13
That night the water was a thick frothy taupe color, and the cemented banks of San Antonio’s Riverwalk was strewn with bright laughter and twinkling lights. Cyrus didn’t try to hold my hand, although he did open the car door and pull out my chair. It was nice being the center of someone’s affections again. It had been a long while since I felt special, since I felt loved.
Cyrus was like the predawn light rising up into my dark night reminding me it was time to wake up and greet the day.
Cyrus was always alert. I wasn’t fooled into thinking he had forgotten about Samael. I knew he had brought me to a crowded place because there would be less of a chance of an attack. But he was still watchful. Looking into the eyes of every passing person, standing between me and any possible threat. If Samael could embody the wind and strike from the safety of Hell, he was right to be on guard.
Cyrus ordered more tacos than I’ve ever seen any man eat. I finished the last of my enchiladas and we fought over the last tortilla. Mostly we just talked. His smile was catching, his laugh brought about my own, but throughout the evening neither of us forgot the ever-present threat of Samael lurking just beyond the fragile bubble we had created.
I wore a loose halter top, my tattoo fully exposed. With the fire that ran beneath my skin I was never cold. I was surprised when just his simple gaze brought goosebumps to my skin. I rubbed my shoulders and desperately worked to keep my thoughts as pure as possible.
“I’ve never liked large crowds,” I looked around me at the throng of tourists walking up and down the water’s edge. Some held shopping bags, others cameras, and all wore the contented smile only someone on vacation could possess.
“Being in crowded places like this is hard for me as well. Many years ago the noise would become overwhelming. My head would feel near to bursting with the cacophony of voices that threaded through me. I have learned to control my birthright. All aspects of it. Now I can focus on one individual or push through the walls of another.”
“I can see how that would be hard.”
“We all struggle, Layla.”
I scoffed, “Most don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders.” I didn’t like the direction of this conversation.
“Maybe not. But we all have been where you are- mortal and immortal. Do not be so vain as to think your struggles are unique.” My ire began to rise. The sweet haze of our romantic evening had sunk like the hot Texas sun. A cold night air crept in with his simple and strong rebuke.
The sound of brassy trumpets, guitars and boisterous singing came out of nowhere. People began to murmur and pull out their phones snapping pictures of the Mariachi band walking through the crowd. They would stop at people’s tables, enchant the children that stood up to dance, waiting for a brave soul to slip them a few dollars to serenade his date. I wasn’t surprised when Cyrus rose up out of his chair and headed straight in their direction.
Don’t you dare! I silently shouted at him. He turned toward me raising a hand, silently asking me to wait. I had lost the ability to stay irritated with him. He was so handsome, so sexy and incredibly charming. He was putting all of his efforts into this evening, and I wanted to as well. I had given myself permission to have fun, explore the possibilities of life without Orrin.
Tonight is a new beginning.
My daemon didn’t want a new beginning. It clung to my anger, my hatred, and most of all the final pieces of my heart. The shreds I was left with in Balmorhea over three years ago. The day I told Orrin goodbye.
My face went from scarlet to white as Cyrus slipped a twenty to one of the concho-covered mariachi members in exchange for possession of a guitar. He carried it by the neck all the way back to our table. His movements were impossible to miss by the crowd. They watched him in awe. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know all the women were jealous and the men were agitated. The band followed, not wanting to lose sight of the instrument.
Cyrus sat down, his chair pushed away from the table and began to fidget with the strings. I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but I prayed he would stop. I didn’t feel like drawing this much attention to myself. But he was not deterred. His grin spread across his face as he held the instrument.
“I didn’t know you played,” I commented.
“I haven’t played in a few decades now. But it’ll come back I’m sure,” he said without looking up from the guitar strings.
With the first flick of his wrist, my heart pumped to the rhythm of his fingers. The melody was so enticing, I was barely able to stay in my seat or contain my wings. My soul flew like his song and my life became the chords he strummed. I knew this song was for me. I had never heard it, but it painted such longing, a kind of heartache that only someone in possession of a broken heart could fully comprehend.
I had been hit by lightning, stuck dumb with a love I didn’t know was waiting inside me. It had only been weeks, yet it felt it solid and palpable.
How could I not know until now?
How could I not feel it before?
His song was for me and I was meant for him. This time, this night, however long or short, we belonged to each other.
***
“I have been playing since I was very young. My father, well the man I thought was my father, the human man who took care of me for many years, brought me a the guitar when he returned from one of his trips.”
Cyrus held onto my hand. I held onto his to quiet the trembling that had taken hold of me. The clarity of the night’s event had left me shaken. He felt so at ease with his feelings after already declaring his love for me, but it wasn’t until that moment when he was playing my song that I could see the intensity, the certainty that I couldn’t grasp earlier. I wanted to wrap myself up in that night, up in him and hide away.
And his grip on my waist tightened as we walked.
“Tell me more,” I dug deeper.
He smiled and continued, “I’m not quite sure you have ever heard of it. As James explained, I’m extremely ancient.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, Ecbatana.” He smiled letting loose a place and a sudden accent he had never revealed.
