"Who are you?" I whisper.
Cole's mother?
Sister?
I search for some familiarity in her face, but there's no resemblance. Her golden skin, her sun-kissed hair, everything is entirely opposite Cole's moonlight hues. And just as before, her features appear fluid, shifting every few seconds, pulsing from young to old, so one minute she looks sixteen and the next she looks thirty and the next fifty. Always beautiful, always refined, always glowing with an inner light. But also clouded by the magic.
"Why doesn't he want me to go near you?" I murmur. "How much do you know about magic? What could you teach me?"
Her power tugs at me, hinting that I can find all the answers if I just move a little closer.
Would she have answers for me?
Could she be the reason I was meant to come here all along?
I don't find out.
Something yanks on my skirt from behind, throwing me off-balance so I fall backward, landing hard against the ground. The pulling continues until I'm rolling across the floor, closer to the door.
"Cole!" I shout.
But when I turn, it's not him ushering me away. The snow leopard with the golden eyes tears at the bottom of the skirt with its sharp teeth.
"Stop," I order, tugging on the chiffon, trying to free myself. It rips noisily, but before I have time to stand, the leopard just takes another chunk within its jaw and keeps stepping backward, carrying me away.
"Let go," I try again. It pauses, watching me with those eyes that are too intelligent to be anything but human. "He doesn’t want me here," I whisper sadly. "He doesn't want the real me, only part of me, and that's not enough anymore. I just came here to see if I could find any information about the magic one last time before I leave."
The leopard shakes its thick head, then steps forward, pressing its forehead into my palm until my fingers gently rub its downy fur.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, not really sure why I'm apologizing. Cole gave up on me. Not the other way around.
The leopard steps back gracefully, giving me room to stand. I take one last look over my shoulder toward the woman, but I realize there are no answers here, only more questions, and I don't have the patience to stick around and search in vain any longer. So I roll to my feet, despondently looking down at the shredded edges of my skirt. A small part of me thought about keeping it as a token of an evening that started out so beautifully. But I don't think I want to anymore.
When I reach the end of the hall, I try to turn right, back in the direction of my room. I need to change. I need to plan. By dawn, I want to be gone.
But as I take a step, the leopard growls underneath its breath and leaps in front of me, blocking the hallway. I try to walk around the massive animal, but it's faster than me and easily cuts off any path I try to take.
"I don't want to see him," I say, because I know exactly where it's trying to take me. But it whines and bares its teeth in a frustrated sort of way. And then a new set of paws yank at me from behind, pulling on the skirt, and I turn to see the wolves. They grumble with the leopard, whining and growling as they pull me toward the left, toward Cole's bedroom.
I cross my arms in protest, but there's little else I can do as they use their jaws to forcefully pull me in a direction I really don't want to go.
I could use my magic.
But I don’t want to hurt any of them. Not when I'm sure they're just following their misguided hearts.
And the closer they drag me toward their king, the more my underlying fury mounts, until I'm almost anticipating seeing him, just so I can yell and scream about what a beast he really is. The halls fade as I imagine the confrontation, pulled into the depths of my own thoughts as I formulate the perfect words to say.
I hate you.
You’re a jerk.
What is your problem?
What else could I possibly do to make you trust me?
How could you just abandon me like that?
How could you leave?
Why can't you just accept me for who I am?
I'm not sure I'm even going to give him time to answer. I just want to make him listen to what I have to say for once. I just want him to sit and suffer beneath my wrath.
I'm so full of stifled aggression, I almost don't notice when we walk right past Cole's room. The door is closed, and I turn my head, looking back over my shoulder as they lead me away.
"Wait," I command. They don’t listen. "Wait, where are we going?"
I know they couldn't possibly answer.
I know they are animals. I know I shouldn't expect anything.
But still, the silence just adds to my frustration. Another set of questions that go unanswered. Another time when what I want doesn’t matter at all. Another incidence where I'm being pulled and yanked instead of politely asked and invited.
"Stop!"
I dig my heels into the ground and pull against their jaws, wincing as the sound of shredding fabric echoes across the hall. But they get the point. Finally, the wolves and the leopard pause, looking up at me almost apologetically, and they let go, taking a step back, giving me space.
I breathe for a moment.
Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to scream and yell at him? Do I really want that to be my goodbye?
Yes.
Yes, I do.
Rage back, I square my shoulders and turn around.
But at the exact moment that I take my first purposeful step toward Cole's room, a sound stops me. Stills me. Quiets the fury.
Whimpering.
At first, all I notice are panting screeches, gentle, high-pitched squeals.
I turn back around.
The wolves and the leopard are watching me, and in their human eyes I see despair, but they aren't the ones making the noise.
It goes quiet.
I look toward the end of the hall, searching with my ears.
A soft, unnerving howl reaches me, mournful as it stretches on and on, lonely and somehow exploding with silent grief.
My soul is lured by the sound.
My feet move, pressed forward by my heart.
Another howl cries into the night.
I stand in an open doorway, just barely making out the silhouette of a single wolf weeping to the moon. He lies curled around himself, wrapped in the blankets of a warm bed, gaze focused out the window.
