Withering Rose (Once Upon a Curse Book 2)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  "But why are you here?" he urges gently.

  I grip his hand tighter, not realizing that I've stopped applying the salve and am just holding on to him now, like a lifeline. "Something else happened on the day of the earthquake. I got my magic. My mother died. My sister died. Everyone we've ever known vanished when the worlds merged, our kingdom, our home, and our loved ones. My father and I were alone in a new world, a world where magic was seen as evil. I had to hide. I was afraid of discovery every day for a decade. And then, my…well, I learned that someone dear to me had died, that the people of Earth murdered him because of his magic, and I knew I had to leave. I knew I couldn't hide any longer. So I came here."

  I finally look up.

  His gray eyes stare intensely at me, seeing all the way into my soul. But I can't read the dark and mysterious emotions swirling within them.

  "Your magic called out to me," I continue, pressing forward. "I thought if I came, I might finally find people who understand me, who understand my magic, who realize its beauty. I thought if I came, I might finally find a place I belong."

  I lick my lips, sealing them, waiting.

  We watch each other.

  I know my words contain unspoken questions.

  Is this a place where I might belong?

  Is he someone who might finally understand me?

  I don't realize I'm holding my breath until my chest begins to ache. But I'm afraid that any movement will break this drawn-out moment, will let the beast get away without answering. And I need an answer.

  "Please go."

  The words are so muted I almost don't hear them.

  Cole blinks, ripping his hand away, and the illusion shatters.

  He doesn't care about me.

  He's a beast.

  And he always will be.

  "Get out," he growls harshly.

  I flinch back, eyes burning at the rejection after baring my secrets so freely.

  "Get out!" he roars.

  I do.

  Not because he told me to. Not because of the menacing thunder in his voice. Not because of the fear crawling back out from the corner of my mind. None of those reasons, though they all play a part.

  I leave because of my pride, what little of it I have left after an entire life of pretending and hiding. I leave because he's seen me terrified and lonely and afraid. I leave because he's seen me vulnerable and weak. I leave because he's seen all of those things, but there's one thing he hasn't.

  I leave because I won't let him see me cry.

  I spend the rest of the day sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom, staring at the snow-covered town below. Then I go to sleep. And when I wake up, I find myself back on that perch, looking out into the mountains, trapped by my own indecision.

  For a moment, I really thought I could see myself here.

  For a moment, I truly believed Cole would accept me, would tell me I could stay.

  But now I don't know what to believe.

  He was so cruel. He's been so cruel.

  But he chased after me in the storm. He must have been the one who brought me here after I ran away from the base. I haven't seen another human anywhere.

  And why is that?

  Why is Cole the only one with a human form?

  And who was that glowing woman?

  Why didn’t Cole want me to go near her?

  I should probably leave. I'm not wanted. But I'm not even sure where I am or how to go away. How long did it take Cole to bring me here? After that splurge of magic, I could have been unconscious for a few hours, a day, maybe two, maybe a week. Even with the right supplies, could I make it through the mountains on my own?

  "Omorose?"

  I turn, gasping with shock as the sound of my name interrupts my thoughts.

  Cole stands in my doorway with his arms crossed, leaning casually against one side. I can't help but notice the ebony cloak is gone, replaced with pants, boots, and a white long-sleeve shirt slightly open at the collar. More casual, maybe. More handsome, definitely. But he still emits an air of danger I can't ignore. One that makes my pulse race. But I can't quite tell if the thud of my heart is from excitement or alarm, the lines are a little too blurred.

  "Did I frighten you?" he asks innocently.

  "Which time?" I retort. He has the decency to look chagrined. Yet that look just spikes my frustration. He should be embarrassed and ashamed. He knew exactly what he was doing. "But wasn't that the point?" I accuse. There's a fire in my voice that I don't usually hear. Acidity too. "I believe your exact words the first time we met were, 'You should be afraid, Omorose. You should be very, very afraid.' Well, your message was received loud and clear."

  He shifts his weight, reaching one arm up to rub the back of his neck.

  Finally, he's the one who's uncomfortable.

  "I don't want you to be afraid," he says with a sigh, looking at me from beneath hooded brows. "Not anymore."

  "Why did you?" I'm not letting him off that easy.

  "I didn't trust you."

  "And now?"

  "I still don't."

  I gape at him. "That makes no sense."

  "Maybe not." He shrugs. "But who said I have to make sense?"

  "Me," I say, totally agitated. "I do. And I need a better explanation than that if I'm going to stay here a second longer. Otherwise, I'll take my chances on the mountains."

  He growls under his breath, not looking the least bit apologetic anymore. But I cross my arms and stand my ground, not backing down. He doesn’t scare me, not anymore.

  "Look," he snaps. And then he pauses, taking a deep breath while he unclenches his fists. "Look," he repeats, softer this time. "I can't tell you anything, not yet anyway. There are a lot of reasons why, a lot of people who depend on me, but the biggest reason I can't explain anymore is because I don't trust you, not yet. But I want you to stay. I want you to be at ease in my home. And I want those things because I don't trust you, but there's a part of me that thinks maybe someday I could."

