Before She Wakes: Forbidden Fairy Tales by Sharon Lynn Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

to the color of his eyes, traces down his nose, bottom lip, and chin. His hair is a shoulder-length tangle of dark-blond waves, and a set of silver plates like small shields form a necklace that adorns his otherwise bare chest.
    A muscle in his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.
    I swallow hard so my voice won’t betray emotion. “You’ve killed her, then?”
    A tight frown bends the set line of his mouth. “
Draco?
No.” He takes a slow step toward me, eyes bright with menace. “But if you want her to live, you’ll drop your sword.”
    Draco
…Latin. This man is no priest. Educated by priests, perhaps. Not the barbarian he appears, with his tribal markings and animal skins.
    I force my lips into a smirk. He’s bluffing. He has to be. One man with a sword, however skilled, is no match for Aurora. “How will you kill her when you’re here with me?”
    “I’ll kill her after,” he growls, surging forward. His sword arcs into the air.
    Having exhausted his patience intentionally, the attack doesn’t surprise me. I easily block the blow as it swoops from above.
    We hang there, swords locked and grinding.
    “You haven’t killed her,” I challenge through gritted teeth. “You didn’t kill me when it was easy. You don’t intend to kill either of us.”
    His blade slides and twists. I hold fast to the hilt of my sword, but allow the blade to spin with his motion as he attempts to disarm me. Before his tip can slide under my blade, I use his momentum to launch a counterattack.
    The impact of his block rattles the bones of my arms and chest.
    He’s a match for my training, and his strength is greater. I can’t last unless he makes a mistake. My sword master taught me that you can make a man forget what he knows by piquing his anger—or his lust.
    “Who
are
you?” I snap, the muscles of my shoulders and forearms on fire.
    He leans close to our crossed blades. He’s not even sweating. “I come from the Sun King, who tires of the unruly País d’Òc. He wants your gold and your
draco
.
You,
however, are expendable.”
    Louis XIV, king of France, and officially our sovereign. But it’s not so easy for even a king to rule a people so far from his capital. Especially once he’s called to court all the Occitan nobles who might have looked out for his interests.
    “Roussillon answers only to the Artists Guild,” I hiss, shoving at him with all that remains of my strength.
    He drops his resistance, and the force of my shove carries him to the ground—and me along with him. I splay across his chest, our swords pressed uselessly between our bodies.
    I try to roll away, but he catches my sword arm and yanks me back. We’re so close my rapid breaths lift the hair around his face. The fire of his gaze scorches my cheeks.
    “Let me
go,
” I demand.
    As he holds my gaze, I notice a change. A pulse of…color. Blue and silver spirals, like ink under his skin. They rise with each inhale, fade with each exhale.
    Fighting hard now, I manage to scramble away from him. He rolls to his feet, blocking the entrance to the cave, watching me like a wolf. Syllables roll off his tongue like stones—a language I don’t recognize. The strange markings are everywhere—I watch them rise and fade across his chest, abdomen, and forearms.
    “Tell me who you are,” I breathe, backing away.
    His lips part, but for a long moment he says nothing. And then finally, “Roark.”
    I raise my sword between us. “
What
are you?”
    His eyes narrow and his head tilts oddly, like Aurora when she’s listening to something. “You don’t know?”
    “How could I know?” My voice takes on shrillness from fear and desperation. I’m beyond controlling it. In the time of my grandparents, a priest was burned for demonic possession of Ursuline nuns in the southern city of Aix. I’d never thought it more than a story to frighten children.
    But what is this, if not a demon?
    His eyes move over me, raising goosebumps on the back of my neck.