Beauty Awakened (Angels of the Dark)

by Gena Showalter

  “About what?”

  “Everything! We’re so weak, Nicola. Both of us.”

  “I’m stronger every day, and you could be, too. I mean, we’re on the winning team. We have warriors fighting for us. We have the power and protection of the Most High.”

  “You say that, but....” Laila scrubbed at her face. “What if He doesn’t respond next time?”

  “He will.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just know it, deep inside.” Somehow, Nicola maneuvered her sister into the bed and tucked the covers around her. “If you won’t do something with me, I want you to rest and give your mind a break. And if you insist on thinking about anything, think about everything I’ve said. It’s the truth.”

  “All right.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” Laila closed her eyes, and Nicola stroked her face the way their mother used to do to them. At first, her sister’s expression was pinched, her body restless, unable to settle. But as one minute drifted into another, she settled down. When her breathing finally evened out, Nicola stood and strode to her own room.

  She showered and dressed in a pink tee and jeans, wanting to look her best when Koldo returned—and give him a few new pieces of clothing to rip off her. But she waited...and waited...and he never showed up.

  After a while, the rays of sunlight seeping from the windows lulled her into the backyard. The air was warm, perfect and scented with wildflowers, citrus and pine. She breathed deeply, savoring.

  Bang. Bang.

  A muffled female voice rang out. Frowning, Nicola hurried to the little shack Koldo and Axel had built. There were no windows, and seemed to be no doorway.

  “Help me. Please.”

  There was the voice again, clearer this time—coming from inside the shack. Her tone was...pure. Strong. Enough to give Nicola chills. It was a purity she recognized, since both Axel and the one named Zacharel possessed it.

  Was this female a Sent One? The lover Nicola had been so certain Koldo didn’t have?

  “Who are you?” she called, palpating the walls for any kind of seam.

  “Help me. Please! Let me out.”

  Why had Koldo placed the woman in the shack? He wasn’t a cruel man. Was he?

  Nicola stilled, her mind whirling. He was a man who had never hurt her—had even beat the man who had. He was a man who had despaired over the fact that he might not be able to protect her. He was a man who made her feel safe in his arms.

  He was a man she trusted.

  But she didn’t know or trust the woman.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Once again the woman ignored her question, saying, “Just let me out. All right? Yes?”

  The desperation was warranted. The evasion was not. Could she be a serial killer? Or working with the demons?

  “Let me out!” Fists banged into the wall. “Now!”

  Nicola nibbled on her bottom lip...and backed away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  KOLDO WATCHED as Zacharel landed at the edge of Germanus’s cloud—no, Clerici was the owner now.

  Golden wings tucked into the warrior’s back, and an unexpected pang of envy hit Koldo—as always. He had to stop feeling this way, but oh, what could have been. He wasn’t someone who believed everything happened for a reason. Bad things happened because people had free will.

  Of course, he did believe something bad could be worked to a person’s good. The loss of his wings, however? He couldn’t imagine anything good ever coming from that.

  And the loss of his ability to flash? No. Nothing good could have come from that, either. How would he have traveled? How would he have survived? He was grateful he had healed.

  Either Sirena’s poison had faded on its own, or his joy at being with Nicola had helped him overcome it. Probably the latter. Every day he was tied a little more firmly to the delicate human. Needed her a little more fiercely.

  Zacharel flowed into motion, saying, “Clerici wishes to meet you.”

  Koldo kept pace with him, boots thudding against the cobbles that formed a path through the cloud to the temple’s dais. Flowers bloomed at each side, rivers as clear as crystals winding throughout. The sky was a bright blue, the sun throwing rays of gold and orange and twining them like ribbons.

  “You knew I wanted Nicola before you assigned me to guard her,” he said.

  “Yes. But you’ve known that for a while.”

  “I have. What I haven’t been able to figure out is how you knew.”

