Beauty Awakened (Angels of the Dark) (36 page)

A slow grin lifted the corners of her lips, but her amusement didn’t last long. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have to be told. Bjorn is missing. Thane and Xerxes are going crazy as they search for him. Zacharel and the others are helping. And some guy named Kane was spotted in New York, but then he vanished again, and it’s got everyone in a tizzy.”

Kane. One of the Lords of the Underworld, and the keeper of the demon of disaster. He’d been lost in hell for weeks, though rumors of his torture had surfaced. The warrior’s friends had come to the Army of Disgrace, asking for help locating him. A promise had been issued, but no one had had any luck, until now.

“I must help my people,” Koldo said. “With Kane, and with Bjorn.” And the six demons responsible for Germanus’s death were still out there. Finding and dealing with them, before they could infect all of humanity, had to be a top priority.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. That’s why I scheduled you a meeting with Zacharel in...two hours. He’ll get you caught up on all the details I missed.”

That was wonderful, but... “How did you know I would awaken?”

She grinned slowly. “A feeling. So, what are we going to do while we wait?”

Wonderful woman. Precious woman.

His woman.

He wound his arms around her, and rolled her to her back. “Words without action mean nothing. I’ll show you.”

And he did.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Wicked Nights
by Gena Showalter

If you loved Beauty Awakened, don’t miss Wicked Nights, the first book in Gena’s scintillating Angels of the Dark series. Available now!

Looking for more pulse-pounding paranormal romance? Download the series that inspired Angels of the Dark.

The Lords of the Underworld Series

The Darkest Fire
(prequel short story)
The Darkest Night
The Darkest Kiss
The Darkest Pleasure
The Darkest Prison
(short story)
The Darkest Whisper
Heart of Darkness
(includes
The Darkest Angel
short story)
The Darkest Passion
The Darkest Lie
The Darkest Secret
The Darkest Surrender
The Darkest Seduction
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CHAPTER ONE

Four years later

“H
OW
DOES
THAT
MAKE
you feel, Annabelle?” The male voice lingered
over the word
feel,
adding a disgusting layer of
sleaze.

Keeping the other patients in the “trust circle” in her
periphery, Annabelle tilted her head to the side and met the gaze of Dr.
Fitzherbert, otherwise known as Fitzpervert. In his early forties, the doctor
had thinning salt-and-pepper hair, dark brown eyes and perfectly tanned, though
slightly lined, skin. He was on the thin side, and at five-ten, only an inch
taller than she was.

Overall, he was moderately attractive.
If
you ignored the blackness of his soul, of course.

The longer she stared at him, rebelliously silent, the more his
lips curled with amusement. Oh, how that grated—not that she’d ever let him know
it. She would never willingly do anything to please him, but she would also
never cower in his presence. Yes, he was the worst kind of monster, power
hungry, selfish and unacquainted with the truth, and yes, he could hurt her. And
would.

He already had.

Last night he’d drugged her. Well, he’d drugged her every day
of his two-month employment at the Moffat County Institution for the Criminally
Insane. But last night he had sedated her with the express purpose of stripping
her, touching her in ways he shouldn’t and taking pictures.

Such a pretty girl,
he’d said.
Out there in the real world, a stunner like you would
make me work for something as simple as a dinner date. Here, you’re
completely at my mercy. You’re mine to do with as I please
…
and I please plenty.

Humiliation still burned hot and deep, a fire in her blood, but
she would not betray a moment of weakness. She knew better.

Over the last four years, the doctors and nurses in charge of
her care had changed more times than her roommates, some of them shining stars
of their profession, others simply going through the motions, doing what needed
doing, while a select few were worse than the convicted criminals they were
supposed to treat. The more she caved, the more those employees abused her. So,
she always remained on the defensive.

One thing she’d learned during her incarceration was that she
could rely only on herself. Her complaints of abominable treatment went
unheeded, because most higher-ups believed she deserved what she got—if they
believed her at all.

“Annabelle,” Fitzpervert chided. “Silence isn’t to be
tolerated.”

Well, then. “I feel like I’m one hundred percent cured. You
should probably let me go.”

At least the amusement drained. He frowned with exasperation.
“You know better than to answer my questions so flippantly. That doesn’t help
you deal with your emotions or problems. That doesn’t help anyone here deal with
their
emotions or problems.”

“Ah, so I’m a lot like you then.” As if he cared about helping
anyone but himself.

Several patients snickered. A couple merely drooled, foamy
bubbles falling from babbling lips and catching on the shoulders of their
gowns.

Fitzpervert’s frown morphed into a scowl, the pretense of being
here to help vanishing. “That smart mouth will get you into trouble.”

