Read Online Shadow on the Wall: Superhero | Magical Realism Novels (The SandStorm Chronicles | Magical Realism Books Book 1) by P.K. Tyler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P.K. Tyler
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its ramifications could be felt in the heart of her enemies. Pulling a small cell phone from her purse she quickly dialed the number she knew so well. On the other end of the line a gruff voice answered. It was the voice of the only person who knew who she really was.
When her call was complete and she was satisfied, she returned to the side of Recai Osman.
Darya wrapped her hand around his arm, allowing her fingers to grip him tightly as she came to stand closer. Recai was unlike anyone she had met before. She sensed a strength and violence warring beneath his façade. What would he be if he let go? She leaned against his strong frame and a tingle of anticipation spread out from her spine.
Standing here with Darya, his thoughts meandered back to his years in the desert. His years alone after he lost he lost Rebekah, after he lost everything. Recai felt confident in his decision to return home: revenge, justification. The desert had stilled his heart but the press of bodies and sounds within the ballroom made him feel nervous and unprepared. He never attended these functions when his position within the Osman Empire called for; he was always too young or too disinterested.
He had been near death when Kurdish nomads found him, burned and alone. Someone had dragged his body deep into the desert and left him with nothing but a canteen. He'd awoken to their voices, calling him back from oblivion. They spoke his mother's language and offered him understanding without ever asking why he was lying in the sand wearing nothing but blood-soaked sleeping pants.
For three years he wore black, wandered with Kurdish nomads, and let his beard grow. Hundreds of miles of sand passed beneath his feet and months of silence filled his ears, but despite his reflection, peace remained always out of reach.
He found moments of calm, the closest thing he could find to serenity, inevitably broken by the sudden smell of Rebekah's skin on the desert breeze or the subtle taste of her tears in the rain. Somewhere between life and death his heart had made a home for them. A love tied him to her so strongly he feared it would overwhelm him and drag him beneath the surface into a dark abyss.
Over the years, Recai found he could no longer sleep through the night. His dreams danced within his mind, leaving him restless and frustrated. Every night he would lay awake for hours, finally submitting to sleep only to wake just before her veil would lift. He couldn't cry; he had no tears left. He couldn't fight; his body had been broken. He couldn't sleep; he had no peace. The hole in his chest was ragged and raw and never did close, although the scars on his flesh eventually faded.
One night, as the others drifted to their beds he walked alone into the heart of the desert one more time, leaving behind no trace, sand filling in his footprints. The city called to him, her lights dim in the distance. He traveled by night, and during the harsh light of day he would sleep for the few hours that he could. He continued for days until he reached the civilization he had abandoned. His dreams remained vivid and he often woke with a scream on his lips, images of fire and the dead stare of beautiful brown eyes in his mind.
Recai enjoyed Darya's attention, but more than that he was elated his plan was proving easier to execute than expected. The guard had his name. He relied on that being enough for word to spread that the son of Baris Osman had returned from the dead. Darya also drew attention to them; she was clearly someone of importance, or at least curiosity. How better to re-enter the world than to be seen with this striking woman, who stood almost as tall as himself? Now he had only to allow word of his presence to spread slowly through the crowd. Dead men make the most intriguing party guests.
His plan to attend tonight's event was sound. He would watch the reactions of those around him and see who spoke of his past and who ignored his return.
When her call was complete and she was satisfied, she returned to the side of Recai Osman.
Darya wrapped her hand around his arm, allowing her fingers to grip him tightly as she came to stand closer. Recai was unlike anyone she had met before. She sensed a strength and violence warring beneath his façade. What would he be if he let go? She leaned against his strong frame and a tingle of anticipation spread out from her spine.
Standing here with Darya, his thoughts meandered back to his years in the desert. His years alone after he lost he lost Rebekah, after he lost everything. Recai felt confident in his decision to return home: revenge, justification. The desert had stilled his heart but the press of bodies and sounds within the ballroom made him feel nervous and unprepared. He never attended these functions when his position within the Osman Empire called for; he was always too young or too disinterested.
He had been near death when Kurdish nomads found him, burned and alone. Someone had dragged his body deep into the desert and left him with nothing but a canteen. He'd awoken to their voices, calling him back from oblivion. They spoke his mother's language and offered him understanding without ever asking why he was lying in the sand wearing nothing but blood-soaked sleeping pants.
For three years he wore black, wandered with Kurdish nomads, and let his beard grow. Hundreds of miles of sand passed beneath his feet and months of silence filled his ears, but despite his reflection, peace remained always out of reach.
He found moments of calm, the closest thing he could find to serenity, inevitably broken by the sudden smell of Rebekah's skin on the desert breeze or the subtle taste of her tears in the rain. Somewhere between life and death his heart had made a home for them. A love tied him to her so strongly he feared it would overwhelm him and drag him beneath the surface into a dark abyss.
Over the years, Recai found he could no longer sleep through the night. His dreams danced within his mind, leaving him restless and frustrated. Every night he would lay awake for hours, finally submitting to sleep only to wake just before her veil would lift. He couldn't cry; he had no tears left. He couldn't fight; his body had been broken. He couldn't sleep; he had no peace. The hole in his chest was ragged and raw and never did close, although the scars on his flesh eventually faded.
One night, as the others drifted to their beds he walked alone into the heart of the desert one more time, leaving behind no trace, sand filling in his footprints. The city called to him, her lights dim in the distance. He traveled by night, and during the harsh light of day he would sleep for the few hours that he could. He continued for days until he reached the civilization he had abandoned. His dreams remained vivid and he often woke with a scream on his lips, images of fire and the dead stare of beautiful brown eyes in his mind.
Recai enjoyed Darya's attention, but more than that he was elated his plan was proving easier to execute than expected. The guard had his name. He relied on that being enough for word to spread that the son of Baris Osman had returned from the dead. Darya also drew attention to them; she was clearly someone of importance, or at least curiosity. How better to re-enter the world than to be seen with this striking woman, who stood almost as tall as himself? Now he had only to allow word of his presence to spread slowly through the crowd. Dead men make the most intriguing party guests.
His plan to attend tonight's event was sound. He would watch the reactions of those around him and see who spoke of his past and who ignored his return.
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