Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) (11 page)

"No," he says smoothly, still smiling.

And before I know what's happening, his hold
shifts to my waist as he sits up and easily places me back on the
ground. By the time I blink, he's already rolled off the bed to a
standing position, moving with all the stealth of a silent
predator.

"You should really lie down," I murmur.

He just glares at me.

But a moment later, my point is proven when
he takes two wobbly, uneven steps. His eyes go wide and he rapidly
blinks, and I know all the blood is rushing toward his head,
stealing his sight. By the time I dive to catch him, he's already
on the ground.

The wolves start barking.

For a moment, my breath catches as a little
trickle of fear stirs in the back of my mind. But when I meet their
angry eyes, I realize the wolves aren't mad at me. They're mad at
him.

The beast bares his teeth, pulling his lips
back, emitting a low growl. Though he still looks like a man, down
on all fours with that deep rumble, he seems more animal than
human. The pack leader who licked his face with such concern the
night before steps forward and snarls harshly. All the wolves creep
closer, surrounding him, jaws open.

The beast watches them all.

Then he relaxes, rolling his eyes, and is
back in bed in a heartbeat.

"You can finish whatever you were doing," he
drawls, holding out the bowl of green salve to me. "It seems I'm
outnumbered."

And when he says that last part, he glances
at the pack leader with a wry brow raise. The wolf promptly
releases an apologetic whine and leaps onto the bed, curling into
the beast's side. He raises his brows at the animal, but the wolf
responds by opening its mouth wide and letting its tongue roll to
the side. I almost think it's smiling. And then the beast grins,
reaching a hand out to scratch between the wolf's ears.

Hesitantly, I reach for the bowl the beast
is holding out for me, careful not to touch his fingers. This time,
I don't kneel over him on the bed. I remain on my feet, keeping a
little more distance.

"They seem concerned about you," I mutter,
trying to understand the interactions I've been witnessing.

"They are," he replies offhandedly.

"Why?"

He flicks his eyes toward me quickly and
then looks away, but not before I see into the haunted depths of
his smoky irises. He keeps his focus on the wolf as he softly
replies, "Because I'm their king."

He doesn't say anymore.

And I can tell from the softly whispered
tone not to press any further. The beast has secrets. So do I. So
does everyone.

Instead, I focus on my work, dipping my
fingers into the healing mud and spreading it over the angry red
cuts covering his skin. But the more I touch him, the more aware I
am of the intimacy of the situation. My skin on his skin. The heat
that starts to fill the air. How our breath mingles in the somewhat
small space between us. And the more I try to take my mind off the
beast and focus on the salve, the more awkward I become. My fingers
begin to shake nervously.

"What's your name?" I ask suddenly, a little
too loudly. I meant to sound absently curious, but I don't think it
came out that way. Swallowing, I keep my gaze focused intensely on
my fingers, not giving in to the urge to take a quick glance at the
beast.

I'm desperate for a distraction.

"Cole," he murmurs, voice vibrating with the
purr of a jungle cat.

For some reason, the sound of it sends a
delightful shiver down my spine.
Stay focused
, I try to tell
myself.

Still, I can't help it when his name rolls
off my tongue.

"Cole," I repeat quietly. Something about
saying it out loud seems dangerous, like I'm breaking a rule. His
name holds that same delicious wildness that buzzes beneath his
skin.

I shake my head a little.

When did that wildness become delicious? Not
scary or fearful or terrifying, but delicious?

"Why'd you come here, Omorose?" he asks.

I don't respond right away. My fingers have
found their way to the bottom of his arm, to the strong hand coiled
into a fist. One by one, I unlatch his fingers, forcing my breath
to remain even as I examine his palm, noticing that it takes both
of my hands just to hold one of his. I know somewhere underneath
his skin there are claws and fur, but right now, all I see are
callouses and scratches that are utterly human.

As I hold his hand, gently applying the
salve, I find myself telling him my story, telling him the truth, a
truth I've never told anyone in my entire life. "I came from your
world," I begin. "My parents were the King and Queen of Roanoe.
People used to call our kingdom the most beautiful in the world,
and it was. Gardens lined each street. Every day was like spring,
warm with the promise of new life. Our people were happy and loyal
and had everything they would ever need. And I did too. My mother,
my father, my sister. And then everything changed. On the day of
the earthquake, I was traveling with my father to visit another
ruling family, and when the ground finally settled we found
ourselves at the entrance to another world. People grabbed us,
stole everything we had and locked us away. My father agreed to
give them information in exchange for our safety, and we've been
living with the people of Earth ever since."

"But why are you here?" he urges gently.

I grip his hand tighter, not realizing that
I've stopped applying the salve and am just holding on to him now,
like a lifeline. "Something else happened on the day of the
earthquake. I got my magic. My mother died. My sister died.
Everyone we've ever known vanished when the worlds merged, our
kingdom, our home, and our loved ones. My father and I were alone
in a new world, a world where magic was seen as evil. I had to
hide. I was afraid of discovery every day for a decade. And then,
my…well, I learned that someone dear to me had died, that the
people of Earth murdered him because of his magic, and I knew I had
to leave. I knew I couldn't hide any longer. So I came here."

I finally look up.

His gray eyes stare intensely at me, seeing
all the way into my soul. But I can't read the dark and mysterious
emotions swirling within them.

