Malice by Heather Walter (young adult books to read .txt) 📕

be tending to other matters, for we pass no one on our way to the abandoned library. Anticipation skitters down my spine and burrows into my bones as we enter. I have never been alone with anyone like this. Never thought that I would be.

Aurora lights some of the fat, dripping candles, their paltry glow cutting through the gloom. It seems the blast that broke the curse reached even this ancient part of the palace, though it isn’t as bad as in Aurora’s rooms. Many of the books were shaken free from their shelves and lie in haphazard piles on the shabby rugs. A rusted chandelier groans as it swings back and forth, one of its moorings pried loose.

I need something for my hands to do, so I set a table right and pick up the books that spilled. “Did you know it would be like this? The curse breaking.”

“No.” Aurora rubs her upper arms against the chill. “My mother spoke of a slight wind. And there are records of light. Music sometimes. It’s different for everyone.”

“But it was so violent this time.”

“Yes.” Aurora appears at my side, gently stilling me. I let the book fall, forcing my gaze to hers despite the flock of birds in my stomach. “Maybe it’s ended for good.”

Her long, graceful fingers comb through my hair, freeing it from its braid. I lean into her touch, craving more. Scared of the way my pulse races, chest aching like it might explode.

“You’re beautiful, Alyce.”

I stiffen. “No. Nothing like you.”

She smiles softly. Sadly, almost. “Me? I have no idea what I look like.”

“What do you mean?” The palace has no shortage of mirrors.

“The moment I was born, the Graces were summoned. Every inch of my body is planned. The length of my legs. The width of my hips. My hair color. I think I was born with black hair, actually. I know my mother was.” She examines the tip of a curl. “So what you see isn’t much better than a trick. Turning a regular child into a beautiful princess with a few drops of magic.”

I turn this over carefully in my mind. In her own way, Aurora is a Shifter, too.

“Sometimes I think about letting the Grace elixirs wear off,” she muses. “But I’ve never gotten very far. Whenever anyone notices even a hint of a blemish, I find a fresh bottle of beauty elixir on my breakfast tray. And if I ignore that”—she grimaces—“they slip it into my tea.”

A prisoner in a lovely cage.

“But you”—Aurora unbuttons my sleeve and traces the underside of my forearm in a way that makes my blood sing—“are entirely natural. I want you just like this. Always.”

Before I can stop her, she lifts my hand to her lips and kisses each fingertip, slow and deliberate and sure. Heat bursts at that satin-softness, rolling up my arms and down my back. Her mouth moves to my palm. To the tender skin of my wrist, where every nerve is alive and thrumming. Her teeth bite down and I cannot wait any longer.

Letting all my jittery hesitation disintegrate, I grab Aurora by the waist and pull her close. My lips stumble into hers, bruising as the intoxicating taste of her fills my mouth. She deepens the kiss, her hands roving down my back and snarling in my laces. I let go of her only long enough to untie them, the front of my dress gaping open. She yanks at my sleeves until they’re hanging at my sides, and then there’s only my shift beneath.

Instinctively, my arms go over my body, hiding skin that looks like spoiled milk. Green veins like the poorly made seams of some grotesque doll.

“No. I’m—” Disgusting. Hideous. Vila.

The wounds from my early years split open and ooze. The horrified stares I receive from the courtiers at the palace—from my own patrons, paying me for the very blood that brands me a monster. I don’t want Aurora to look at me that way.

But she does not. Her eyes are so bright, like violet stars. She steps away and fusses with the fastenings at her back. The gown drops from her shoulders and pools like ink at her feet.

I cannot breathe.

Her moon-stained skin, soft and unbroken and utterly perfect. Without thinking I reach out and run my fingers along her pearlescent bare arm, gasping at the sensation. At the image of my greenish, scaly skin against her unblemished marble. But Aurora is not repulsed. Gently, she tugs my other arm down, ignoring my noise of protest—or terror. Her hands explore my exposed chest, clever fingers slipping under the straps of my shift and easing them off my shoulders. My heart is beating so hard, I’m sure she can hear it. The entire palace probably can, and they’ll storm in here at any minute and drag us apart.

But I can’t think about that once Aurora leans in and kisses my neck. A sound I’ve never made before escapes me, and I grapple for purchase, finding the slippery fabric of her shift that is so close to her skin I might combust. Aurora finds the dip of my waist. The sides of my breasts, her thumb caressing those curves in agonizing circles. Her lips follow, on my sternum, over my stomach, until she is kneeling and looking up at me, her expression like she’s worshipping a goddess.

“Are you frightened?” she asks.

Yes. Completely. But not of her. I’m frightened of this feeling that consumes me and promises to rip free of my body and set the entire palace ablaze. Of the way I want to taste every part of her. Devour her whole.

As if reading my thoughts, Aurora pulls her flimsy silk undergarment over her head and tosses it aside. Candlelight laps at her bareness. She is exquisite. I let my fingertips play in the hollows of her collarbone. Over her shoulders opalescent moonlight shimmers in diamond patterns, as if she is some scaled water nymph come to the surface. She leans into my