I've never seen him as a wolf, but I know it's Cole.
My anger vanishes the moment his broken eyes land on mine, and he howls once more into the night. I don't understand what he is saying, but I understand the shattered silver shards his irises have become, and I understand the utter loneliness in his call.
I step closer.
He watches me but doesn’t move. Something in his expression is so defeated, so beaten down and overwhelmed, like he has nothing left to give, nothing left to fight.
I know he doesn't deserve my affection or my comfort, not after walking away from me tonight, not after leaving me alone. But I give it to him anyway, because I want to, because there's no one else who can, because my heart urges me to go to him even if my mind does not.
I crawl beside Cole on the bed, holding out my arms. He howls once more, but as he sets his head gently on my lap, the sound gives way to a whimper. And I realize he's crying. Drops of water stain my skirt as he curls closer, furry body wrapping warmly around me until we’re both hugging each other. The downy gray of his coat melds with the silvery diamonds of my skirt until I'm not sure where I begin and he ends.
And we stay like that for a very long time.
Until his silent tears stop falling.
Until we drift peacefully to sleep.
And when I wake the next morning with the sturdy arms of a man wrapped around me, I know nothing will be the same. I know we crossed some line in the middle of the night. I know we've both changed.
I'm not at all surprised when I turn around still locked in his embrace and find those stormy eyes already watching me.
> "I want to see your magic," Cole whispers, voice just as soft as the barely risen sun. "And after that, I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
I ask Cole to take me to the gardens.
We walk side by side, silent, wrapped up in our own thoughts. The sky is dark and gray when we step outside, mirroring the stormy look in Cole's eyes. The mood is bleak. But I'm not. I'm the only flower in a field of snow, opening up to welcome spring. Elated. Excited. Buoyant.
Cole wants to see my magic.
He wants to see the real me.
And I want to show him. Because he's only seen the harm my magic can do, that horrible day when I tried to escape, when I fought him, when I hurt him. It wasn't me. And it wasn't my magic. Not really.
When I glance toward him, I can't decipher his expression. He is rigid and unreadable. And I can't help but wonder what is going on inside of his head. Does he realize that this stony silence only makes me more curious? Does he even know that the brooding aura just makes me more aware of the many secrets he's trying to keep, makes me more and more eager to uncover them?
I've been honest with him. I answer every question he asks. I open up about my past. I appear to have nothing at all to hide. Doesn't he understand that it’s far easier to keep a secret when no one thinks you have one?
I know he has no clue about the toll my magic takes, the curse wrapped up in the power. It's my greatest secret, buried so deep I sometimes even forget it's there. Sometimes I hide the truth even from myself.
Now is one of those times.
Because for once, I just want someone to see my magic the way I see it. Beautiful. Pure. Glorious. I once thought my father saw it that way, but I know the truth.
He loves me.
He knows my secret.
And for those two reasons, my father has no choice but to hate the magic, to loathe it for stripping hours, days, years off my life every time I use it.
But as I turn my gaze back toward the garden, opening my awareness, I imagine the look in Cole's eyes as he watches the power bring life to these frozen grounds, I imagine the awe and admiration I hope he'll feel.
As soon as I unleash the magic, I drift outside myself, traveling with it along the icy dirt, beneath the layers of snow, to the frozen roots struggling to make it through the winter. Cole no longer exists. I no longer exist. Magic is everything. The wondrous life it brings is everything. Roots extend beneath my touch, breaking through softening soil, stretching up into the sky. Colors pop as bright flowers shatter the gray mood of the day. The wild and mangled boxwoods bend and trim at my leisure until formal rows of evergreen diamonds and triangles meet in intricate patterns. And lastly, I grow the roses, winding the vines up the sides of the walled-in space until bright red shines vibrantly against the snow. Those petals are fresh and new and brimming with life.
But as I seal the magic away, recoiling and pulling the power back inside, leashing my own beast within, I can't help but notice how the rose in the center of my soul decays just a little bit more. I grit my teeth, holding my expression steady, hoping Cole won't notice the strain of my muscles as I fight the pain coursing through me. I don't look older, but as two more petals fall away, I know my time has grown shorter.
Twenty-five years, I remember my father saying. The most a woman in my family has lived after inheriting the magic is twenty-five years.
But when I open my eyes, inhaling deeply at the beauty laid out before me, the beauty I created, I know it’s a price I'm willing to pay. I'd rather have a few more years with my magic than a lifetime without it.
Nervously, I glance sideways at Cole.
His gaze is on the garden. I breathe a little easier knowing he didn’t see the agony that coursed through me only moments ago. His eyes are wide, his mouth is slightly open, the edges of his lips twitch up. Perfect. Just like I imagined.
"Why can't all magic be like yours?" he asks softly.
I shrug, holding back my wide grin so he doesn’t realize how happy those words have made me. "I guess I'm just lucky."
He nods, deep in thought.
I place my hand on his forearm. He flinches at my touch. "Cole," I murmur. "Your magic is beautiful too. I was afraid at first, but I'm not anymore."