"Your magic called out to me," I continue,
pressing forward. "I thought if I came, I might finally find people
who understand me, who understand my magic, who realize its beauty.
I thought if I came, I might finally find a place I belong."

I lick my lips, sealing them, waiting.

We watch each other.

I know my words contain unspoken
questions.

Is this a place where I might belong?

Is he someone who might finally understand
me?

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until
my chest begins to ache. But I'm afraid that any movement will
break this drawn-out moment, will let the beast get away without
answering. And I need an answer.

"Please go."

The words are so muted I almost don't hear
them.

Cole blinks, ripping his hand away, and the
illusion shatters.

He doesn't care about me.

He's a beast.

And he always will be.

"Get out," he growls harshly.

I flinch back, eyes burning at the rejection
after baring my secrets so freely.

"Get out!" he roars.

I do.

Not because he told me to. Not because of
the menacing thunder in his voice. Not because of the fear crawling
back out from the corner of my mind. None of those reasons, though
they all play a part.

I leave because of my pride, what little of
it I have left after an entire life of pretending and hiding. I
leave because he's seen me terrified and lonely and afraid. I leave
because he's seen me vulnerable and weak. I leave because he's seen
all of those things, but there's one thing he hasn't.

I leave because I won't let him see me
cry.

I spend the rest of the day sitting on the
windowsill in my bedroom, staring at the snow-covered town below.
Then I go to sleep. And when I wake up, I find myself back on that
perch, looking out into the mountains, trapped by my own
indecision.

For a moment, I really thought I could see
myself here.

For a moment, I truly believed Cole would
accept me, would tell me I could stay.

But now I don't know what to believe.

He was so cruel. He's been so cruel.

But he chased after me in the storm. He must
have been the one who brought me here after I ran away from the
base. I haven't seen another human anywhere.

And why is that?

Why is Cole the only one with a human
form?

And who was that glowing woman?

Why didn’t Cole want me to go near her?

I should probably leave. I'm not wanted. But
I'm not even sure where I am or how to go away. How long did it
take Cole to bring me here? After that splurge of magic, I could
have been unconscious for a few hours, a day, maybe two, maybe a
week. Even with the right supplies, could I make it through the
mountains on my own?

"Omorose?"

I turn, gasping with shock as the sound of
my name interrupts my thoughts.

Cole stands in my doorway with his arms
crossed, leaning casually against one side. I can't help but notice
the ebony cloak is gone, replaced with pants, boots, and a white
long-sleeve shirt slightly open at the collar. More casual, maybe.
More handsome, definitely. But he still emits an air of danger I
can't ignore. One that makes my pulse race. But I can't quite tell
if the thud of my heart is from excitement or alarm, the lines are
a little too blurred.

"Did I frighten you?" he asks
innocently.

"Which time?" I retort. He has the decency
to look chagrined. Yet that look just spikes my frustration. He
should be embarrassed and ashamed. He knew exactly what he was
doing. "But wasn't that the point?" I accuse. There's a fire in my
voice that I don't usually hear. Acidity too. "I believe your exact
words the first time we met were, 'You should be afraid, Omorose.
You should be very, very afraid.' Well, your message was received
loud and clear."

He shifts his weight, reaching one arm up to
rub the back of his neck.

Finally, he's the one who's
uncomfortable.

"I don't want you to be afraid," he says
with a sigh, looking at me from beneath hooded brows. "Not
anymore."

"Why did you?" I'm not letting him off that
easy.

"I didn't trust you."

"And now?"

"I still don't."

I gape at him. "That makes no sense."

"Maybe not." He shrugs. "But who said I have
to make sense?"

"Me," I say, totally agitated. "I do. And I
need a better explanation than that if I'm going to stay here a
second longer. Otherwise, I'll take my chances on the
mountains."

He growls under his breath, not looking the
least bit apologetic anymore. But I cross my arms and stand my
ground, not backing down. He doesn’t scare me, not anymore.

"Look," he snaps. And then he pauses, taking
a deep breath while he unclenches his fists. "Look," he repeats,
softer this time. "I can't tell you anything, not yet anyway. There
are a lot of reasons why, a lot of people who depend on me, but the
biggest reason I can't explain anymore is because I don't trust
you, not yet. But I want you to stay. I want you to be at ease in
my home. And I want those things because I don't trust you, but
there's a part of me that thinks maybe someday I could."

I take a deep breath. His words affect me
more than I realized they would, more than he knows. I repeat
quietly, "You want me to stay?" He wants me, someone wants me—the
real me.

The gray in his eyes softens, less like a
storm and more like the downy fur of the wolves. Irresistible.
"Yes, I want you to stay." His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and
looks down to the floor, then back up at me. "I have a feeling we
could both use a friend."

His gaze ensnares me. "Friends?"

He smiles hesitantly, as though his cheek is
tugging forcefully on his lip to move it just the least bit upward,
as though his face isn't used to the motion. "Yeah, friends."

"Well, friends apologize," I murmur, words
spilling out before I've fully processed them. But they're the
truth. I can't be a friend to someone who intentionally set out to
terrify me, not unless he apologizes first.

"I'm sorry," he replies immediately.

But I just stare at him unsatisfied. Remorse
shouldn't be quick and easy. It demands an explanation or it's not
real. So I keep looking at him, silently watching as he shifts his
weight from the doorway to stand straight. His eyes flick all
around the room, landing on everything except for me. Tension oozes
from his frame, uncomfortable stiffness. Until finally, everything
about him releases all at once.