  I take a deep breath. His words affect me more than I realized they would, more than he knows. I repeat quietly, "You want me to stay?" He wants me, someone wants me—the real me.

  The gray in his eyes softens, less like a storm and more like the downy fur of the wolves. Irresistible. "Yes, I want you to stay." His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and looks down to the floor, then back up at me. "I have a feeling we could both use a friend."

  His gaze ensnares me. "Friends?"

  He smiles hesitantly, as though his cheek is tugging forcefully on his lip to move it just the least bit upward, as though his face isn't used to the motion. "Yeah, friends."

  "Well, friends apologize," I murmur, words spilling out before I've fully processed them. But they're the truth. I can't be a friend to someone who intentionally set out to terrify me, not unless he apologizes first.

  "I'm sorry," he replies immediately.

  But I just stare at him unsatisfied. Remorse shouldn't be quick and easy. It demands an explanation or it's not real. So I keep looking at him, silently watching as he shifts his weight from the doorway to stand straight. His eyes flick all around the room, landing on everything except for me. Tension oozes from his frame, uncomfortable stiffness. Until finally, everything about him releases all at once.

  "Okay," he mutters, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for frightening you. I'm sorry for the way I introduced myself. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm sorry for making you so terrified that you thought you needed to run away. I'm sorry for what happened right before you ran, for, well, shifting in front of you. And, most of all, I'm sorry for shouting at you yesterday. I didn't realize how hard it was for you to tell me your story until I watched you run away, until I thought about how difficult it would be to tell you mine."

  I lick my lips. There's one more thing he did, something I'm not even sure he remembers doing. "Are you sorry for laughing at me?" I ask.

  His brows furrow as though he doesn't know what I'm talking about. And then they wid
en almost imperceptibly. He steps closer, but then stops himself, shifting his head to peer at me thoughtfully. "Yes," he answers, and his voice truly sounds regretful. "I'm sorry for laughing at you."

  My lips twitch into a smile for a second, but I push it away with a shrug. "All right, then I'll be your friend."

  I extend my arm, offering to shake on it. He walks close enough to entwine his palm with mine. I forgot how large his hands were, how large he was. But as I turn up to look into his face, which towers a foot above mine, I realize he is already gazing down at me, watching as though realizing for the first time how small I am. The thought makes me want to laugh. I grin instead. But the change in my expression makes his eyes darken a smidge.

  We don't shake.

  We stand there staring at one another, stuck on either side of an invisible line.

  "The magic," he says gruffly, voice more aggressive than I think he means it to be, as though the mere topic causes a surge in his anger. "If we're going to be friends, can you promise me one thing? We won’t talk about it, won’t discuss it. You won't ask questions about it or even bring it up. No magic, nothing at all. Can you do that? At least until I change my mind?"

  No.

  The word rushes to my lips, but I manage to hold it back, to keep it inside. No. I don’t want to make that promise. The whole reason I came was to learn about magic, to meet another person who has magic, to share that part of myself with someone. The whole reason I came was so I wouldn't have to hide any longer.

  But I swallow my protests back down.

  For now, I can make that promise.

  For now, we can be friends, and I can give him the time he needs to trust me. I can take that time to learn to trust him.

  For now, I can keep my magic to myself.

  "Okay," I say, voice strong.

  He smiles then, wide and welcoming, and it makes his entire face light up. All the hard, harsh lines wash away, leaving someone I hardly recognize behind.

  Slowly, our hands pulse up and down twice.

  The deal is done.

  But I can't help but notice how he lingers for one little moment, touching me longer than necessary before he pulls his hand gently away. I can't help but notice how my fingers stretch for him, how cold my skin feels without his warmth seeping into it.

  "Come on," he says, nudging his head toward the door and asking me to follow. "You shared some of your story with me, I figure it's my turn to return the favor. Unless, of course, you just enjoy being locked in here by yourself all day."

  "What did you have in mind?" I ask, picking up his playful tone and using one of my own.

  "You'll see," he replies mysteriously and then walks out the door, expecting me to follow. I do, catching up to him quickly.

  He glances down, smirking.

  I look up, fighting my blush.

  We walk side by side in a comfortable silence as he leads me through the castle, toward some unknown destination. He is finally letting me in on one of his secrets.

  Friends.

  Is that what this is?

  Is this what having a friend feels like?

  I like it, I realize quickly. I like having someone by my side. I like feeling like I'm part of something, like I'm privy to someone's secrets, like they're privy to mine. For the briefest moment, I know what it would feel like to belong.

  Cole doesn't stop until he's taken me up a winding staircase, through a heavy wooden door, and out to an overlook at the top of the castle. My breath catches almost immediately as I take in the scene.

  We're at the end of the world.

  Not really, but that's what it feels like when I look out toward a new view of the town I've never seen before. The window from my room looks in the opposite direction, toward the front entrance to the town and beyond into the mountains. But from here I see the back gardens of the castle. They're formally designed in intricate patterns, but time has turned them wild, as it seems to have done with everything else in this place. Yet the gardens aren’t what has drawn my eye. I look behind them, gaze following the winding streets full of homes, all the way to the edge of the city wall. And beyond it, there is nothing but empty space.