He glanced sideways at me and I couldn’t help but giggle, “I guess you got me. Never heard of it. Is it still around?”
“Few cities have lasted over two thousand years. Its remains still stand, but no, it hasn’t fared as well as Rome or Athens or many other cities of its time. My father was a farmer,” He steered the conversation away from the city with a pained look in his eyes. There was something there in his sudden change of topics that didn’t fool me. But maybe that would wait for another night.
“How did you discover your birthright?”
“Actually, it was a friend of my fathers who took me away at an early age. My father and he both agreed I was not cut out for farming. They both saw a level of intelligence within me. My parents were blessed with many sons, so this scholar who also happened to be a daemonologist, took me in and helped me through it as best he could.”
“And who was this masked man? Was he a famous scholar?”
“Yes, actually. Have you heard of Herodotus?”
I scoffed, “Uh, yeah. Are you serious? You got to learn under one of the most famous historians of Persian Empire.”
“Well, he was technically Greek.”
“Wait, you’re Greek?” My eyes went to his long fair hair and clear blue eyes. “I’m going to have to just Google you later. An ancient Persian man with blonde hair and a follower of Herodotus. I’m sure there will be a reference of you in there somewhere.
He hedged a bit rubbing the back of his neck, “There are a few references, but remember I was a different man then. I lacked guidance. I was ruthless and power-hungry. I was too wrapped up in my abilities, in my own birthright. I forgot my true purpose. I forgot the Almighty.”
“Oh, yeah,” I paused thinking of my own recent debauchery, “That’s easy to do, I guess.”
“We are human, after all.�
� He smiled.
“I’m only a third, if you’re going to get technical.”
“And I’m half. With that being said, you can understand that my coloring made me stand out considerably among the Persians.”
“Herodotus took me in and introduced me to an angel who saw me through the toughest transitions of my birthright. It was only after my teacher had died, and I had spent a lifetime conquering and killing that I came back to this angel and sought the answers my soul so desperately needed. She helped me learn to focus my thoughts to push out voices that crowded my mind. Actually, you know this angel rather well.”
“I do?” Having only met three angels in my life, I didn’t like the direction of his story.
“I have known your mother, Layla, for most of my life. She came to me and claimed me as one of the Almighty’s own.”
I jerked my hand free of his and stopped in mid-stride. “She came? She claimed you?”
What? No. Just…no. Please no! That’s just gross!
Cyrus laughed a loud booming sound. Looked up at me and laughed more. He was making fun of me now. Waves of contentment and joy rolled off him with every laugh. It was impossible to stay irked at an angel, but exasperation was doable. He saw my irritation, the thoughts of my mother had quickly killed the romantic haze. But what if? I shook off the thought and turned to walk down the rambling path without him.
I made it only three steps before he caught my hand, “You and I are not siblings,” he still laughed, “but I’m glad the thought was so revolting to you. My father is an angel, one I have never met. To this day I do not know who he is.”
“Oh good,” I breathed out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, “Not about your father. I mean the part about us not being related. That would be new levels of weird.”
“Daemons mark their offspring,” he trailed his fingers down the tattoo on my neck, bringing goosebumps in their wake, “Angels don’t. They have wings.”
“I’d like to see yours sometime,” my voice dropped to a husky whisper with the image.
“I’d like to show them to you.”
We walked on, my thoughts fueled with the man beside me, my own sexy doting angel. We came to a bridge overhead- a thick stone street above covered the river and us below. We stood in the darkness below, the river, the people, and the world passing us by.
Cyrus pulled me to the farthest corner away from prying eyes. He held me close. My thoughts swam and my body ignited from within. I tried to pull it in, I didn’t want to light the night and ruin our moment like I had done previously. I wasn’t ready then. I was ready now. I wanted him and I wanted him to know it.
He looked down into my eyes and I held onto his arms. He pulled me tighter, his hand splayed across my lower back. He pressed me to him, hard and soft in the most wonderful ways. My daemon grappled down inside me, silently revolting. I had found a power I didn’t know was within me. It was no match for Cyrus or the lust that was flowing through me like liquid fire.
Never had a moment existed before that was so infinite, so eternal, so perfectly emblazoned on my brain. I would live a thousand years and still not forget the exact contours of his face or the matching beat of both our hearts. I needed Cyrus and from the longing in the song he played, his need had been growing for far too long.
“You are so beautiful,” His fingers traced the contours of my face, ending at my lips. My eyes closed on their own.
“I need you to kiss me,” I admitted. I had never needed anything like I needed his lips on mine.
His head dipped closer to mine and I raised my mouth to his, waiting for his kiss. I reached around to pull his head closer to mine. His other hand left my waist and made a trail up my body to my face. I leaned into his hand drawing the love from his touch. He traced my lip with his finger drawing out this moment for as long as possible.
