How Beauty Met the Beast (3 page)

She smiled as she piled her hair on top of her head and secured it with a jaw clip.
Exceptions like Wesley of the Divine Tongue
. She turned her back to the sheet as she gathered her notes for tomorrow’s 8:00 a.m. German exam. Jolie-by-day was working toward a doctorate in comparative literature at The University of Texas. As soon as she’d learned of Papa Marcel’s condition, she’d turned down Columbia and applied to UT so she could stay with him.

Public education. One more way she blotted the Benoit family’s good name, but she’d found herself surprisingly happy there and had no regrets.

Sighing for the way-too-early morning, she stuffed the notes into her leather satchel. With a zip of fabric across wire, the privacy sheet was ripped off the line.

Jolie grinned, all thoughts of school and study gone as she turned around. “Wesley—”

But it wasn’t Wesley in front of her. The black-clad man scanned her up and down with a leer as his two companions, like a thugee Tweedledee and—dum, shifted on their feet as if raring for a fight.

“Audience members are supposed to stay—”

“I ain’t here for the show, love.” He swiped for her and she ducked. But the alcove was tight and she had nowhere to go. The men closed in.

Wide-eyed, Jolie considered her options.

There weren’t any. Fucking hell, she was a damsel in distress.
“Wesley!”

Chapter Two

Hauk closed the door to Catrina’s office, a grin still lighting his face.

“Well, well. Look who’s having a good time despite all protests.”

Hauk popped Brayden lightly on the back of the head before dropping into a too-small and overly cushioned chair. Not that the chair was particularly small; few fit his bulk. Tonight he didn’t mind.

Catrina’s burgundy lips curved up as she leaned on perfectly manicured nails. Feathered eyelashes, black as her Liza Minnelli bob, batted coyly at him. “Enjoying the show?” She was good; if it wasn’t for her Adam’s apple, you couldn’t tell she was in drag.

“Like your new girl. You should keep her.”

A guttural laugh rolled from Catrina. “I plan on it. Isn’t she something else? It’s sure good to see Brayden hard at work while youshe’re off enjoying yourself.” She raised an eyebrow at Brayden. “For once.”

Brayden sighed, ever the drama queen, and turned to Hauk. “Good news. While setting up for the show, Catrina found a grid entrance in the facility. We can get home from here.”

That was great news. It was near unheard of to find a new entrance to the underground tunnel system that honeycombed downtown Austin. But when the Austin branch of the Underlight had set up residence in the tunnel system’s deepest level nearly one hundred years ago, they’d been careful to keep off the city’s radar: no government records, no public utilities, nothing that would tie them to the surface. That disconnect, which only got bigger as the years progressed from no electricity to no telephones to no internet, had fostered some strange phobias in the residents who’d been born there, including a mistrust of electricity. It was possible an entrance from an electric company had never been used.

“Where?” Hauk asked.

“Happy to show you. Provided you’re done perusing the ladies?”

Feeling surprisingly like his old self again, Hauk shrugged nonchalantly. “For now.”

“You have a nice smile, you know. You should use it more often.”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m ugly as Hel’s bad half, and I don’t give a damn.” His smile grew as he stood up. “But then, I don’t have to look at me. You unlucky fucks do.”

Hauk and Brayden followed Catrina out of the makeshift office and into a labyrinth of concrete hallways that crisscrossed the building. She asked about the mission, and Brayden eagerly answered, waxing semi-poetic over tonight’s success. A pharmaceutical conglomerate under Ananke’s control was dumping waste into a water supply that created a swath of dead wildlife and did who-knew-what damage to the people who relied on that water. As too often happened, lawyers, a shit-ton of cash and the fact that it only affected an “undesirable” neighborhood had kept the company out of legal trouble. But after tonight’s raid, and a little evidence laundering to disguise its illegal acquisition, the overworked prosecution should have more than enough evidence to shut them down.

Hauk didn’t like it, but sometimes you had to break the rules to do the right thing.

He followed Catrina and Brayden around a corner. The back of his neck buzzed, pulling his thoughts back to his surroundings. A sense of unease tickled his skin and stoked his senses to hyperaware. “Something’s happening.”

“Violence-dar going off?” Brayden asked.

