Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) by Danielle Martin Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

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    I tried to scream , but my heart lurched into my throat blocking all sounds. I covered my face with my arms, curling into a small ball and squeezing my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up because this could not be happening.
     
    “ MORGAINA!” he roared as I heard his blade slam against the concrete floor of the building. I peeked out from under my arm; he was still there; I was still in the museum, and his dark eyes were piercing into mine. He shifted back slightly, looking me over, still on guard but clearly confused and seeming to be on the edge of shock. As impossible as it seemed, he was more beautiful in life than the picture could ever give him credit for, and I forgot to be afraid, too awestruck by the beauty.
    “What treachery is this?” he growled, tip of the sword still pointed at me, carefully keeping me in his line of vision as he glanced around the warehouse. He kept his jaw firm, appearing to be in control , but his apprehensive eyes shifted rapidly to everything around him.
    I held my hands up in a gesture of surrender, hoping to calm him, and slowly made my way to my feet. “I… I’m not Morgaina,” I squeaked.
    His mouth twisted into that alluring half-grin that didn’t match the sinister eyes; he let out a short dark laugh. “I know your tricks, sorceress.”
    Oh. Crap . I wasn’t sure how to convince him of what really happened. He was absolutely clueless, and there was a fairly good chance he would try to do away with me the same as he had tried with Morgaina. And though I was terrified at the unnatural phenomenon that was developing before my very eyes, I found myself thrilled at the possibility to have the answers to the questions that tormented me.
    “I…I know this is going to be hard to believe,” I started calmly, keeping my hands up, “but you hav e been trapped in that painting.” I pointed behind him to the painting that was now no more than a background scene of an open field surrounded by a forest.
    The smile was gone but even serious the very corners of his mouth seemed to slightly curl upward. He glared, searching my face to find the lie. “Shape-shifter,” he barely whispered, eyes darkening even more.
    “I’m telling you the truth,” I pleaded. “My name is Katarina. I’m not Morgaina, and you’ve been frozen in time.”
    He flinched, shifting his gaze to the ground for a quick moment then his head snapped back up. He took two quick strides closer, forcing me to stumble back, as the silver tip of the sword came uncomfortably close, and kept his eyes fixated above mine, searching my face. “What means you by frozen?” he finally asked gruffly, lowering the sword. 
    “Well… I mean trapped in time. Morgaina put a spell on you,” I started. “Nobody was able to break the curse—”
    “Then how did you?” he demanded, raising his sword again.
    “I … I th ink it was my bracelet,” I stuttered, holding it up to him.
    He grasped my wrist roughly , causing my skin to prickle as he held tightly, studying the magnificent glow. The light lit his eyes up to a marvelous green, contradicting against his black hair that fell forward into a large soft curl across the side of his forehead. It was fascinating; they weren’t a brownish green or even a bluish green like most eyes I’d seen; they were bright and vibrant, the same shade as emeralds slightly outlined in black that matched his hair. I couldn’t stop staring at the perfectly sculptured face covered by smooth lightly tanned skin, and in that moment I realized I had to be dreaming; nobody could be this beautiful.
    The emeralds darted back and forth, darkening. He clenched his jaw, face twisting, as he clutched the small curl above his ear. “How long?” he muttered.
    “What?” I asked, coming out of my stupor, wondering if I had missed something.
    “How … long… have I… been trapped?” he asked in a derisively slow tone as though I were mentally handicapped. 
    I decided to ignore his rudeness.