Not a threat. A vow.
Doesn’t
matter,
she told herself. She lived in constant fear of creaking
doors, shadows and footsteps. Of drugs and people and…things. Of herself. What
was one more concern? Although…at this rate, her emotions would be the thing to
finally bury her.

“I’d love to tell you how I feel, Dr. Fitzherbert,” the man
beside her said.

Fitzpervert ran his tongue over his teeth before switching his
attention to the serial arsonist who’d torched an entire apartment building,
along with the men, women and children living inside of it.

As the group discussed feelings and urges and ways to control
them both, Annabelle distracted herself with a study of her surroundings. The
room was as dreary as her circumstances. There were ugly yellow water stains on
the paneled ceiling, the walls were a peeling gray and the floor carpeted with
frayed brown shag. The uncomfortable metal chairs the occupants sat upon were
the only furniture. Of course, Fitzpervert luxuriated on a special cushion.

Meanwhile, Annabelle had her hands cuffed behind her back.
Considering the amount of sedatives pumping through her system, being cuffed was
overkill. But hey, four weeks ago she’d brutally fought a group of her fellow
patients, and two weeks ago one of her nurses, so of course she was too menacing
to leave unrestrained, no matter that she’d sought only to defend herself.

For the past thirteen days, she’d been kept in the hole, a
dark, padded room where deprivation of the senses slowly drove her (genuinely)
insane. She had been starved for contact, and had thought any interaction would
do—until Fitzpervert drugged and photographed her.

This morning, he arranged her release from solitary
confinement, followed by this outing. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he hoped to
bribe her into accepting his mistreatment.

If Mom and Dad could see me now
….
She bit back a sudden, choking sob. The young, sweet girl they’d loved was dead,
the ghost somehow alive inside her, haunting her. At the worst times, she would
remember things she had no business remembering.

Taste this, honey. It’ll be the best thing
you’ve ever eaten!

A terrible cook, her mother. Saki had enjoyed tweaking recipes
to “improve” them.

Did you see that? Another touchdown for
the Sooners!

A die-hard football fan, her dad. He had attended O.U. in
Oklahoma for three semesters, and had never cut those ties.

She could not allow herself to think about them, about her
mother and father and how wonderful they’d been…and…oh, she couldn’t stop it
from happening…. Her mother’s image formed, taking center stage in her mind.
She saw a fall of hair so black the strands appeared blue, much like Annabelle’s
own. Eyes uptilted and golden, much like Annabelle’s
used
to be. Skin a rich, creamy mix of honey and cinnamon and
without a single flaw. Saki Miller—once Saki Tanaka—had been born in Japan but
raised in Georgetown, Colorado.

Saki’s traditional parents had freaked when she and the
white-as-can-be Rick Miller had fallen hopelessly in love and married. He’d come
home from college on holiday, met her and moved back to be with her.

Both Annabelle and her brother were a combination of their
parents’ heritages. They shared their mother’s hair and skin, the shape of her
face, yet had their father’s height and slender build.

Although Annabelle’s eyes no longer belonged to either Saki or
Rick.

After that horrible morning in her garage, after her arrest for
their murders, after her conviction, her lifelong sentencing to this institution
for the criminally insane, she’d finally found the courage to look at herself in
a mirror. What she’d seen had startled her. Eyes the color of winter ice, deep
in the heart of an Arctic snowstorm, eerie and crystalline, barely blue with no
hint of humanity. Worse, she could see things with these eyes, things no one
should ever have to see.

And oh, no, no, no. As the trust circle yammered on, two
creatures walked through the far wall, pausing to orient themselves. Heart rate
spiraling, Annabelle looked at her fellow patients, expecting to see expressions
of terror. No one else seemed to notice the visitors.

How could they not? One creature had the body of a horse and
the torso of a man. Rather than skin, he was covered by glimmering silver…metal?
His hooves were rust-colored and possibly some kind of metal as well, sharpened
into deadly points.

His companion was shorter, with stooped shoulders weighed down
by sharp, protruding horns, and legs twisted in the wrong direction. He wore a
loincloth and nothing else, his chest furred, muscled and scarred.

The scent of rotten eggs filled the room, as familiar as it was
horrifying. The first flood of panic and anger burned through her, a toxic mix
she could not allow to control her. It would wreck her concentration and slow
her reflexes—her only weapons.

She needed weapons.

The creatures came in all shapes and sizes, all colors, both
sexes—and maybe something in between—but they had one thing in common: they
always came for her.