"My magic?" He laughs darkly, under his breath. "Omorose, I don't have any magic, not like you do."
"But—"
He turns sharply, eyes bearing down on me and I pause.
"Omorose, I despise that magic," he growls. I step back, wounded. "I hate that magic with every fiber of my being. Your kind of magic is what destroyed my life. Your kind of magic is what has taken everything and everyone I ever loved away from me. That's why I couldn't trust you. That's why I pushed you away, why I wanted to scare you. What you just showed me is so beautiful, you are so beautiful, but if you knew the truth about your magic…" He trails off.
"What?" I snap.
He turns away, steps back toward the castle.
"If I knew the truth, what?" I repeat louder, stronger.
He stops, keeping his back to me. "If you knew the truth about your magic, I think you'd hate it too. And I'm not sure I can do that to you."
His words slice me deeper than he could ever know.
His rejection cuts.
"How'd you get those scars?" I ask grimly.
He turns slowly, gray eyes silently pleading with me.
"You promised," I say, voice low. "You promised you would answer my questions if I showed you my magic. And it's not my fault you didn’t like what you saw. So answer me. How'd you get those scars on either side of your temple? They're deeper than the rest. And you touch them sometimes when you think I'm not paying attention, as though to remind yourself of something you think you might forget. And every time you pull your fingers away, the walls come back up, and you look at me differently, with something painful in your eyes. And I want to know why. I deserve to know why."
"You're going down a path you don’t understand," Cole implores.
I remain silent. I harden my gaze for once.
"Please, Omorose." He sounds desperate. "If I tell you those things, there will be no going back. I'm not sure how you'll react."
I cross my arms.
He steps closer, putting his warm palms on my shoulders, gazing down at me with bright eyes that shimmer with a sort of inner light, and I notice the clouds have cleared to reveal the slightest hint of blue deep in his irises. "You are so different than any king or queen I ever imagined," he says slowly. The words fall over me like misty rain on a warm day. "You're so gentle and kind, so caring, so passionate. You breathe life into the world. You've filled this empty castle with your laughter. You've eased loneliness I never thought would fade. You've breathed life into me. And I couldn't bear to watch you fade away."
His words are so sweet, so pure.
But words aren't enough anymore.
I need answers.
"I need the truth."
His expression falls.
But then he looks at me and surrenders. "You want to know how I got these scars?" It's not really a question but I nod anyway. He lifts his hands, reaching into his ebony hair, brushing it back, and it’s only then that I realize the three deep scratches on either side of his forehead are the same width apart as his own fingers.
"You?" I gasp, unable to finish the sentence.
"I was five when my mother died," he begins, voice hard with forcefully restrained emotion. "I barely had control over the switch. And when I found her body lying on the floor, contorted at angles I knew were impossible, I fell to my knees with rage and despair. And the claws came out before I could stop them, slicing me deep, marking me for the rest of my life, forcing me to always remember."
I peer at him. "To remember what?"
The look in his eyes takes my breath away. "To remember that beautiful strangers who seem too good to be true usually are."
I swallow, glancing at the floor. "I don't understand."
"Omorose?" he asks, voice laced with
regret and resolve. "Do you know how your family first got its magic?"
My brows pull together. "It’s my inheritance, passed down from generation to generation through an eldest heir, just like my royal title."
He shakes his head. "But do you know how they first got it?"
"We were born with it." I shrug.
He smiles grimly. "No, I was born with it. Your ancestors, they stole it."
My face scrunches in confusion. "What do you mean?"
He sighs. "I didn’t expect you to know the truth. Thieves rarely recognize themselves for what they are, not in the harsh light of day. Only the victims remember. Only the victims keep the truth alive, passing it down from generation to generation so one day when the time is right, their children will remember and fight back."
"Cole, you're not making sense."
"I am," he challenges. "That's what scares you."
I don't realize I'm trembling until he looks pointedly at the goose bumps rising along my arms.
The cold.
It's just the cold.
So why do I feel nauseous? Why do I suddenly feel sick?
In the back of my mind, something clicks into place.
The magic has always felt like a foreign soul trapped inside of me, constantly fighting for release, only obeying when I'm pushing it back out into the world. That struggle has only strengthened with time. These past few weeks are the only ones where I haven’t felt at war with myself, and they're also the only ones where I could use the magic freely, as often as I wanted, as often as it demanded.
But Cole's magic is something different. It belongs with him. Man and beast are two parts of one whole, interchangeable, perfectly in tune. I've witnessed his transformations. They are smooth, painless. The magic doesn’t come with a price.
Cole runs his fingers down my arm, but even the heat perpetually brewing beneath his skin doesn’t warm me. His cloudy eyes are concerned. I exhale, releasing the breath I'd been holding.
"They stole it?" I wonder aloud, fighting the spinning wheels in my head, allowing doubt and disbelief to color my admission. But Cole won't let me hide behind ignorance any longer, and his next words stop my heart entirely.
Withering Rose (Once Upon a Curse Book 2) Page 11