A Beautiful Evil (A Beautiful Book. 1) #Wattys2015

Chapter Seventeen - Change of Plans

When I came to, the world was fuzzy and blurred, as if I have a thin sheet of cotton hanging in front of my eyes, and I was somehow viewing the world from between the stitches in the fabric. Lifting my arms to rub my temples, I sat up with a groan. I was still in the ice cavern, with Alkaia snoring softly in the corner, her chest rising softly with each breath. Charles and Avery were no where in sight, and worry kicked through my body at the thought of them being alone together. I counted Alkaia’s slow breaths, trying to regain to mental footing on what happened early.

 

The Prince of Lust is shadowed by danger,

nestled between the souls of God and Demon.

Look to the descendant of Light and Dark,

and she will lead you to the path of a stranger.

 

My dragon’s words echoed through my skull. What could they mean? Between God and Demon? There was/are no between. All demons are driven by their own deepest desires, their secrets. God, on the other hand… He was so pure, so full of life. There were no words to describe Him. I hadn’t met the man either, so that didn’t help. If it wasn’t for the pounding in my skull, I would have laughed out loud at the thought of Light and Dark merging together.

Cold from the floor was leaking into my armor, making me feel as if I was sealed inside a chilled metal cocoon. The cold froze me to my very core, and I shivered so violently my very bones shook. My teeth chattered loudly, causing Alkaia to stir slightly, her eyelids opening into a small slit.

“You are cold,” she said. It was then that I realized her breath didn’t cause puffs of steam to roll out of her snout, but the air seemed to crystallize into small diamonds of fractured ice.

I snorted despite my quaking body, “Is it that obvious?”

The corner of her mouth twitched marginally. “Indeed it is.  And before you ask, I sent your toys into the hallway. They were bickering too much, and it annoyed me.”

This time, it was my mouth that twitched into a smile. Planting my palms firmly on the frozen ground, I used my weight to push myself upward. My dark leather boots slipped, causing me to crash onto the ground on my tail, sending waves of pain of my spine. I glowered. I tried again, and this time I was successful.

My bones barked a protest of my movements, and it surprised me. Cracking bones normally means a sign of age, of weakness within - something that doesn’t occur in my family. My bones were as hard as steel. “How long was I out?” My voice was rough, raw in my throat.

Alkaia must’ve closed her eyes to sleep again, because they opened lazily, slightly glaring at me for waking her again. “You were unconscious for three days.”

My mind spins. “Three days?”

She snorted a small flurry of snow from her nostrils, her slitted pupils rolling in her head to glare at me. “Is that not what I just said?”

Fighting to keep my footing, I slip and slide my way to the open doorway. Reaching the threshold, I poke my head through.

The corridor is dark now - the torches’ wicks must have burnt out. I growl in annoyance.  How do magical torches run out of wick? “Charles,” I whisper harshly. No answer. “Avery?” I try again. Something stirs in the darkness, causing the small hairs on the back of my skin to rise. What if it’s the Archangel?

My imagination gets the better of me, and I close my eyes, visualizing a slender and lean silhouette, stalking me through the darkness; its dagger’s blade trained for my rapidly beating heart. Images of white hair and silver eyes flash behind my eyelids and I gasp, my hands coming up to cradle my temples. It’s her. The woman from the the weeping painting, her hands outstretched towards me but something wrong - somethings different.