Something Beautiful. Marilyn Tracy

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      PROLOGUE

      Steven Sayers turned his gaze from the lovely woman standing inside her sprawling adobe home to the waning afternoon sun. He closed his eyes against the red glow and held his palms outstretched. He felt the faint, delicate caress of ultraviolet light, took it inside his skin, letting it warm him, restore him.

      He tried to remember what it had felt like to live in nothing but light, to be as insubstantial as the wind, as intangible as a dream. But ten thousand years of this body had stolen all but the dimmest of recollections.

      Oh, to be one with the universe again, to stretch into infinity, a blaze of light, a burning star, pure reason and mathematics, blending with and sharing that searing core of energy.

      Or to be here, once and for all—really, truly here—a mortal possessing all of a mortal’s chaotic longings, lusts, that eagerness for laughter, for joy. To feel a mortal’s simple acceptance of love, friendship, even pain.

      But Steven Sayers was neither one nor the other. He was trapped somewhere in between. In many ways—in the sensations, the briefly intense moments of feeling—he felt he was more than he used to be. And then, when that brief moment passed, he always found himself less, aching for something he couldn’t quite grasp, couldn’t hold in his all too seemingly mortal hands.

      For ten thousand years, longer than recorded human history, he’d roamed this earthly plane, forever searching for those few like him, those few whom he fought so fiercely. Ten thousand years of battles stretched out behind him, a harshly cut swath of destruction in a cosmic war started so long ago that habit had overtaken zealousness and painful memories of human contact made him shrink from what few offers of companionship had been given.

      Those moments of contact, their shockingly swift intensity and their equally lightning-quick demise, had, over the years, made him reluctant to reach out, made him almost resentful of the very mortals he championed—if such as he could be called a champion.

      So it was far easier to remain distant, to hold himself aloof from all forms of society. He’d tried entering it fully, and found it only brought pain and longing. And in ten thousand years, it was far simpler to disappear for decades at a stretch, waiting for the next portal carrier’s birth, spending solitary years reading, contemplating the secrets of humanity, pondering the questions of what comprised the soul, what separated the soul from the man.

      Then, when he felt the portals born again, he would come forward, tracking their growth, following their development. And the battle would rage anew. And thus far, while СКАЧАТЬ