“Violence-dar?” Catrina asked.

“Hauk’s got a sixth sense for when violence is going on or about to go on in the vicinity. Apparently it started happening after his accident.”

“I didn’t know about that one.” Catrina clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Violence-dar is a terrible word for a super-power. You really should come up with a better one.”

Hauk shook his head at their blasé acceptance and tried to concentrate around the prattle. An uneven fight was happening in the building. No bloodshed, not yet anyway, but bad intentions. He took a step in the direction he thought it was coming from, but the maze of hallways made pinpointing how to get there a challenge.

“He didn’t like blood-dar, and death-dar isn’t really accurate as he doesn’t sense death,” Brayden continued behind him.

, tt size=“What about pain-dar?”

Brayden gave an impressed “Huh. I like that. Hauk?”

“Would you two shut up? Somebody’s getting hurt.”

Catrina and Brayden looked at each other. “Pain-dar.”

Hauk turned back. “Where’s the exit to the grid?”

Catrina pointed to an alcove like the one Jolie used as a changing station.

Jolie
. He had to find the fight and make sure she wasn’t in it. “How do I get in?”

“There’s a pressure plate in here.” Catrina lifted the grate off of a drain.

“Then Brayden, use it. Catrina, get somewhere safe. I’ll be back.” He jogged off, following his instincts, hoping he’d reach the scene in time to be of assistance and that Jolie was nowhere near it.

Her scream echoed down the hallway, and the world turned red.

* * *

Jolie had kicked, bitten, clawed and screamed, but the more she fought the more her captors seemed to enjoy their job. They dragged her down blank hallways toward a back exit, one man on each arm and the leader striding ahead.

“Hands to yourself, dickhead,” she spit at the thug on her right when his free hand strayed to her ass.

The other man laughed. “Ooh. The stripper complains about inappropriate behavior? When you got us so wound up with that, mmm, act?”

“It’s look but don’t touch, asshat.”

The leader kicked open a door and the outside wind snapped in, slapping her with its freezing energy. Her coat was still inside. A white, windowless van had parked in the alley.

“Oh, hell no.” Jolie dug in her heels, but Dickhead reached back, grabbed a handful off her ass and picked her up.

The leader threw open the back of the van with an irritated jerk. “Alpha party hasn’t checked in yet. They got five minutes before we do their job for them.”

Dickhead tossed her in, and Jolie slammed backward onto the hard bed of the van. Her breath left in a burst as her head exploded in pain.

Her leering captor poked his tongue through missing front teeth. “I’ve got a way to spend five minutes.”

“Fine, just don’t leave a mark.”

“No!” Jolie tried to scream, but it came out slurred. Fear slid through her, sickly and thick, when it should be spiking. Her head pounded. A concussion? She couldn’t have a concussion; she needed to fight.

The man unfastened his jeans. She shook her aching head and kicked out, but her reflexes wouldn’t snap. He grabbed her feet and yanked her toward him.

“No! Lemme go!”

“Hold her.” He nodded to someone behind her, and hands clamped down on her shoulders.

“Stop! Don’t!” Her eyes were leaden, but she wouldn’t close them.

Pants around his thighs, Dickhead crawled over her and tore the button off her cargoes. She pulled her knees up to shove him off, but he laughed and forced his body between her legs. “You’re a pretty little whore, aren’t you?”

“Not a whore. Get off me!”

“You smell liin You smeke sex.” He shoved up her shirt and grasped at her breasts.

“Stop.” She didn’t have the strength to fight; the crush of exhaustion overwhelmed her.

The man’s weight settled over her body, and with a sick twist in her gut Jolie realized unconsciousness might not be such a bad thing.

Something bellowed outside the van. The alley echoed with the violence of the sound.

“What the hell?” Her would-be-rapist sat back, his dick bobbing in the air in front of her.

She lurched forward and jammed a fist at it, nailing his balls. He howled. His arm came back for a punch, and Jolie covered her face.

But the punch never came. His bulk flew off her hips and a moment later, a scream of horror tore apart the alley. Jolie pushed up on her elbows, trying to see.