  The ground has fallen away.

  I see sky and the distant hue of grassy fields far, far below.

  There are no mountains.

  There is nothing but what I imagine must be an impossibly steep cliff stretching down to new land hundreds of feet lower. And the truly strange part is that the cliff does not fall away in a straight line. No. The land disappears along the same curved edge of the crumbling city wall, wholly unnatural in its arch. And I know immediately this must have happened on the day of the earthquake. Somehow, Cole's magic was able to protect his home, to keep the land within the city wall from disappearing. But the mountains that used to be beyond that back edge of the town vanished during the earthquake, merging with the flatlands of Earth in a bizarre seam.

  My father and the base can't be too far off.

  They must be out there on the edge of the horizon, just far enough away that when I used to gaze at these mountains as a little girl, I never noticed how strangely they rose from the ground.

  "Ten years ago," Cole begins softly, drawing my attention from the vista, "I was still just a prince."

  He leans casually with his forearms on the balcony, slightly hunched over. But his eyes are anything but casual. They're as hard as steel, flashing like metal glinting in the sun right before a deadly strike. He's not looking at the same view I am, he's seeing something else, something locked away in his memories, something terrible. And I want so badly to reach out and comfort him, to simply place my hand on his shoulder, to let him know he's not alone.

  But I don’t. Because his eyes are glazed over. He's in another world. And I don't want to pull him out of it before he's finished saying whatever it is he brought me here to say.

  "My father was still alive," he continues, voice rumbling like soft thunder. "My father was still king. When the earthquake struck, we were at home. I remember the ground shaking so much that it knocked me off my feet. I remember changing forms midway through the fall. I remember even as a bear I couldn't keep my footing. But when it stopped, we were okay. We were fine. The city was safe, almost everyone I knew had survived. The ground outside the wall had fallen away. We thought it was some sort of strange magic. I wanted to explore, but my father had no interest in the outside world. As long as I was safe and his people were safe, he didn't care about anyone else. And then a few months later, everything changed."

  He pauses, breathing deeply, finally blinking.

  And then he turns to me, gaze questioning as it travels down the length of my body and back up, examining every inch of me with those piercing eyes, determining if I'm worthy of this confession.

  I don't move.

  I'm afraid that anything I do will make him stop.

  But he just turns back toward the sky and swallows. "Some of the wolves came back after a hunt and said they saw a group of men with peculiar weapons camped out in the mountains. My father sent sentries to watch them, to keep an eye on the strangers. But all the reports came back the same. They were tracking something. They were creeping closer and closer to our home. They were searching for us. They wanted to hurt us. My father decided it would be better to act fast rather than wait for them to find us. So he took a group of our best fighters and pursued them. Five days later, four of the wolves who left with him returned, terrified and confused. They carried my father's body with them. It was riddled with small puncture wounds, holes in perfect circles that were too precise to be from any weapon in our arsenal. And I went crazy. I still don't fully remember changing into a bear and using the scent of my father's blood to find my way back to the men who murdered him. I don’t remember slashing their necks with my claws in the dead of the night, I don’t remember killing them. But I do remember gazing down at their weapons when the damage was done. I remember the moment I realized they couldn't be from my world, the mome
nt I realized that the earthquake had changed everything."

  He runs a hand through his onyx hair, sighing. Then he stands up straight, turning toward me as he pulls his shirt to the side. I notice the circular scar just below his right collarbone. I saw it the day before, but only now do I realize what it's from. A bullet. A gun. A weapon of Earth, not my old world. "I got this during the fight. I didn’t even realize how hurt I was until I woke up in the snow, bleeding out and aching. The wolves saved me then too. And now it’s a reminder of that day. It's a reminder of what those strangers are capable of."

  My hand reaches out to touch his scar, but I stop just shy of making contact with his pale skin. "They're called guns," I whisper softly.

  He releases his shirt and it falls back into place, covering the healed-over wound. "I know," he snarls. But I know the anger isn't directed toward me. It's just his gut reaction, his instinctual, animalistic response. "You've only ever seen me turn into the bear, but I can take other forms. One of them, if I concentrate very hard, is a hawk. And ever since I became king, I've been using that form to sneak to the town you came from and gather information about the people who killed my father. They've tried many times to make it through the mountains, but the path is dangerous if you don't know the way, and they're not the only ones with fine weapons anymore."

  "You stole their guns?" I ask, surprised.

  "I just evened the playing field."

  Cole turns away from me, back toward the door leading inside the castle. He's done telling his story.

  But questions burn the tip of my tongue. Everything he's revealed has just made me more curious about what he's not telling me. Like what happened to his mother. Like why everything within the city wall was safe from the earthquake. Like how he got his magic. Like where all the other humans went. Like who is that glowing woman locked away in that bedroom.

  I push my lips together to keep them shut. He asked me to be patient, and I promised I would be. I can't betray the little bit of trust he has shown me, not right after he opened up for the first time.