Talia: Sleeping Beauty Retold (Shadow Immortals MC Book 2)

by Daniela Jackson

  “What have you done?” my mom yells.

  My dad hooks the back of her neck with his hand and leans towards her, an eagle leaning over a hummingbird. “Be quiet, woman. I’m warning you.”

  I’ve never heard him talk to my mom like this. She cringes into herself, a few tendrils of her platinum-blonde hair clinging to her wet cheeks.

  My eyes roam over the pale faces of my family. My sisters hug one another, crying quietly. My grandma covers her mouth with her palm. My dad’s face is like a rigid mask devoid of emotion.

  “Talia is mine,” Micah says.

  “I can sense it,” my dad says. “And I respect it, but that’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not right,” Micah says.

  Sabrael and Zarall join us; their glances turn cold as they notice Theo’s body.

  We surround the corpse, waiting for what is to come. The body seizes with fire. Blue flames lick it for a moment then they fuse and digest it. A thought stirs inside my head. The body of one of us is burning instead of the candles on my wedding cake. I’m a wife watching a funeral instead of dancing in the bar.

  It’s swift, lasting for merely four of my shaky breaths and then only ashes remain.

  Micah

  Adva gathers the ashes into an urn and carries it inside the clubhouse as we follow her. She puts the urn on the table and Kadmiel opens a bottle of vodka. Talia sneaks out to put her jeans and hoody on and returns five minutes later. I don’t look at her. I can’t.

  I have just killed my friend. My club brother.

  “To Theo,” Kadmiel says and drinks straight from the bottle then passes it on to me so I have my turn.

  I tip the bottle up to my lips and take a sip. The alcohol burns my throat like a real fire. My broken bones start to heal.

  Rive takes the girls upstairs as I grab Talia’s hand and pull her to me.

  “Go to my room,” I say.

  Talia looks at Kadmiel, but he just clenches his jaws so she shuffles to my place.

  Adva starts singing. It’s a mourning song. The words tell the story of a sailor who fell in love with a mermaid and died. The mermaid cried over him for eternity.

  I pass the bottle on to Zarall and we settle ourselves into the couches.

  “Zarall, Sabrael, you’re moving into the caravan,” Kadmiel says as they bow their heads at him. “I’ll take over Theo’s duties for today. Micah’s taking over Theo’s duties for tomorrow and day after tomorrow. On Friday, we’ll have church to discuss everything further.”

  “Aye, Prez,” Sabrael says, threading his fingers through his short ginger hair.

  Everything is said.

  Everything is changed forever.

  I’m going to get drunk.

  Talia

  I obey him.

  I go to his room and lie down on his bed, hiding under the duvet. The bedding smells of him. I love this smell so much, but now I also hate it. He killed Theo in cold blood. He killed my baby’s father.

  My mom brings some food later this afternoon. She opens her mouth to say something, but I shake my head.

  “I don’t want to talk,” I say.

  “Maybe later, sweetie?”

  “Maybe later. I want to be alone now.”

  She strokes my head with her trembling hand and nods then leaves the room. Yara brings some stuff from my bedroom and shares the news about my husband.

  “He’s drunk as hell,” Yara says and sniffles. Her cobalt eyes are red from crying. “You won’t have a wedding night tonight.”

  “His choice,” I say as bile rises up to my throat.

  Yara hugs me, but the ghosts invade my mind with a hundred questions and I push her away. I want to kill them all. They’re stripping me of my right to mourn Theo.

  I’m lost.

  I’m scared.

  She cheated on me.

  Micah

  I wake up in the kitchen I share with the boys. Or, I used to share. Now this part of the clubhouse belongs to my wife and me.

  It was built as an extension so Kadmiel and his immediate family would have more privacy. Adva chose to live in the main part of the clubhouse too.

  My part of the clubhouse has a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room on the ground floor and four bedrooms upstairs—mine is en-suite. That’s Vice’s privilege. Since only Talia and I are going to occupy it now, it’ll feel like a mansion.