“Oh, fuck this,” the other man muttered as he clambered into the cab. The van roared to life. Jolie scrabbled toward the door as fast as her pain-drunk body would move. She’d take the killing machine outside over whatever Asshat and Dickhead were taking her to.

Her feet touched the alley. She leveraged herself to sitting and clutched the van’s cold metal siding for support. Blackness clouded the corners of her vision, but she fought the pull of darkness to see what had made that God-awful sound.

Three motorcycles surrounded the biggest man she’d ever seen. Bodies scattered the ground at his feet, including Dickhead—who appeared to be missing his genitals.
Good riddance.

“Wesley?” she called, her voice weak.

Despite the noise of the bikes, he turned to face her.

Jolie gasped. That couldn’t be Wesley. Not that horror of a human, burned beyond recognition. Tattooed and pierced like a demon. Leather-clad and blood-spattered.

One of the motorcyclists raised a gun.

“No!”
she screamed. The effort sent a wave of dizzying pain through her.

The man-demon turned and launched himself at the biker. The gun went off.

Jolie passed out.

Chapter Three

“Do you think we can separate them yet?”

“I don’t know. You try.”

The voices came in to her awareness, indistinct at first, but growing in clarity.

“He’s usually inert during this phase.”

“He was definitely not inert when he near pitched you across the room.”

Jolie’s head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. But she felt perfectly warm. Completely safe. Her eyes fluttered open then closed again. She was content to stay wrapped in strong arms and silk sheets the color of fudge.

She didn’t own brown sheets.

Memories hit her with the terror of yesterday, and she gasped awake. Arms confined her. She was stuck. Under her rapist? Was she kidnapped? Who had her?

Where the hell was she?

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Catrina’s voice broke through the panic. “You’re safe. Just...lodged under the arm of a behemoth. WefonF’re going to get you out. Eventually.”

Her boss sounded quite calm under the circumstances. “Catrina?”

A disturbingly male version of Catrina’s face ducked in front of her. “Hey, sweet pea. How are you feeling? How’s the head?”

“Where’s your makeup?” Jolie had known Catrina was technically a he, but she’d never seen her—him?—look like one before. The disparity didn’t improve her mood.

Then Catrina laughed, and the happy sound Jolie associated with good days dancing made things a little better. “It’s daytime. You’re getting the day look. I try to shelter you ladies from the lack of fabulousness, but alas, you’ve created quite the stir and here I am.”

Jolie huffed. “I didn’t do anything. I got attacked. Who is gripping me?”

Catrina chucked her under the chin. “The man who got you un-attacked.” Her forehead wrinkled in frustration. “From what we can figure, he then carried your unconscious self back to his room, like a good caveman, and won’t let go.” Jolie craned her neck to see her overzealous savior, but Catrina turned her head back with one still-painted fingernail. “Why don’t you just keep facing this way.”

Jolie’s eyes widened at the memory of the demon fighter. “The burned guy? I’m in his bed? Did we—did he—he looked crazy.” A stranger beat off her kidnappers then dragged her back to his bedroom? Who did that?

The other voice interjected, “When Hauk gets emotionally engaged in a fight he can, er, go a little off-kilter. He’s not totally in control of his actions anymore.”

“Oh God. Did he...” her voice trailed off; she couldn’t finish the thought out loud.

“Did he what? Oh! Did he... I don’t think so. Even crazed Hauk wouldn’t...” the stranger fumbled for words. “I mean, you would know.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I was unconscious!” Her voice rose, near hysteria again, and the demon arm tightened around her chest. “Oh, God!”

“Jolie!” Catrina said sharply, bringing her scattered focus back to her boss’s face. “Stay with me, sister. I think what the ineloquent Brayden is saying is, (a) Sid Vicious here tore through seven thugs and shredded a van to get to you. Gentle wasn’t in his vocabulary last night. And (b) judging by the scale of the rest of him, even gentle you’d still feel it in the morning, if you catch my drift. So, you got a hitch in your giddy-up? Rode a big pony last night?”

Jolie groaned and made a thorough check of her system. Other than a fading headache, she felt fine. Now that she thought about it, the arm clutching her went straight across her abdomen, holding her securely without wandering too high or too low.

She was protectively cuddled by a demon-man. “No. I’m fine.”

