Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) (8 page)

I swallow, forcing myself to whisper, "The
King of Beasts."

He laughs, a wicked, savage thing. The hairs
on my arms stand despite the warmth of the blanket draped over my
shoulders.

"You sound afraid."

It’s not a question.

I wonder if he can smell my fear.

"I'm not," I say, but the words are airy,
hardly audible.

The beast relaxes his pose, slouching
against the banister and crossing his arms over his chest. The
movement causes his sleeves to ride up, and I see his skin for the
first time. His forearms are starkly pale against the dark fabric,
but my eyes are immediately drawn to the raised, ridged lines
crossing over his flesh. He tenses, flexing strong muscles, and I
realize they are scars etched like cracks along his porcelain skin.
Before I can gawk more, his arms drop back to his sides and he
stands swiftly. The sleeves fall back down, masking him in black
once more. But the memory lingers.

"Well, you should be afraid, Omorose." He
growls my name like wild thunder. "You should be very, very
afraid."

I sense movement from the corner of my
eye.

I don’t want to look. I know it will just
feed into whatever this beast has planned for me. But a shiver
works its way down my spine, growing stronger as terrified
anticipation mounts. I'm not a brave person. Not really. No matter
how hard I try. And when the scrape of claws reaches my ear, I jerk
my head to the side, searching for the source of the noise as panic
clenches my muscles.

Wolves.

A pack of wolves with dark slate fur creeps
closer, all eyes trained on me. Predators slowly stalking their
prey.

Another sound catches my attention, and I
spin to the other side, stomach in my throat. Two giant black bears
emerge from the shadows, lips pulled back to show their sharp
canines.

I hear another sound, but I don't wait to
see what it is.

Fear takes over and I run.

The last sound that filters into my ears as
I exit the ballroom is his laughter, dark and more dangerous than
any of the animals I've left behind.

No one follows.

They let me go. And I recognize the display
for what it is, a warning.

It worked.

It’s only when I get back to my room,
panting and out of breath that I realize I completely forgot about
my magic. I was so terrified, so much the coward, I didn’t even
think to fight back. I ran immediately. I chose fear over strength,
as I always do, but this time it hurts more because I could have
used my magic, I could have showed him that he didn't scare me. I
still could. But my limbs are shaking, and I don't have the
strength to turn around and face him. I barely have the strength to
cross the length of the room before collapsing onto my bed

As I curl my knees into my chest, lying on
my side, I eye the broken lock on my door. Then my gaze travels to
the ivy still wrapped across the wall.

I funnel my magic into those twisting vines
and wrap them securely across the entry. Locking the animals out.
Locking myself in. Doing the beast's job for him.

I stay in my room for days, too afraid to face him
again, haunted by the idea that my father was right. That I should
never have come here. That coming here was the biggest mistake of
my life.

Every so often an animal pauses outside my
room. The click of paws is unmistakable, as is the low growl. I
wait until they've left before cautiously opening the door and
retrieving the little bag of food left behind. Usually they give me
apples and dried meat. Once there was a loaf of crudely baked
bread. I won't complain, not if it means having to leave my room,
which I don't. So far, my screaming bladder has been the only
source strong enough to force me to leave the sanctuary of these
four walls. I found the washroom at the end of the hall on my first
day here. The twenty-foot walk to that room is the farthest I'm
willing to go, and I don't let my thoughts linger on why there are
always fresh buckets of water waiting for me when I need them.

Mostly I lie on the bed, watching the fire
or looking over the town below. The only joy I've found since
arriving is in finally being able to use my magic freely. The walls
of my bedroom have come to resemble a jungle. Ivy vines cover every
inch of the stone. Beautiful pink and yellow flowers break up the
monotony of green. Today I decided to focus on adding roses to the
décor. The deep burgundy buds have just begun to open up. My
namesake. But they remind me too much of the dying flower at the
center of my soul, marking the toll the magic is taking on my life.
So with the flick of my wrist, I change them to white petals, crisp
and clean to match the snow just beginning to fall outside the
window.

I don't think I'll ever tire of the warm
tingle that washes over me whenever my magic is being used. I've
become used to the light pain that follows. I hardly feel it
anymore. The awe that lifts my heart when I bring life into the
world overshadows everything else.

I know I promised my father I would try to
get rid of it. But it's my birthright. It's beautiful. It makes me
feel like part of my mother is still alive, is still with me. I'm
beginning to believe that fifteen short years of having magic, of
being able to use it, would be better than a long lifetime without
it. But where would I spend those fifteen years? In this room,
hiding? I can't live the rest of my life at the base. I can't live
it here. I'm not sure there is anywhere in the world that is safe
for me when the magic still runs through my veins.

The sound of thudding boots pulls my
attention away. With one last glance toward the newly grown ivory
petals opening up to welcome the sun, I roll off the bed and walk
to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.

The sound of footsteps grows. I furrow my
brows, confused. Is it the beast? Is there another human here among
us?

The stranger stops before my door. I wait,
holding my breath, unable to fight the trickle of fear making its
way across my chest.

But then the stomping returns as the man
walks away, turns around, walks back, walks away, turns around,
walks back.

Is he pacing?

Is he…nervous?

I almost yearn to crack open the door and
take a peek. The curiosity itches, taunting me. The stranger stops
outside my door once again. The world goes quiet.

"Omorose?"

The low growl washes over me, making me
tremble. His voice is too easy to recognize. Even his soft tone is
fueled with wild danger. In the back of my mind, I don't see a man
on the other side of the door. I see a wolf on the hunt, lazily
baring its teeth to a rabbit already caught in its trap.

