Beauty Awakened (Angels of the Dark)

by Gena Showalter

  The slightest measure of pain faded from his expression, and he ghosted his hand over the line of her jaw. “What happened next?”

  She shivered as she said, “You have to guess what very polite, very mannerly thing I did to pay the little wench back.”

  “What?”

  “Guess.”

  “You, hard-core punk that you are, called her a very naughty name.”

  “Nope. I punched her in the face and broke her nose. No one calls my twin sister a freakazoid Frankenstein and gets away with it. Let that be a lesson to you. You might want to write that down and circle it.”

  He barked out a laugh. A very rough, very hoarse laugh, leading her to believe he hadn’t laughed in years. If ever. And she had been the one to bring him to that point, pushing him past his upset, drawing him out of miry darkness and into light. And oh, he was beautiful like this.

  So badly she wanted to rise up, crawl into his lap and kiss him. Just press her lips into his, taste him, relearn him and offer comfort in another way. But after their fight...

  “Another story,” he said.

  “I’ll give you a question instead.” And probably sound needy, but she didn’t care. “Do Sent Ones date?” Obviously they kissed, but...

  His brow furrowed, as if the change of subject confused him. “Some do.”

  Don’t do this. Don’t press. “Do you?”

  “No.”

  Oh. The very disappointment she’d denied crashed through her. “Never?”

  “Never.” He looked at her, really looked at her, his golden gaze boring deep. His arms lowered to his sides. His hands gripped the fabric of the chair, as if he had to force himself to be still.

  To keep from punching another hole in the wall—or from doing something else?

  “If I told you I had tortured another Sent One,” he said, “would you think I was a monster?”

  Would she? “Did you?”

  Silence.

  Yeah. He had. And he’d felt the action, whatever it was, had been deserved. Wasn’t that what he’d said a moment ago? But still he regretted it, whether he realized it or not.

  “What I’ve learned over the years is that people shouldn’t be defined by a single mistake. Everyone messes up,” she said. “You have to forgive yourself and move on.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “What makes you think this was my first mistake?”

  She sighed. “You’re missing the point, Koldo.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Whatever the point, I can’t forgive myself.”

  “You can. It’s not a feeling, but a choice—and then acting on that choice. And I know I’m supposed to be the one seeking joy, but it’s clear you need it, too. I think your unwillingness to let go of this, whatever this is, is as much a toxin as what the demons cause.”

  Another round of silence.

  Well, wisdom hadn’t worked. She would try humor again. “I mean, seriously. All the best therapists on TV say that focusing on the past causes stagnation. And diarrhea.”

  He barked out another laugh, then quickly sobered. “Did you ever do anything to hurt—” He pressed his lips together.

  “Hurt who?”

  He cleared his throat. “Where’s your sister?”

  Nice dodge. But as upset as he was, she allowed it. “Sleeping in her room.” Nicola stood, held out her hand. “I know what’ll make you feel better. We’ll go to the kitchen and I’ll fix the most mediocre meal you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting, since my specialties are cereal and microwave dinners. Meanwhile, you can give me another lecture.”

  “I don’t lecture. I teach.” He placed his hand in hers, his calloused palm causing goose bumps to rise. He paused for a moment, never allowing her to help him up. Then, he shook his head as if he’d just made a decision and tugged her down.

  Yelping, she tumbled into his lap and her ponytail slapped him in the face. She put her hands on his big, strong shoulders for balance—and lost her breath as he meshed his lips into hers.

  Oh, sweet mercy. Just like last time, her bones instantly melted. It didn’t matter that he was too rough at first, then too soft; he branded her, claimed her, delighted her. And his taste, oh, his taste. It was decadence, pure and simple, like the summer and the winter, the spring and the fall, every season, every day, carrying her straight into eternity.

  She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He groaned, and then...then, he figured out exactly how he wanted to kiss her, and the pressure evened out. He tilted his head, deepening the contact. Taking, giving. Demanding, beseeching. Owning.

  It became more than a kiss, and on some level, it scared her. He was giving her something precious. And she was giving him something precious right back. But she didn’t know what that thing was—her trust? A piece of her heart?—and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  What would happen if she fell for him? If she gave him everything?

  Would he welcome her softer feelings? Or run from them?

  Whatever the answers, they scared her, too. All she knew was that every point of contact reminded her that she’d never experienced anything like this—and probably never would again. How could she? He was the light in the darkness. The harbor in the storm. The hope she needed in the middle of the war.

  There was no other man like him. He was one of a kind. And she wanted him to find as much pleasure with her as she was finding with him. She wanted to be what he needed.

  To delight him, and not disappoint him.

  His hands roamed the contours of her back...then lower. He caressed and he kneaded and...and...she was consumed, shaking, needy. Gasping, desperate. And he was...shaking, too, she realized, as affected as she was, his fingers rough, a little desperate, and the knowledge shattered her.

  “Koldo.” Frantic, she tunneled her fingers under the collar of his robe. The fabric ripped away with a simple touch, granting her skin-to-skin contact, the sizzle of his flesh heating her up. And when his muscles jumped underneath her touch, as if seeking closer contact, the heat got worse—and a thousand times better. He was so soft, so hard, so...exactly what she’d always craved without ever knowing she craved it.

