The Beautiful and the Cursed: Marco's Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    “The girl needs your blood, Mar—” Vander caught himself.
    Marco knew that no doctor would be able to help Lady Arabella. The gash in her throat might be repaired, but the demon poison would kill her. The Seer was right. If she had a chance at all, it would be with Marco’s blood. Other than the potent and dangerous mercurite the Alliance used, gargoyle blood was the only thing that could draw out the poison and heal a human’s wounds.
    Unfortunately, it had to be applied topically. And in his present state, Marco’s talons would only further mangle Arabella’s flesh.
    He needed to shift.
    Grace watched in rapt horror as Marco let his true form go. After so many centuries and so many shifts, his body moved between human and gargoyle form with swift fluidity. His scales retreated under the siege of tawny skin; the sharp ridges of his wolfish face crumbled into smooth curves; hooked talons became toes and fingers again; his wings pleated and sank into his back.
    He stood before Grace in his human skin. She trembled, her eyes pools of fear and confusion. He didn’t have time to soothe her.
    Marco crossed the roof to where Arabella lay bleeding. Vander was at her side, a handkerchief pressed to the side of her neck.
    “Your dagger,” Marco said. Vander held it out, blade first. Marco closed his palm around the silver edge and slid it down his hand in one stroke. The blade melted through his flesh and a flow of blood sprang up.
    “M-Marco? What … what
are you
?” Grace squeaked from where she stood near the rattan chaise.
    Vander withdrew the saturated handkerchief from Arabella’s neck. Marco crouched and clamped his hand over the wound. It could be too late. Gargoyle blood worked small miracles. It didn’t bring people back from the dead. Whatever happened now, Marco would still be getting a visit from Irindi. The angel of heavenly law would know that he had failed one of his humans. Her punishment—a scarring angel’s burn carved into his back—could be depended upon.
    Marco detested failing. He also detested that the Alliance Seer had been witness to it. And then there was Grace. Only once before had the humans living within Hôtel Dugray seen what he was. What he could do. They had called him the devil’s spawn, ordered him gone, and had even brought in a priest to bless each room and pray for protection from Marco’s return.
    Fools.
    Lady Arabella’s eyelids fluttered. She stared at Marco, her shallow breaths becoming steadily deeper and fuller. As gently as he could manage, he pressed and rubbed the blood into her wound. All the while he felt Grace’s eyes on his bared back.
    “Is it working?” the Seer asked.
    Marco had only received two angel’s burns in the centuries of his existence. The more a gargoyle was burned, the less his blood was able to heal. Marco’s blood was potent. He felt proof of its power as Arabella’s feeble heartbeat began to strengthen.
    “Mr. Angelis?” she whispered, her lips spattered with her own blood.
    Marco answered the Seer’s question. “She will live.” But Marco would have to go. Now that she had seen him. Now that Grace had. Watching and protecting from afar was a nuisance. He’d done it before but didn’t appreciate having to do so again.
    “Then I think now is a good time for me to leave,” Vander said.
    Marco remained crouched at Arabella’s side. He should thank the Seer. Vander had destroyed the leech when Marco had failed. The words were locked in his throat, though, bound by his pride.
    Marco took his hand from Arabella’s neck and stood. Smears of blood coated the wound, though the gash had already started to knit together.
    “Seer,” he managed to say.
    Vander paused near the metal steps. After a long, silent moment passed, he laughed. “If it’s your reputation you are worrying about, don’t. I was never here. This never happened. Oh … and you’re welcome.”
    Only when the clanging of Vander’s feet subsided did Marco