“Then I think it’s safe to assume you’re in the clutches of a perfect gentleman. Unfortunately he seems convinced you’re still threatened and even in a dead sleep has managed to keep you in his, ahem, protective embrace.”

“I have a German proficiency exam.”

“You missed it.”

“Oh.”
Damn
.

“Cheer up and check the fabulous room. Usually strangers don’t get to come down here. Even
I’ve
never been escorted down, and I’ve been an Associate for years.” She pinched Brayden onledd Brayd the shoulder without sparing him a glance. “I’m debating, darling Jolie, if thanking you would be in bad taste.”

Associate? Jolie took a look around, too weirded out to ask what that was about. And it was, indeed, a fabulous room in the Latin sense of mythic, epic, fairy-tale wondrous. The dreamy quality of her surroundings, the comfortable bed and, now that she was calming down again, the secure and oddly comforting presence behind her made the scene surreal.

“It’s like I went back in time,” she muttered in awe.

There wasn’t a single piece of plastic anywhere. No electronics, either. No computer. No phone. No television or radio. The desk held paper and a fountain pen. Candlelight gave the room a living glow. Damask browns and burnished gold made up the main palette, with hints of burnt orange and forest green filling the room with a masculine warmth. The furnishings were carved wood or riveted metalwork; her corseted and bustled costumes would be more at home here than her street clothes. Hardback books tightly packed a wall of built-in shelves. In startling contrast, shining swords and axes filled the wall adjacent. The bed she was lodged in was a glorious four-poster big enough for a group.

“A time where things were made with an eye for beauty, yet nothing was wasted,” Catrina said a touch wistfully. “Sounds impossible now, doesn’t it?”

Brayden snorted. “Not impossible. Just less industrial. Corporations aren’t making dollars off reused items, so they love it when you throw your crap away instead of doing something with it. But you’d be amazed what you could fix or repurpose if you tried.”

“Who are you?” Jolie asked, turning her attention to the stranger.

Though not particularly tall, he was handsome, with straight black hair cut to frame his face, skin the soft brown of chai tea and features poured from a racial melting pot so unusual she couldn’t guess at his ancestry. He grinned at her with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how good-looking he was and made a courtly little bow. “Brayden Gideon, your patron in the Underlight. At least, until Sleeping Ugly here awakes, at which point he can explain your presence to The Thing.”

Though his tone was irritated, the affection he had for the demon-man behind her came through clearly, and Jolie relaxed even more.

“Meanwhile, can I get you some food or something to drink?” he asked.

At his words, Jolie’s stomach rumbled. “Please. But what’s the Underlight? Explain my presence to what ‘Thing’? Where the hell am I?”

Brayden hissed a pained breath. “Catrina, can I see you outside? Jolie, don’t leave the room.”

She frowned. “
How
would I leave the room?”

Catrina fluttered fingers at Brayden dismissively and turned to Jolie. “Will you be all right for a moment, sweet thing?”

Jolie settled back into the warm arms, testing her reaction, and realized if she didn’t think about what he looked like last night, the arms were nice. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Catrina patted her head. “Brave girl. I’m proud of you.” She followed Brayden to the door.

“Hey, before you go, what’s clingy-boy’s name?”

“Hauk,” she answered, more serious than Jolie had ever seen her. “I’ve known him a while. Despite the beastly appearance and what he did last night, he’s a good man. I wouldngood I woult leave if I didn’t know you were safe.”

Jolie nodded, and the two left her alone with her “beastly” savior. “Hauk,” she murmured. Not Wesley. It was good to know they were different men. Wesley had been so gentle and teasing. So normal, not scary like Hauk.

Even if Hauk had saved her.

“Thanks for the rescue,” she murmured.

His fingers briefly squeezed her as if in acknowledgment and his body relaxed, loosening his hold. He responded to her voice?

“Hauk? I’d like to get up now. Would you let me get up?” Nothing. She tried pitching her voice as low and calm as she could. “Please? Please, Hauk, let me go.”

His hand slipped away. The weightlessness was refreshing as she took a full breath. It was also cold and a little empty, as if she missed his presence even though he was right beside her. She shook the feeling off and stood. Time to look at her rescuer. Time to see that face again, get used to it now so she could look him in the eye and thank him properly when he woke up.

