Slumber, Beauty Never Dies, book 1

Prologue

Dash

Lights flickered down the long, dull gray corridor, flashing annoyingly in the back of my eyes. They were the kind of lights that left an imprint even after you'd escaped their sputtering. It thumped behind my lids, pulsating even when I slammed my eyes shut. Nothing helped. There was a staleness to the air, damp and mossy, suffocating me with its pungent scent. The vile smell burned in my nose, smelling of hopelessness, despair, and fatality. God, I despised the decomposing holding pods, filled with all the nameless, lifeless bodies caught in the frozen slumber—utterly and wholly clueless.

I snorted. The sound echoed off the concrete walls, and it was the only sound of life, aside from the beeping of machines. It was more like a holding cell—a prison.

The world had gone to shit.

Well, as far as I was concerned, it had.

How many of these holding pods, as they'd been commonly termed, had I been to in the last year? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Hell, at this point, who was counting? The number didn't matter, not when the results were always the same. Disappointment. Anguish. Bitterness.

At seventeen, I'd woke to find myself in a replica of a building just like this, lying on cold steel, shivering, sick, and dizzy. Since that day, my life had been in a constant state of tormented perdition. And I wasn't figuratively speaking. There hadn't been a moment of peace since I'd opened my eyes to the horror of the dominion that used to be Earth, now called Starling Heights.

Who made up these names?

There was nothing promising about the world as it was now. In a way, I envied the sleeping bodies, blissfully ignorant of what awaited them. Some days, I wished I'd never woken in that cold-ass, dreary room; that I was still one of those peaceful, oblivious forms, drugged out of my mind. Reflecting wouldn't do me any good now. What was done was done. Wishing wouldn't change the past.

My long steps clattered on the hard slabs of gritty concrete as I headed for the exit. The sound was a constant reminder I was alone, and I hadn't found what I'd come for.

Only the usual...frustration and heartbreak.

Why did I subject myself to these raw emotions over and over again? Because I vowed to find them, I reminded myself. Because I couldn't give up; to give in would be letting them win. And I wasn't a quitter. I might be many things: a killer, a fugitive, a survivor. but I wouldn't stop until I found what I was looking for.

The farther I traveled down the corridor, the faster my steps became, as if I couldn't stand to be shut inside another second. But what waited outside the locked doors of the holding house was no freaking walk in the park. A quick glance at the dial on my wrist reminded me time was of the essence. The little hand clicked faster and faster. I'd lingered too long as it was. If I didn't get out of here, there would be another kind of trouble to find me. And soon. I'd rather take my chances out in the savage, unpredictable world.

Quickening my pace, I made a beeline toward the exit, until a flash of gold caught my eye, breaking my hurried strides. The ornate keyhole popped against the wood. I didn't have time for a distraction, but something pulled me toward the door.

Flattening my hands on the warped wood, I pushed, and was surprised the door gave. The old hinges squeaked as I pressed. From somewhere in the small room, water dripped, plopping onto a steel drain in a steady rhythm. Caution was second nature as I stepped into the tiny, solitary box, eyes scanning the shadowy parts of the room. Best to leave no corner unturned. How had I missed this in my search? It was a secret alcove tucked away from all the others.

Moving deeper into the room, I reached behind for the dagger tucked under my shirt. Precautionary, of course, but I was no fool. My body tensed for the unknown. There was nothing alarming in the room, nothing but a girl just like the gazillion others. Except this one was...

The air stopped in my lungs. She was breathtaking. Stunning.

A thousand adjectives came to mine, yet none of them did her justice. My heart jumped in my chest as I approached. She stood out against the boring room like flame to a fire. Dark red hair outlined her delicate face in soft waves. Such vibrant color was unusual in a place stuffed with nothing but dirty white walls and dreary gray floors. Her hair glinted in the waning light and immediately caught my eye. It was the kind of color that was hard to miss in a room colder than the arctic. Bold and silky against her pure and porcelain skin, untouched by any damages of the sun, she was like a beacon of light on a foggy night, the brightest star.

My eyes roamed over her face, completely captivated by her. She looked like a dream come true—a princess—Sleeping Beauty. Cliché, but it wasn't any less true. My heart sped, thumping wildly, as I stood above her. She drew me like no one had, calling me. I abandoned the training that had been beaten senseless into me, as the world and the dangers in it ceased to exist. Time forgotten.

Full, spiky lashes fanned her closed eyes. Briefly, I wondered what color lay behind those thick lashes. If only I could see them. Then reality slammed into me with cruel force. I would never see those eyes, never know her name, and a sudden sadness seeped into my heart. The frozen slumber didn't care about feelings, didn't care about wants or needs. It didn't answer to anyone, doing as it pleased, when it pleased. No one knew why some awakened and others carried on, dead to the altered world around them. Ageless. Lifeless. Lost.

With a heavy heart, my gaze roamed over her face, etching every feature into my memory. I didn't know why it mattered—why she mattered— or why I wanted to remember her. I just did. Maybe so I could remember beauty still existed in such a cruel world.

On a quick intake of breath, my inquisitive eyes landed on her cherry lips, lush and magnetic, the kind that begged for attention. A mouth like hers shouldn't be neglected. In all honesty, it was better for her, better for us both, if she stayed peacefully asleep. This world would only destroy her natural beauty, and even though I knew nothing of her, I didn't want anything to mar her milky skin. Beauty like hers belonged in the castles of old Ireland, in the misty hills of Wales, or between the pages of a fairytale.

Who the heck knew why I did it. I couldn't say. I only knew I had to. Once. Just once. After all, she was the first beautiful thing I'd seen in a year.

Maybe ever.

The mist had ruined everything.

Lately, all I'd seen was death, destruction, and misery. I was way overdue for some good in my life, something lovely, succulent, and irresistible.

Leaning in close, I breathed the same air as her. She smelled like fresh-cut roses, removing any trace of the staleness that lingered, tempting like the forbidden fruit. Closing my eyes, I inhaled, and was engulfed, transported to another place and time. Her soft even breaths whisked the hard lines of my face. I could no longer restrain the need bubbling inside of me, no longer deny what I longed for the moment I walked into the hidden room. Today was the first day I'd felt hope.

And then I pressed my lips to hers.

Dizziness swarmed over me, a shudder racking through my body. The glass slab trembled, cracking down the center, and the quake traveled under my feet in a wave of thunder. What the—