds were thick and white, the stars just becoming visible. He hovered in the sky, wings lifting and falling slowly, gracefully, his gaze tracking the surrounding area. But...again, he found no one.

  “Come out, coward,” he commanded. “Fight me.”

  Silence.

  Irritated, he darted higher at top speed. Then, he leveled out and searched the clouds for any sign of movement. To his right he heard a whoosh.... He frowned. What was that? Whatever it was, the sound of laughter quickly followed. He changed course, only to find four winged warriors playing ball in the clouds. One threw the ball, while another tried to stop him. One caught the ball, while another tried to stop him.

  Football. In the skies. Who would ever have thought? But...how happy they appeared. How content.

  They weren’t part of Zacharel’s army, but Lysander’s. Thane recognized one of the males. Brendon was his name, and he had frequented Thane’s club on many occasions.

  Thane stopped, hovering in the air some yards away. Perhaps they had heard something about the highly ranked demon that he had not. He called out a greeting.

  The game paused, an
d all four looked over at him. At first, they smiled. But those smiles quickly faded as his identity was discerned.

  “You’re part of the Army of Disgrace,” one said.

  Thane was beginning to despise that name. “I am.”

  “What are you doing here?” another snapped. “This is our territory.”

  “Your kind isn’t wanted,” Brendon said, peering down at his feet.

  The fourth remained silent, but his glare spoke volumes.

  Judgment and disdain, from his own kind, when they had no idea what had shaped him into the man he was. They had no idea what he’d had to do to survive. They had no idea the pain and guilt and shame that constantly stalked his every step—even though he told himself he enjoyed his life, that he liked what he was. And he did.

  He did. Because he had to.

  The four closed in around him, forming a circle, blocking him in. He could have mentioned Brendon’s own proclivities and called him a hypocrite, and the others would have believed him. Like all Sent Ones, his voice possessed the ring of truth. But he remained silent. He had many, many faults, but he would never ruin another man’s standing with his friends.

  He knew how important those friends could be.

  “You don’t want to fight me,” he stated calmly.

  “Oh, yeah?” The leader raised his chin, all aggression and assurance of success. “And why’s that?”

  “I have no honor, and you won’t like what I do to you.” To prove it, he kicked out his leg, nailing the leader in the stomach and making him hunch over for breath. At the same time, he twisted his upper body and, grabbing a sword from the air pocket at his right, swung out. He clipped the bottom of one of Brendon’s wings.

  The warrior dropped from the sky, forcing the others to dart after him to prevent him from ultimately going splat. Thane wanted to laugh, but couldn’t force a rise of amusement. He hated that he only received respect inside his club. He hated that everyone outside it mocked him, and drove him to such violent behavior.

  As if he needed to be driven.