  “Nicola,” he gasped out.

  “More,” she demanded, the word escaping of its own volition. She continued to rip at his robe, finally baring the full breadth of his chest.

  Sweet mercy. He. Was. Magnificent!

  Bronzed and toned, stacked with muscle and sinew, chiseled by the hand of a master artist. His chest... That stomach rippled with iron bars... That perfectly dipped navel. A scar here, a scar there, but still, nothing about him was flawed. He’d been honed on a battlefield, every mark a badge of strength.

  She kissed his neck, and his head fell against the back of the couch, allowing her better access to him. She kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, reckless in her bid to show him just how deeply she accepted him, whatever he’d done, whatever the future held. His grip tightened on her hips, and she lifted to once again fit their lips together. He moaned into her mouth, and took over, dominating her in the most amazing way. And she was...she was...

  Struggling to breathe, she realized, trying to suck in a single gasp of oxygen but failing. Her mind fogged.

  “Nicola?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m...okay...will be...” No, no, no. Not this. Not now. She would ruin the moment—maybe even his feelings for her.

  He tugged his robe together, the material somehow repairing itself. He cupped her face in his big hands. “Inhale slow and easy, all right? Now exhale just as slow, just as easy.” His thumbs traced her cheeks, his skin so hot she could have been pressed against the sun. “That’s the way. In. Out. Yes. Good girl.”

  A minute passed. Then two, three, before she finally regained her composure. And then she kind of wished she hadn’t.

  She had ruined the moment, she realized. Worse, she’d revealed the depths of her weakness and proven just how worthless she was in the relationship department.

&
nbsp; A strong man like Koldo had to despise people like her.

  “I’m tired,” she muttered. “I should go to bed.”

  His gaze locked with hers, unwavering. “You’re upset. Why?”

  “Just forget it, okay?”

  “I can’t. Are you angry about something I did?”

  “No.” She couldn’t let him think that.

  “Then what?”

  “Just let this go. Please.”

  “I can’t. Talk to me.”

  “Look, I—” Wanted to leave the room and his penetrating stare. Wanted to leave and hide and forget this had ever happened.

  But she wouldn’t be able to forget, would she? This was burned into her mind—and every cell in her body.

  “Knock, knock, is home anyone?” Laila asked, stumbling past the door and into the room, the scent of alcohol accompanying her. She giggled when she spotted them, wavered on her feet. “Uh-oh. Did I something interrupt? Wait. That came out wrong. I something interrupted.” A nod. Another giggle. “Much better.”

  Nicola climbed off Koldo and stood, nearly toppling over herself. Stupid legs. “I thought you were asleep,” she said, happy for the reprieve. Only, she jolted backward.

  The monkeys—the demons—were perched on Laila’s shoulders.

  “Koldo,” she whispered, and pointed. “Look.”

  Laila spun in a full circle, nearly fell. “What?”

  Koldo pushed to his feet, the beads in his beard clanging together.

  The monkeys squeaked out a protest and darted from the room.

  “I’ll pretend I know what’s going on,” Laila said with a stern tone ruined by a goofy expression.

  Why hadn’t she seen the demons? Her eyes had been opened—she should be able to see them now. Right?

  “I was in the kitchen and found this.” Grinning, Laila raised a bottle of vodka.

  Koldo stiffened. “Where did you find it?”

  “In the hands of one of your friends. And a good thing he brought it, because I almost died of a heart attack when I spotted him and needed a little something to calm me down.”

  “A friend? What friend?”

  “The kind that will stab you in the chest just to hear you scream.”

  Nicola’s gaze snagged on the chair Koldo had abandoned. There were two glowing palm prints on the cushions, with flecks of golden glitter the exact shade of his eyes. Prints that hadn’t been there before. What...how...odd, she finished.

  Standing by her side, he reached out, settled two fingers under her chin and forced her to face him. “Stay here. And remember what I told you about the tattoos.” With that, he stormed from the room, shutting the door behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  KOLDO WOULD NEVER FORGET the exquisite feel of Nicola’s lips against his or the softness of her body pressed against him, or the sweetness of her taste and a thousand other things that had set his blood on fire, causing him to ache, to reach the razor’s edge of desperation.

  The entire time he’d had her in his arms, he’d forgotten the horror of his earlier actions. His inner brokenness had been eased, and he’d felt whole. Happy. At peace for the first time.

  The future had seemed bright. Problems? What problems? There’d been no anger, no dread, no sense of hopelessness. He’d been...normal.

  But he’d done something to upset her, no matter what she’d claimed. First, she had melted. Then, after she’d come out of her faint, she had stiffened, preparing to bolt.

  Had she regretted what had happened?

  Probably. He’d mauled her, and she’d been prepared to leave him. Had she succeeded, he would have chased her and...what? Demanded she still desire him?

  He wouldn’t be so pathetic. Would he?

  Maybe her desertion was for the best. He wouldn’t always have her, and so he couldn’t allow himself to come to rely on her. He had himself, and only himself, and that’s the way it had to be. That was safe. That’s what he knew.