His mouth was a breath away from meeting me when I could feel his body tense. He looked up suddenly from me, sensing something that I was oblivious to. At that moment I didn’t care about Samael, Lillith, or even if my father was standing over my shoulder. I wanted Cyrus to damn them all and kiss me. I tired pulling his head back toward mine, but he was undeterred, a statue of virtue. He wrapped his arm around me in a protective gesture, keeping me close.
“We seem to have an audience.” He said, his jaw clenched.
“I don’t care,” I admitted.
Cyrus smiled slightly, “You will.” His gentleman’s façade back in place. His eyes moved above my head toward the opposite side of the river.
I followed his gaze and my stomach sank to my feet. The world fell away and I was left without anything to stand on. I stepped away from Cyrus and moved toward him.
“Orrin,” It sounded like a question.
But he just stared at me. That beautiful face, now full of contempt. He was wearing my ring around his neck. Had he come for me? But before I could think anymore he turned and vanished, jumping somewhere unknown and away from me. I looked back at Cyrus whose eyes flashed with confusion and terror of their own.
“I’m sorry,” I called.
I didn’t deserve either one of them.
14
“Layla, don’t go.”
I left Cyrus standing there calling after me as I chased after another man. I knew Orrin was gone, but I also knew he could hear me.
The look on Orrin’s face. How long had he been watching us? Was it just tonight or longer? Had he ever watched me before? And why didn’t I feel him near?
I looked at every man as they passed by, “Orrin, please. Listen to me,” I yelled hoping he would reappear. “You’ve got to hear me out.”
And just as suddenly as he jumped I felt that long-forgotten tug, like a hook pulling at my chest. The world spun and I felt strong arms wrapped around me tightly to an even stronger chest. I broke free from his grasp and turned to meet his gaze. It had been three years since I had seen Orrin and I was torn between killing him and kissing him.
The chain with my grandmother’s ring swung loosely from his neck. He wore a black t-shirt, black jeans. He had grown into some hybrid between Orrin, the hard daemon I loved, and Heath, the vulnerable young man I saved from the darkness.
We were in a white hotel room. A duffle bag, maybe his, was opened along with a computer and a weathered book bag. He hadn’t been here long, but why was he here now? I didn’t think my dad or Cyrus would have called him.
“Kevin told you?” I deduced.
“Yes,” he replied curtly, “I shouldn’t had to have heard it from him.”
I said nothing. I had so much to say- years’ worth of questions and crying and self-doubt. I had spent three years missing Orrin, wishing he were near, needing so badly to touch his face to feel him against me. Our time together had always been fleeting. As soon as we pledged our love and tied our souls together he was ripped from me by Lillith. I found him again only to have him choose another over me. And now, when I have a shot at happiness without him, I still couldn’t shake his presence, and I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to.
Orrin Darringer was an eternity of torture, and seeing him again made me think that fate sounded good after all.
My daemon growled from within me but we both smiled. He was too beautiful for words. The small ember of love that had been fighting for life roared to life within me.
“I’m not a mind-reader like that other angel bastard you were pressed against. If you have something to say to me, then you need to speak up.”
“I was just thinking how much I missed you.”
“Sure you were.” My lame words did nothing to cool his temper. He was furious and felt like fighting and I was more than willing to accommodate him.
Orrin walked to me, his purpose evident in his electric eyes. He moved to kiss me but I was quicker. My hand connected with the side of his face with a stinging crack.
I didn’t hold back, but he barely flinched.
“Feel better?” He asked.
“Maybe.” I answered
snidely.
“Sit,” he commanded reminding me of the man I remember from Providence.
I opted for the chair next to the small table. The large window looked out onto downtown San Antonio. We hadn’t jumped too far.
“Cyrus will be looking for me.”
“You think I care about that big, ugly…”
“My father is here too, I’m sure you know. He’ll worry,” I added.
“Fine, text him then. I’m not your warden, Layla.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
I stuck my hand out, “The give me your cell, because Samael fried mine the other day while I was at work, and with all the recent chaos I haven’t managed to replace it.”
He stood, and handed me an archaic flip phone. I scoffed, “Never thought a man who drove an Audi wouldn’t invest in the best technology.”
“You don’t know me as well as you once did. Neither do I apparently,” he remarked, his eyes like razors slicing though mine. “I do not put stock in the internet. If it isn’t something I can touch then it will not last. I will not put much credence into something so unstable and unsubstantial.”
I rolled my eyes, “Only you would believe something so archaic.”
“Your opinion might change after you have seen a few centuries roll by.”
I dialed my father’s number, sure he already knew what happened, so I wasn’t prepared for the panic, “Dad?”
“Layla.”
“Dad.”
“Where are you?” He was frantic.
“I’m okay. I’m with Orrin.”
He turned from the microphone, “Its Layla. She’s with Orrin. Cyrus was right.”
“Are we supposed to believe her?” I heard Ava ask in the background. “What if it’s a trick?”
“Well if Orrin invested in a smartphone we could video chat right now, but he doesn’t put much stock in technology. Anymore.”
“That sounds like him,” I heard Kevin add. “He’s gone pretty much off the grid these days.”
The Lariat (Finding Justus Series) Page 9