Every doctor who’d ever treated her had tried to convince her
that the beings were merely figments of her imagination. Complex hallucinations,
they said. Despite the wounds the creatures always left behind—wounds the
doctors claimed she managed to inflict upon herself—she sometimes believed them.
That didn’t stop her from fighting, though. Nothing could.

Glowing red gazes at last settled on her. Both males smiled,
their sharp, dripping fangs revealed.

“Mine,” Horsey said.

“No. Mine!” Horns snapped.

“Only one way to settle this.” Horsey licked his lips in
anticipation. “The fun way.”

“Fun,” Horns agreed.

Fun,
the code word for “beat the
crap out of Annabelle.” At least they wouldn’t try to rape her.

Don’t you see, Miss Miller?
one of
the doctors had once told her.
The fact that these
creatures will not rape you proves they are nothing more than
hallucinations. Your mind stops them from doing something you can’t
handle.

As if she could handle any of the rest.
How do you explain the injuries I receive while bound?

We found the tools you hid in your room.
Shanks, a hammer we’re still trying to figure out how you got, glass shards.
Shall I go on?

Yeah, but those had been for her protection, not her
mutilation.

“Who goes first?” Horsey asked, drawing her out of the
depressing memory.

“Me.”

“No, me.”

They continued to argue, but the reprieve wouldn’t last long.
It never did. Adrenaline surged through her, making her limbs shake.
Don’t worry. You’ve got this.

Though no other patients were aware of what was going on, they
were all sensitive to her shift in mood. Grunts and groans erupted around her.
Both men and women, young and old, writhed in their seats, wanting to run
away.

The guards posted at the only exit stiffened, going on alert
but unsure who was to blame.

Fitzpervert knew, pegging Annabelle with his patented
king-of-the-world frown. “You look troubled, Annabelle. Why don’t you tell us
what’s bothering you, hmm? Are you regretting your earlier outburst?”

“Screw you, Fitzpervert.” Her gaze returned to her targets.
They were the bigger threat. “Your turn will come.”

He sucked in a breath. “You are not allowed to speak to me that
way.”

“You’re right. Sorry. I meant, screw you,
Dr.
Fitzpervert.” Unarmed did not mean helpless, she told herself,
and neither did bound; today, she would prove it to the creatures
and
Fitzpervert.

“Feisty,” Horsey said with a gleeful nod.

“So amusing to break,” Horns cackled.

“As long as I’m the one to break her!”

And so began another round of arguing.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the good doctor motion one
of the guards forward, and she knew the guy would take her jaw in an inexorable
grip and shove her cheek against his stomach to hold her in place. A degrading
and suggestive position that humiliated even as it cowed, preventing her from
biting so that Fitzherbert could inject her with another sedative.

Have to act now. Can’t wait
. Not
allowing herself to stop and think, she jumped up, pulling her knees to her
chest, sliding her bound arms underneath her butt and over her feet. Gymnastics
classes hadn’t failed her. Hands now in front of her, she twisted, grabbed and
folded the chair, and positioned the metal like a shield.

Perfect timing. The guard reached her.

She swung to the left, slamming her shield into his stomach.
Air gushed from his mouth as he hunched over. Another swing and she nailed the
side of his head, sending him to the floor in an unconscious heap.

A few patients shouted with distress, and a few others cheered
her on. The droolers continued leaking. Fitzpervert rushed to the door to force
the remaining guard to act as his buffer, as well as summon more guards with the
single press of a button. An alarm screeched to life, tossing the already
disconcerted patients into more of a frenzy.

No longer content to bicker on the sidelines, the creatures
stalked toward her, slow and steady, taunting her.

“Oh, the things I’ll do to you, little girl.”

“Oh, how you’ll scream!”

Closer…closer…almost within striking distance…totally within
striking distance… She swung. Missed. The pair laughed, separated and in unison
reached for her.

She used the chair to bat one set of hands away, but couldn’t
track both of her adversaries at the same time and the other managed to scratch
her shoulder. She winced but otherwise ignored the pain, spinning around to—hit
air, only air.

Laughter growing in volume, the creatures ran circles around
her, constantly swinging at her.

I can handle this.
When Horsey was
in front of her, she rammed the top of the chair under his chin, knocking his
teeth together and his brain, if he had one, into the back of his skull. At the
same time, she kicked out a leg, punting Horns, who was behind her, in the
stomach. Both creatures stumbled away from her, their grins finally
vanishing.

“That all you got, girls?” she goaded. Two more minutes, that’s
all she had, and then the summoned guards would rush inside and tackle her,
pinning her down, Fitzpervert and his needle taking charge. She wanted these
creatures finished.