  I sit up and my eyes sweep over the bottles around me. I’ve slept on the floor. Not that I didn’t expect that.

  Talia walks in. Her hair is damp, thick droplets marking her way. Her skin smells of shower gel and she has a bathrobe on.

  “Morning,” she mumbles and starts taking the pans out of the cupboard.

  I scramble to my feet and shuffle upstairs to have a shower. With my jeans on, I return to the kitchen and watch Talia pile two plates with scrambled eggs.

  “Breakfast,” she says with a tremble in her voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  I never have hangovers. This is one of the benefits of being an immortal. I can get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, but I won’t have a hangover.

  “Theo,” Talia starts.

  I shake my head. “We’ll never talk about what happened.”

  What’s the point? It happened. Theo is somewhere better I hope.

  I drop into the chair and wolf down my food. Then I put my cut on and go to do business, leaving my wife in the kitchen. Her hysterical sobs echo behind me.

  She must enjoy our marriage as much as being in hell right now.

  As I settle myself into the passenger seat of the truck, Sabrael shoots me a cold glance and starts the engine. The vehicle pulls forward as the bottles of moonshine clink on the flatbed.

  “Say it,” I growl.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I killed one of us.”

  There is silence, creeping inside me, biting, drilling, sitting on my chest like a rock. The truck moves along the road crossing a village, and then we meander among fields and hills to reach the motorway.

  “It was easier when we were angels,” Sabrael says.

  “What?”

  “We didn’t have such intense feelings. We’re like wolves now. We mate like wolves. We fight for our women like wolves.”

  “And you have a lot of experience on that subject, right?”

  “I want Yara.” Sabrael’s jaw muscles twitch.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “She’s seventeen, you dick.”

  “I’ll wait until she comes of age.” He shoots me a dark glance as he tightens the grip on the steering wheel. “I will kill every man who dares to look at her.”

  Fuck.

  He said that.

  He confirmed what I’ve suspected for a long time.

  We are spilling blood and we are going to spill even more blood because of Kadmiel’s girls.

  They’re growing up so fast. Being raised in the human world, they grow up like humans not like mermaids. Not to mention the addition of the angel genome. It helps them mature as human girls would.

  All of the boys got a bit nervous around Talia when she turned seventeen. It hit us that the girls wouldn’t be our little treasures for much longer. We decided to smash every dick that dared to look at our girls.

  Right. It turns out that we’re going to smash one another instead.

  We park outside the pub we supply with our moonshine every month, and Sabrael is the first to get out of the truck. I’m numb for a minute or two. The clinking of the bottles tears me out of my numbness.

  Right. I need to earn money. I have a young wife to look after and there is a baby in her stomach. I killed its father.

  I get out and grab a bottle crate to move it to the buttery at the back of the pub. The owner greets me with a stiff wave of his hand. We finish our job, and he hands me a wad of money. I shove it into the pocket of my cut.

  Chapter 5

  Micah

  Sabrael and I h
ave a meal in a nice cafe then we go to another pub. Later this evening, we check-in to a cheap hotel and I stretch my body out on a single bed. Sabrael opens a can of beer and watches TV from his bed.

  “Why Yara?” I ask.

  “I fucking don’t know,” he says. “It must be her, that’s all I know.”

  “You love her?”

  “Like all the girls.”

  “You want her to be your wife.” I sit on the bed, with one knee bent.

  “I’m lonely, Micah. I want a wife. Yara will do perfectly as my wife.”

  “You’re fucked up.”

  “Maybe.” He seems to sink into his own thoughts. “I will love Yara properly when she turns eighteen.”

  “Very fucking noble of you.”

  “I’m not a perv.”

  We watch TV until midnight falls and we get up about 7 am to visit another pub.

  We’re back in the compound in the evening. I get out of the truck and my eyes travel to the clubhouse. Right. My little wife is waiting for me.

  Or not.