  Never one to reveal a sense of being uncomfortable, Zacharel shrugged as if he hadn’t a care. “The Most High opened my mind to a vision. I watched you return to the hospital. I listened to you speak to the girl in the elevator.”

  Koldo didn’t mind having visions about others. But others having visions about him?

  “He wants you happy,” Zacharel added.

  “I know.” But did he really believe it? After everything Koldo had done... “Is that why you placed Jamila at her office?”

  “Yes. I wanted her well guarded while you were away. You were so unstable, Koldo. You know you were. You were a bomb too close to detonation, and everyone in your path would have felt the sting of your explosion. The girl has calmed you, and I’m glad for it.” Zacharel patted his shoulder.

  Blue-winged angels pushed open the double doors.

  “I’ll leave you to your meeting now,” Zacharel said.

  “Very well. And thank you.” Koldo stalked inside the building, his footsteps echoing. The corridor was empty. Before, it had been lined with antique furniture, and always burst at the seams with Sent Ones, movement and chatter. The demons must have defiled the furniture, and the Sent Ones must be waiting for a summons.

  A summons Germanus should have been the one to make.

  Hands fisting, Koldo stalked down the hall. The doors to the throne room were guarded by another set of angels and were already pushed open. Koldo passed, silent, and entered, noting that the walls were now bare, the murals of the Most High’s realm of the heavens painted over.

  Had they been defaced?

  He should be out there, hunting the culprits. Instead, he was playing naughty cat and recovering mouse with his father.

  “At last I meet the famous Koldo.”

  The deep voice came from the right, and Koldo turned. Clerici perched on the middle step of the dais, polishing a sword. He wore a flowing white T-shirt and pants, just as Koldo preferred. There was dirt on his hands, as well as his middle and calves.

  Where Germanus had appeared aged, Clerici appeared young, even for their kind. He looked to be a mere twenty years old, with brown hair, brown eyes and an unassuming face. Plain, to be honest. But there was something about him that arrested Koldo’s attention. A magnetism. A gleam of...love, perhaps, shining brightly in those dark depths.

  And like Koldo, he was without wings.

  “I’m not what you expected, I know,” Clerici said, running a rag over the length of a weapon.

  “I hadn’t given you any thought.”

  A nod of that dark head. “Brutal honesty. I like that.”

  “You receive that from all of us.”

  “Ah, but you aren’t bound by the ring of truth. You offer it willingly.”

  A defect all Sent Ones could sense in him. “You have an assignment for me?”

  Clerici set the blade aside and looked up. “Not currently, no.”

  Confused, he said, “Why not?” He’d thought that was why he was here.

  “You aren’t ready.”

  A lie, surely! “How do you know that?” he gritted out. He was a first-round pick, and that was that.

  The new king of the Sent Ones offered a half smile and tapped the center of his chest. His heart. “I just do.”

  And I’m now brewing a rage just for you. “I’m strong, capable.”

  “No. You’re enslaved by your emotions.”

  He popped his jaw. He wouldn’t discuss his mother. N
ot with this stranger. And he knew that’s where the male was headed. “Why did you summon me?”

  “Perhaps I wished to welcome you to my fold.” Clerici’s head tilted to the side, and he perused Koldo with the same intensity he’d received. “Perhaps I wished to ask you if you miss your wings.”

  More than anything else in the world, but all he said was, “Do you miss yours?”

  “Who says I ever had a pair?” Clerici stood and closed the distance between them, and it was then that Koldo felt the power crackling from his skin, lightning strikes against his own, burning him from the outside in.

  “Did you?”

  “Ah, but that information isn’t yours to collect, is it?”

  Privacy. That, Koldo understood and respected. He shook his head.

  “And now, on to our business,” Clerici said. “I offered each of the Elite Seven a reward for their dedicated service to Germanus. I expected requests for riches, clouds and other tangible items. But every warrior astonished me, I must say. And your Zacharel most of all.”

  There was no time to reply.