  Stalking into the kitchen, he summoned the sword of fire. The flames crackled, light spilling in front of him. What he expected to find, he wasn’t sure. Zacharel didn’t know this place existed, nor did any other Sent Ones. His father didn’t, either, but the male was out there, actively hunting him.

  To his astonishment, he found Axel sitting at his kitchen table, eating the food Koldo had bought for Nicola and her sister.

  Anger ignited. “How did you find me?”

  With cheese dust on his chin, the warrior said, “I can find anyone, anywhere, anytime. A little talent of mine.” He lifted a bag of chips. The only source of junk food in the entire house. “Do you have these in Tabasco?”

  The anger instantly subsided. If Axel could find anyone, he could find Koldo’s father before Nox found Koldo.

  The battle could be over before it ever began.

  “You shouldn’t have come, and you shouldn’t have brought alcohol.” A single drink and Koldo’s Nefas side would come rushing to the surface. His teeth would elongate. His nails would curl into claws. His temper would overtake him. Yeah. Alcohol is all that’s needed for that. “But since you’re here, I’ll put you to work. Whatever your price, I need you to hunt down a...Nefas.” He waited for a reaction. Most people shuddered at the mere mention of the race.

  Axel ignored him, popping another chip in his mouth. “You should have a chat with the blonde about sharing her drinky drink with guests—especially when said drinky drink belongs to the guest! It was way impolite to threaten to bash me in the head with the vodka bottle when I tried to steal it back. And by the way, did you know your hands are glowing?”

  “What are you—” Koldo’s gaze locked on his palms. His glowing palms. The essentia had at last begun to seep from his pores.

  He’d wanted Nicola that much, his body instinctively seeking to mark her as his exclusive property, even though she wanted someone else.

  He should be ashamed, considering he’d never bond with her.

  But he wasn’t.

  “How did you bypass my cloud?” The warrior should have encountered a solid barrier.

  “If I told you, blah, blah, blah.”

  He arched a brow. “You’d have to kill me?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’d only cut out your tongue to keep you from talking, and cut off your hands to keep you from writing or signing.” Axel dusted his hands together and stood. “I’d love to help you with your little Nefas problem, but I’m actually here because Zacharel called a meeting in the heavens. And what do you want with the Nefas, anyway? Those suckers are hard-core.”

  “So are we.” Was the meeting the one Zacharel had mentioned when Koldo had visited his cloud? When the warrior had been covered in blood and injuries? “Where does he want us?”

  “Deity’s temple in the heavens.”

  Deity. Germanus. Koldo looked forward to seeing his mentor again. They hadn’t spoken since Koldo had been told he belonged to Zacharel. And that was all Koldo’s doing. He’d been so irate to learn of his fate, he’d kept his distance rather than yell. However, Germanus would have welcomed him at any time.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he said pointedly.

  “Like I really want to stick around and carry you again. Did I mention you weigh more than a building?” Axel stood, flared his wings and leaped into the air, misting through the ceiling and disappearing.

  Koldo stalked down the hall and into Nicola’s room. Laila was jumping on the bed, singing off tune, losing her breath.

  “—something, something, something, you love me. Yeah. Yeah. Something, something, together.”

  Nicola lounged on the couch, a blanket strewn across her legs. One of his books about heavenly battle strategies rested in her lap.

  “There are nightclothes in the dresser,” he said, and she glanced up. Meeting those stormy gray eyes was always a pleasure and a pain. They were always direct—

  Except this time.

  She looked away. Her cheeks flushed.

  He shifted uncomfortably and
added the words Annabelle had told him would be necessary. “These garments were purchased for you and you alone. No other female has ever worn them.”

  “Thank you,” Nicola said stiffly.

  That hadn’t been the problem, then.

  Laila continued to sing.

  “I’ve been called away,” he explained.

  “Hey, Cool-e-oh,” Laila said, falling back on the mattress and bouncing. “Guess what? I’m going to have your house’s baby. I just love it so much!”

  He...had no idea what to say to that.

  “When will you return?” Nicola asked, toying with a loose thread on the blanket.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll make sure someone is here to escort you to work if I can’t return by morning.”

  “No worries. I don’t work at Estellä over the weekend.”

  That’s right. Tomorrow was Saturday.

  “But we do have our double date,” Laila said. “And it’s gonna be fun!”

  His hands fisted at his sides as he waited, hoping Nicola would speak up. But she remained silent, clearly still desiring to go, even after everything that had happened between them.

  For the best, he reminded himself.

  “I’ll make sure you get there, as promised,” he gritted out.

  And now, he should go. He knew he should go. Yet still he hesitated. “I bought you a cell phone,” he told Nicola. Annabelle had insisted. “It’s in the top drawer of the nightstand. I bought one for myself, as well.” It currently rested in a pocket in his robe.

  “What’s your number?” she asked.

  “It is already programmed into the device.” And it was the only one in there. The only one he would allow her to put in there. “Call me if you need me. For any reason.” Or even if you don’t have one.

  She nodded, opened her mouth, closed it.