Steeling herself, she turned around. “Oh, God.” She reached out and stabilized her suddenly jellylike stance with a hand on the wall.

Asleep on his side among mountains of soft bedding, he was still every bit as terrifying as she remembered. Dense scarring mottled his face in a patchwork of mismatched flesh tones. The ear she could see was half-gone and filled with piercings, from the industrial at the ragged top to the spikes of silver running down the lobe. His nose was shrunken, as if it had started to melt. Only his lips seemed to have survived the fire, and even they had one side twisted up in a slashing scar that ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth, like a half-Joker. No hair at all—not on his head, brows or lashes. But over each eye, four piercings marked where his eyebrows should be. His neck was a checkerboard of damaged and clear skin that trailed down below the collar of his T-shirt.

He was hideous. And terrifying. Jolie couldn’t imagine how anyone received that much damage...and lived.

Tattooed color at his forehead caught her attention. The hooked beak of a bird started there and must run down his skull. She walked around the bed to see the other side and was surprised by an intricate piece of art. Something about the curving lines spoke to her and, bracing her nerves, she pressed down the pillows to see it better.

A bird in colorful reds, blues and golds rose from flames at his neck. Its wings outstretched protectively around his head, and sharp eyes and a hooked beak ended at his forehead, right where a priest would bless a penitent.

No, not a bird. A phoenix, miraculously rising from the ashes of its previous existence to new life. Like a man who survived a terrible ordeal and not only persevered, but rescued helpless women who were too ready to associate frightening looks with evil.

She sighed at her own foolishness—although right or wrong, how many people wouldn’t be freaked out by that face?—and turned away to explore his fascinating room.

When Hauk woke up, she would face him with no expression but gratitude.

* * *

Jolie was in his bedroom, fingering the metal-work sculptures he’d created for his ancestor altar.

Jolie
was in his
bedroom.
Playing with his stuff and looking all gorgeously mussed, as if she’d just wo rd ’d juken up.

And he didn’t remember how she’d gotten here. Or much of anything about last night after he’d heard her scream. He’d forgotten a lot of nights since the accident—fighting angry frequently triggered a blackout (and a win for the home team, so he didn’t question it much)—but the last time he’d woken up with a beautiful woman in his bedroom and no memory of how she’d gotten there was decidedly before the accident and accompanying scars. And had involved too much tequila.

What the hell had happened last night?

And, more pressing, what did he do now? He wanted to hide his face, but she had to have gotten a good look while he was asleep, and she hadn’t run screaming into the Underlight. Yet. So he pushed himself up to sitting and tried for a casual expression. “Mornin’.”

She turned quickly and blinked once before schooling her own expression into impassive. No freak out, thank the gods, but no warmth, either. “Good morning, Hauk.”

No “Wesley of the Divine Tongue.” He wasn’t surprised but still couldn’t stop feeling disappointed. Had she taken one look at him and forgotten all about their encounter, when the mere thought of it had him tenting the sheets? Or did she not realize he was the same man? Was she here by choice or had he, gods forbid, brought her? He didn’t have the first clue what to say.

Luckily she kept talking. “Brayden and Catrina are bringing breakfast. Should I try to find them and tell them to bring you something too? I don’t know where they’re at, but I can head the way they went.” She pointed to the door, and he couldn’t tell if she was itching to leave or genuinely offering to help.

But he wasn’t ready to let her go with so many unanswered questions. “No, that’s fine. I’ll send them a text.” He threw the sheets off. He was in his leathers from last night, and they were spattered with blood. Great. That was sure to make her more comfortable.
Not
. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Just a couple of minutes.”

He nodded and headed for the teletext at the door. He needed to order breakfast (he always woke up from his blackouts famished), change clothes and figure out what the hell had happened. All without freaking Jolie out.
Good luck with that.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at his fingers on the QWERTY keyboard Tally, and her partner in genius LaRoche, had hung at the entrance to every room in the Underlight. “Texting Brayden to include me in breakfast.”

“On a broken typewriter?” Jolie cocked her head and walked toward him, curiosity clearly overcoming her nerves at being close to him.