  “I have a gift for you,” Clerici added. He lightly placed his hands on Koldo’s shoulders, but then, strength wasn’t needed. At the moment of contact, a warm cascade of honey began to wash over Koldo, bathing him, empowering him. “Not because you deserve it. You don’t. Unlike the Merciful One, the Anointed One and the Mighty One, I cannot see into your heart and know the good you are capable of. Unless the Most High informs me otherwise, I can see only your actions. But Zacharel named you as the recipient of his reward, and I promised to deliver it.”

  But...why would Zacharel do such a thing?

  Dark eyes pierced deep. “Right now, Koldo, you are filled with so much hate there’s no room for love. I can feel it. And without love...well, you’ll fall, and Zacharel has no desire to see you fall.”

  “I will—”

  “Silence.”

  A simple command from the king, but one Koldo could not refute. His lips felt glued together as he nodded.

  “The mouth can be a snare,” Clerici added more gently. “Sometimes it’s better not to say anything at all.”

  He knew that very well. He gave another nod.

  “Do you know what Zacharel asked me to give you?” Clerici asked.

  Before Koldo could guess at the answer, pain shot through his entire body. Pain like he had not endured even in his father’s camp, when he was hung from the ceiling by hooks embedded in the muscles in his chest, each of the Nefas warriors allowed to strike him once, with the weapon of their choice.

  His knees buckled, and he hit the ground with a hard thump. The shirt was ripped from his body, though no one touched him, the material floating to the floor. A sharp, agonizing lance bowed his back, and he fell the rest of the way forward. His chin slammed against the marble, the taste of copper coating his tongue.

  A shout pounded against his teeth, split his lips apart. What had Clerici done to him? There was no way he could survive this. It was too much...it was...fading? Yes. Yes, it was, the pain ending as abruptly as it had begun. Panting and sweating, Koldo lumbered to his feet. Clerici was nowhere to be seen, and there was a heavy weight at his back, as if two warriors had jumped on him and refused to let go.

  He reached back—and encountered the soft graze of feathers.

  Heart slamming against his ribs, he jerked whatever he held forward. White feathers veined in gold greeted his eyes, the tendons thick, strong and unscarred. He lost his breath, again fell to his knees. He gave another tug, but the appendage remained attached to him, pulling tight, creating the most wondrous pain.

  Wings. He had wings.

  His mind reeled as he pushed to his feet. “Thank you. Thank you!”

  He walked toward the door, dazed, but the moment he cleared the entrance he picked up speed. Soon he was running, bypassing the second set of doors, outside, racing along the cobbled pathway, hitting the edge of the cloud—

  Falling.

  Koldo spread the wings and they caught in a current, evening out his glide. He threw back his head and laughed with undiluted joy. He was flying! Up, down, up, down, flapped the wings. No, not “the” wings. His wings. His. They belonged to him. And no one would be able to take them away from him.

  The wind whipped against his skin, his feathers. He shot as high as he could go, the air growing colder. He dived low to the ground, the air heating, before twisting his body and shooting back up. Clouds dusted over him, cool and moist, and birds flew beside him. He performed flips, laughing all the while.

  Never had he been so carefree.

  What would Nicola think when she saw him? He imagined her at home, in their room, on the bed, waiting for him. She would smile, and she would gasp. She would exalt over the beauty of his wings. And why not? His feathers were the purest shade of white and threaded by the most beautiful rivers of molten gold.

  She would be the first person to touch them.

  He flew until the forgotten muscles in his back burned from the strain, unable to take much more. Until his wings seized, refusing to move another inch, and he began to plummet. Just before landing, he flashed to the front yard of his ranch. He hit with more force than he was used to, and had to roll with the impact. Dirt and grass tangled in his beard, clothing and feathers.

  The moment he stilled, he popped up and ran inside. There was no sign of Zacharel, no sign of Axel. Laila was asleep in her room. He burst through the door of Nicola’s bedroom. She sat at the edge of the bed, and jumped up when she spotted him. She was...upset.