  Sabrael slaps me on the back and moves towards the front door as I step back and go to the back of the clubhouse where the door leading to the extension is. I pull the door handle and the door creaks open as my heart flutters. With my feet shuffling against the concrete steps, I move slowly along the dark corridor then enter the kitchen, cross it, and step into the bathroom to have a shower.

  Wrapping the towel around my hips, I climb the stairs and enter my bedroom. My glance meets Talia’s. She’s lying in bed.

  “Everything went okay?” she asks in a raspy voice, sitting up.

  “Yeah. Why aren’t you asleep?”

  Very fucking stupid. She’s my wife, not my kid.

  “We should talk,” she says.

  “No fucking talking.”

  Talia shudders, lies down, and rolls on her side as I remove the towel and toss it onto the chair. My dick grows hard.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

  I want her. She’s my wife for fuck’s sake.

  Her wide eyes sweep over my hard on and her chin trembles. I pull at the duvet and slip under it, lying down beside her. My arm shoots towards her and I draw her to me so her back rests against my chest. I run the back of my hand down her cheek, along her neck and shoulder, lowering the strap of her vest. Wild desire surges through my veins. I turn her on her back and crawl on top of her.

  Talia folds her knees and spreads her legs for me, which makes me feel insane. I slide my hand between our bodies and tear her panties off. My fingers spread her folds.

  “You’re wet,” I say into Talia’s ear.

  She must need it as much as I do.

  I ease my weight onto my elbow and guide my cock into her entrance. She arches her neck back as I push in.

  She’s tight and hot, soaking wet. Delicious.

  I thrust into her gently as the tension inside me builds and seeks relief. It’s so good inside her. I’ve never fucked a woman I had feelings for. It’s always been to shake off the adrenaline after killing a demon or doing club business. It’s different with Talia—intense like never before. My breathing accelerates, and I push deeper, forcing a moan from her throat. My muscles tense up as I fuck her harder. Her body rocks beneath mine as my sense of control disappears without a trace. I pound into her, driven by my primal instinct, taking what’s mine selfishly. Her fingers dig into my arms, and I feel her cunt contract around my shaft. It pushes me over the edge.

  A wave of liberating heat rolls over me. My toes curl. My mind goes blank for an instant. Then I thrust into her two more times, filling her up with my cum, and I pull out.

  I kiss her lips tenderly and stroke her hair.

  “I love you, baby girl.”

  “I know,” she shrieks.

  “I will love your baby like it’s mine by blood, I promise.”

  “Micah—“

  “Hush, baby girl. It will be alright, I promise.”

  Talia

  I wake up earlier than Micah to prepare breakfast for him. Anger boils in my veins as I twirl around the kitchen. Pans bang. Glasses clink. The stove swishes.

  The ghosts’ voices are like a blurry echo from a far distance so I can afford to be angry.

  It was good with Micah. Not perfect but good enough. Good enough for me to crave more.

  Theo’s death is not his fault even though I want to think it is with my whole furious energy.

  That’s my fault. Mine and only mine.

  I was irresponsible. Immature. Very tired.

  I loved Theo like I love my whole family, but Micah is so much more to me. He’s always been so patient with me.

  We were friends until I realised we could be something more.

  Memories enter my head.

  I’m seventeen.

  Micah and I are standing outside the clubhouse, and my feet are buried in spring grass.

  “Where are your clothes?” Micah asks.

  I scan my vest and jean shorts, pointing my finger to my waistband. “Here.”

  “A long sleeved top and long trousers. This is a training session, Talia, not a barbeque.”

  “Alright.” I raise my hands. “Next time I’ll be dressed properly.”

  He nods and hands me two short swords. “Show me good rotations.”

  I put my foot in front of me, bending slightly forward, and my sword slices the air and whistles.

  “Put in more effort,” Micah growls.

  “I hate these sessions,” I moan.

  “You have to be able to protect yourself.”

  “You will protect me,” I tease.