I'm the rabbit.

"Go away," I plead, voice uneven.

I don't want to talk to the beast. I don't
want to see him.

I've been hearing his savage laughter in my
dreams. In the nightmare, he is little more than a figure made of
shadows, not truly of this world. The thought of him once filled me
with hope, but now it makes my blood run cold. Not a beast, but a
monster.

"I…" he starts and then trails off, ending
with a sigh.

Do I dare say he sounds apologetic? My ears
must be deceiving me. I press them closer to the wood,
confused.

"Open the door," he commands, anger
simmering.

"No," I retort. There's no way I'm opening
this door, not for him. I don't want to stare into the shadows of
his face, wondering what savage beast hides within the darkness.
I'm perfectly fine keeping a wall of wood between us.

"I brought food."

"I don't want it."

"You need to eat."

"No, I don't."

"Omorose," he says gruffly, annoyed.

My stomach rumbles, and I lick my lips.
Maybe he does want to help.

Maybe…

"Open the door!" he shouts, slamming his
fist into the wood, knocking it into my ear so hard it rings.

I jump away, frightened. "Go away!"

He growls angrily, snarling rather than
speaking.

I don't say anything.

Neither does he.

We both stay stubborn in our silence.

"Fine, starve," he snaps after a few
minutes, finally stomping away.

I fall back against the door, sinking to the
floor as my knees slowly give out. I know I've just achieved some
sort of victory, but it tastes sour on my tongue. I came here for
help. I came here because I thought I might have finally found
someone who would understand me. I thought I might have finally
found a place where I didn't have to live in fear. What happened to
the stranger who caressed my face beneath the moonlight? The person
who made me feel for a moment like I wasn't alone? Did I imagine
him? There is no doubt in my mind that it couldn't have been this
hooded beast with menace seeping from his pores.

I should go home.

I should return to my father.

There is nothing for me here.

But the idea of showing up empty-handed, of
going through so much trouble just to see disappointment and
despair darken my father's eyes once more, it physically pains me.
I'm nauseous just picturing the reunion, just imagining the way his
features would fall when I admitted that the miracle he'd been
hoping for didn’t come true.

But maybe this adventure doesn't have to be
for nothing.

Maybe there is something or someone here who
will help.

Maybe I don't need the beast. Maybe I just
need his books. Or maps. Or scrolls. Anything with any sort of
information about the magic. Anything that mentions another person
who might be able to help. If I leave, I don't need to go home.
Maybe there is another place I can go to seek out acceptance, to
finally have a life free of fear.

The idea churns, gaining momentum, gleaming
brighter and brighter the more I consider it. Before I realize what
I'm doing, magic pricks my fingertips as the vines are swept away
from the door. I throw on the cloak I found in the armoire and slip
into my sneakers before stepping into the empty hallway. Then I
close my eyes, using the magic to extend my senses, hoping it will
guide me toward answers.

At first, I feel nothing aside from the
usual pulse of nature.

And then I feel it.

A gentle tug on the edge of my magic, as
though someone is tenderly urging me closer. I'm not afraid. I know
there is no way the beast could be the source of that supernatural
caress. I haven't felt his magic, but I don't need to. His power
would be a tornado pulling me in, sweeping me up, overpowering me,
wild and untamed. But the magic calling out to me now is the
epitome of delicate control.

Hope swells.

I grin.

Without hesitating, I follow the path the
magic has laid out. Each step feels like it's in the right
direction. Maybe I was supposed to come here after all. Maybe the
fear was worth it.

I march through the halls, not pausing to
look at the rooms filtering by. Bedrooms and sitting rooms merge
together, until I'm led to a central staircase I never noticed the
last time I decided to explore. I take the steps two at a time,
crossing over into a wing of the giant castle that I haven't been
to before.

The halls are dark.

A forbidden aura permeates the air.

I continue following the tug on my magic,
trying not to notice how the eyes on the tapestries suddenly feel
as though they're following me. Heat tickles the back of my neck,
as though my own body is warning me not to walk any closer.

But the lure of that foreign magic grows
stronger each second, grows more enticing. I have to know what it
is. I have to know if it can help me. So against all my instincts,
I keep going. I don't stop until I see a faint golden glow seeping
through the crack beneath a door at the end of a hallway. And then
I'm sprinting as excitement punches through me.

When I reach it, I rip the door open,
searching for the source of the magic. I don't need to search for
very long. My eyes are immediately drawn to a glowing woman resting
peacefully on the bed.

"Hello?" I whisper, too amazed to really
speak.

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t stir. Doesn’t
give any indication that she's heard me. But the aura surrounding
her brightens as though thrilled. The foreign magic that had been
tugging me closer grows warm and encouraging.

I take a step toward her.

And another, crossing the room until I am
standing over her motionless body, looking down upon the most
beautiful face I've ever seen. Despite the darkness of the room,
her skin holds a perfect summer tan. Honey-colored hair gleams
against the pillows, creating a path my eye follows to the long and
lean arms crossed over her chest. Her face holds a pixie shape,
narrow with high-defined cheekbones and pink lips that look shiny
with gloss. I couldn't guess how old she is even if I tried. A
translucent film encases her entire body, and for a moment I think
there are wrinkles around the corners of her closed eyes, but a
second later they disappear. The golden light filling the room
radiates from within her, as though she is a star that has fallen
down to Earth.