  He lost his grin, his excitement. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  She blinked, her gaze zeroing in on his wings. “We’ll get to that. First, how...?”

  “So you’re not hurt?”

  “Not physically, no.”

  The excitement returned and he spun. “The wings were a gift.” Pleasure filled him as he clasped the ends of the wings and stretched them to their full length. “Touch them. They’re real.”

  She reached out, her fingertips brushing the arch, flowing down the center. He closed his eyes and savored. Even as a child, no one other than his mother had ever touched his wings, and never this way. Never so gently, so tenderly.

  “They’re wonderful,” she said. “But it’s kind of hard to enjoy them when I know you have a woman locked in the shack out back, and I don’t know why she’s there.”

  He whipped around, his elation draining. She knew. He’d wanted this, he reminded himself. He’d wanted her to learn about this side of him. To know him, all of him. To want to be with him anyway.

  “She demanded that I set her free.”

  “But you didn’t,” he confirmed. She couldn’t. There was no door.

  “I didn’t.” Her hand fluttered to her neck, rubbing. “Who is she?”

  He watched a feather float through the air and land on the ground, and fought a wave of fear. What if Nicola considered him a monster? What if she decided she was better off without him?

  Find out now, before you come to depend on her any more than you already have.

  “My...mother.”

  Nicola’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?” she demanded, closing the distance and flattening her palms over his bare chest. “Because she removed your first pair of wings?”

  His mouth went dry. “Among other things, yes.” Understand. Please. “Afterward, she threw me into a nest of vipers. I was so weakened, I couldn’t escape, and for years I was forced to do terrible things to survive.”

  Sympathy cloaked her features. “I’m sorry about that. I really am, but this isn’t the way to make her pay. You need to take her to the judge of your people. There is a judge, isn’t there?”

  He nodded stiffly. “I don’t know what her sentence will be, if it will be harsh enough.”

  Her brows knitted together. “That’s not your call.”

  “She hates me. For no reason, she hates me. She isn’t sorry for what she did. She’s proud.”

 
; “And you, what? Want to inflict upon her every pain that was inflicted upon you?” she asked, clearly dazed. “Yes. You do. It was her hair that you cut that day, wasn’t it?”

  A pause before he nodded.

  “And you were so angry with yourself, so torn up. Koldo, don’t you see? The longer you keep her, the more likely you are to harm her irrevocably. And if you do, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself.”

  He breathed in...out. “She deserves to suffer.”

  “Maybe so, but hatred makes you just as much a prisoner as she is. You can’t even see past it.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. Take her to your judge.”

  Stubborn female, just as he’d known she was.

  Anger beaded in his chest. “You’ve been hurt by someone, too. Hurt horribly, and yet you had no means of fighting back. Well, what would you do if the opportunity to gain revenge finally presented itself?”

  Before she could respond, he flashed to the apartment of the man who had killed her parents and brother. Oh, yes. He’d memorized the address. The male sat on his couch, watching TV and drinking beer. Scowling, Koldo materialized. The man spotted him, cursed and scrambled backward. Koldo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and flashed back to the bedroom in Panama.

  Nicola was pacing in front of the bed, and now stilled.

  Koldo shoved the male to the floor face-first. “What do you have to say to the one who murdered your family?”

  “Wh-what’s going on?” the man in question cried. His eyes were wide, glassy, as they darted between Koldo and Nicola.

  Finally, his attention remained on Nicola and he gasped. “You.”

  So. He recognized her, despite the years that had passed.

  Nicola’s hands formed a tent over her mouth.

  “Do you truly have the strength to pardon him?” Koldo demanded.

  She said not a word. Her gaze remained locked on the one responsible for her loss.

  Tears rolled down the human’s reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry. But please, let me go.”

  “You’re sorry because you were caught,” Koldo yelled down at him.

  The male squeezed his eyelids together, his tears falling with more force.