Read Online The Fallen 03 - Warrior by Kristina Douglas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristina Douglas
Ads: Link
didn’t have to share with anyone else. Particularly the beautiful man who now seemed to be my husband.
I went out into the living area. There were flowers, a bright profusion of color, that had to have come from Allie. The woman who’d offered her wrist to Michael. I shivered, then lifted my head. I could smell coffee. The delicious scent was unmistakable, even though I hadn’t smelled it in years, not since Johann and I had made our escape. Either the contessa didn’t believe in coffee or she simply didn’t think her offspring deserved it.
There was a carafe sitting on the smooth-top surface of the stove, and it was hot. I looked around me—I’d locked the doors, and I knew for certain no one had been here recently. How could the coffee be hot? For that matter, when had the flowers arrived?
Those were the least of my worries. I poured myself a mug, added lots of cream and real sugar, and took a sip. Ambrosia. Maybe this new life wasn’t so bad.
I took the mug and pushed open the french doors leading out to the small flagstone terrace and the steps descending to the sea. The air was crisp and cool, and I took a deep breath, loving it. The smell of freedom.
I walked barefoot down to the edge of the shore, letting the water lap at my toes. It was cold, breathtakingly so, and I looked out past the gentle swell into eternity. I glanced around, but there was no one in sight—the beach outside my door felt secluded, but people could easily walk by. I drained the coffee, set the mug down in the sand, and walked out, fully clothed, into the surf for the first time in my life.
I didn’t dare take my time—the cold would send me running back. I walked until the water reached my waist, held my nose, and ducked under, letting the salt sea wash over me.
The current pushed me gently, and I wasn’t afraid. I shook my wet hair from my face, letting the cool, blessed waters flow around me, and I remembered stories I’d read of baptism. That’s what it felt like, I thought. A benediction.
But it was too cold to stay in for long. I made my way out of the water, my wet clothes clinging to me, and I suddenly realized I was hungry—starving, in fact. I couldn’t remember if there was anything leftin the fridge, and I’d never cooked a day in my life, even though I’d watched enough cooking shows on cable TV to qualify me as an expert. I’d have to see if Allie or Rachel could point me in the direction of the kitchens and something decent to eat. I was feeling carnivorous—I wanted scrambled eggs with cheese and fat sausages and brioche with raspberry confit.
I headed straight for a hot shower, dumping my sodden clothes in the sink and luxuriating beneath the steamy water. Then I dressed, finger-combed my hair, and walked out to see a covered tray on the table in front of the sofa. I didn’t care what it was. At this point I would have eaten beets and olives covered in maple syrup, three things I disliked intensely. I took off the lid and looked down in a combination of delight and dismay.
Scrambled eggs, fat sausages, fresh brioche with a red syrup that I knew, without question, was raspberry. Not only had something been able to read my mind and provide exactly what I wanted, it had also anticipated me. There was a fresh carafe of coffee and a glass of orange juice I just knew was fresh-squeezed.
I shook my head, sitting down to my feast. It wasn’t any stranger than being carried off by an angel who drank blood and battled God. Actually, it wasn’t any stranger than spending my life imprisoned by a mother who hated me and being told I was the Roman goddess of war.
Six impossible things before breakfast, I reminded myself. Which apparently included breakfast itself.
This world was beginning to look more and more appealing. As long as beautiful, disturbing Michael kept his distance, I’d be just fine.
“Hurry up,” came a rich, unexpected voice from behind me. “It’s time to train.”
I turned to glare at
I went out into the living area. There were flowers, a bright profusion of color, that had to have come from Allie. The woman who’d offered her wrist to Michael. I shivered, then lifted my head. I could smell coffee. The delicious scent was unmistakable, even though I hadn’t smelled it in years, not since Johann and I had made our escape. Either the contessa didn’t believe in coffee or she simply didn’t think her offspring deserved it.
There was a carafe sitting on the smooth-top surface of the stove, and it was hot. I looked around me—I’d locked the doors, and I knew for certain no one had been here recently. How could the coffee be hot? For that matter, when had the flowers arrived?
Those were the least of my worries. I poured myself a mug, added lots of cream and real sugar, and took a sip. Ambrosia. Maybe this new life wasn’t so bad.
I took the mug and pushed open the french doors leading out to the small flagstone terrace and the steps descending to the sea. The air was crisp and cool, and I took a deep breath, loving it. The smell of freedom.
I walked barefoot down to the edge of the shore, letting the water lap at my toes. It was cold, breathtakingly so, and I looked out past the gentle swell into eternity. I glanced around, but there was no one in sight—the beach outside my door felt secluded, but people could easily walk by. I drained the coffee, set the mug down in the sand, and walked out, fully clothed, into the surf for the first time in my life.
I didn’t dare take my time—the cold would send me running back. I walked until the water reached my waist, held my nose, and ducked under, letting the salt sea wash over me.
The current pushed me gently, and I wasn’t afraid. I shook my wet hair from my face, letting the cool, blessed waters flow around me, and I remembered stories I’d read of baptism. That’s what it felt like, I thought. A benediction.
But it was too cold to stay in for long. I made my way out of the water, my wet clothes clinging to me, and I suddenly realized I was hungry—starving, in fact. I couldn’t remember if there was anything leftin the fridge, and I’d never cooked a day in my life, even though I’d watched enough cooking shows on cable TV to qualify me as an expert. I’d have to see if Allie or Rachel could point me in the direction of the kitchens and something decent to eat. I was feeling carnivorous—I wanted scrambled eggs with cheese and fat sausages and brioche with raspberry confit.
I headed straight for a hot shower, dumping my sodden clothes in the sink and luxuriating beneath the steamy water. Then I dressed, finger-combed my hair, and walked out to see a covered tray on the table in front of the sofa. I didn’t care what it was. At this point I would have eaten beets and olives covered in maple syrup, three things I disliked intensely. I took off the lid and looked down in a combination of delight and dismay.
Scrambled eggs, fat sausages, fresh brioche with a red syrup that I knew, without question, was raspberry. Not only had something been able to read my mind and provide exactly what I wanted, it had also anticipated me. There was a fresh carafe of coffee and a glass of orange juice I just knew was fresh-squeezed.
I shook my head, sitting down to my feast. It wasn’t any stranger than being carried off by an angel who drank blood and battled God. Actually, it wasn’t any stranger than spending my life imprisoned by a mother who hated me and being told I was the Roman goddess of war.
Six impossible things before breakfast, I reminded myself. Which apparently included breakfast itself.
This world was beginning to look more and more appealing. As long as beautiful, disturbing Michael kept his distance, I’d be just fine.
“Hurry up,” came a rich, unexpected voice from behind me. “It’s time to train.”
I turned to glare at
Similar Books