  His jaw muscles twitch, and he bows his head. “Always. I’d die for you and your sisters.”

  I feel my throat tighten and an urge blasts inside of me. I want to make him proud of me. I raise my swords and draw from my inner angel. I show him my best rotations ever.

  “Good.” He nods as one corner of his lips crooks up and admiration flickers in his eyes for a split second. “You’re a good warrior. You just need more practice.”

  My cheeks burn. “You see only a warrior in me.”

  He laughs. “Angels are warriors.”

  “Sometimes they’re girls as well.”

  He shakes his head then bends and picks up a flower. He steps towards me and puts the blossom behind my ear.

  “Girly enough?” he asks.

  “Girly enough.”

  Butterflies fill my stomach as my lips yearn for his. But he doesn’t kiss me.

  “Get back to training,” he barks.

  “Relax, old man. We have an eternity for our training.”

  “I said get back to training.” He glides his palm over his head. “And I’m not an old man.”

  I exercise and we’re cold for each other. Politely cold.

  Two months later, he buys me a dress though.

  “A girly dress for a very girly girl,” he says.

  I grab it and run to my bedroom to put it on. It’s white with a corset and draped tulle hem that reaches down to my knees. I go back to the bar and twirl in front of Micah sitting in the couch beside my dad.

  I drop a curtsy and Micah laughs.

  “You bought me a wedding dress, Micah,” I tease. “Are you going to marry me?”

  “You’d better study maths instead of thinking about marriage,” Dad says with sarcasm.

  I drop into the couch beside Micah, throwing my arms around his neck. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome,” Micah says, shaking me off.

  I sense anger from him.

  Then I sense his sadness and yearning like he’s lost everything dear to him.

  God, how badly I want to kiss all his sadness away from him.

  A thought blasts in my head. I turn on the radio and joyful music starts to play. I grab Micah’s hand and pull him towards the small chequered dance floor.

  “No,” he says.

  “Yes,” I say as I start wiggling in front of him.


  He laughs and I laugh then we dance. My sisters join us. My mom and Adva join us.

  Micah wraps his arm around my waist and we twirl around the dance floor as his joy mixes with mine. I sense warmth and love from him, love I want to snatch up and keep only for myself.

  I pile two plates with pancakes as Micah walks in. His chest is naked, adorned with droplets of water and I smell shower gel from him.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Well, I’m fine and busy. I’m a busy wife.”

  He chuckles like only he can chuckle. “How’s your head?”

  “Good. They’re whispering, but it’s like a fish tank is humming.”

  He nods and drops into the chair as I take a seat beside him and pass a fork to him.

  “With bananas and cream,” I say.

  “Love being a husband.”

  I chuckle and my hand jerks up. I bring it to my chest then inhale deeply and run my knuckles down his unshaven cheek.

  His eyes blaze as he tilts his head.

  “Eat,” I say.

  “Right. My pretty wife’s pancakes can’t wait.”

  “You think I’m pretty?” I go to grab more cream from the kitchen worktop.

  He puts a piece of pancake into his mouth and chews. “Very pretty, but you can’t cook for shit.”

  “Micah!”

  “What?”

  “You should have lied to me about my cooking skills.”

  I’m not angry with him. That’s something I got from my mom. She can’t cook, my dad on the other hand is an excellent cook.

  “Why?” Micah widens his eyes.

  “To make me feel happy.” I drop into the chair beside him and pop food into my mouth.

  “So I shouldn’t be honest or what?”

  “You should be honest all the time, but—“

  He starts laughing, his palm resting against his forehead. “You should be honest all the time but you shouldn’t. Very fucking doable.”

  I shove his arm. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  He drops his head to hide his grin. God, how I love that smile of his.

  “You’re going to cook then,” I say.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I will buy myself nice underwear and look good for you.”

  His gaze shifts to mine. I drown into the blazing thirst of his eyes. I inhale him—forest scented with danger; he inhales me then I rise from my chair and jump on his lap. I kiss him.