No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1)

by Stasia Morineaux

After dropping my things at the entry he took my hand and led me to the living room. He settled me on a comfy monster of a couch. “Be right back.”

  I ran my hand over the plush upholstery. It was dark green and so wonderfully soft that I found myself wanting to nestle down into it for another nap. But I felt agitated, fidgety. Too much broken up sleep maybe? I didn’t want to sleep.

  I left the sofa and made my way to the window, looking out to watch the rain and the people down below making their way to somewhere.

  Liam found me at the window and handed me a bottle of Guinness, then plopped down onto the ottoman in front of me.

  I looked at the bottle, felt the wet coldness in my hand, and thought briefly that a nice steaming cup of tea would better suit me, but shrugged and took a drink. I’d never had ale before; I was more a cocktail kind of girl. It only took a few sips to go straight to my head. Lightweight much?

  He was quiet.

  I was quiet.

  Thankfully the room was not. He’d turned on music on his way back from the kitchen and now OneRepublic filled in the emptiness.

  “So…” I broke the stillness. “Is this the part where you tell me everything? Explain it all to me?”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  He was close to me.

  I wanted to kiss him again. He was standing so close to me.

  Was it him or was it because of what he was?

  Or did I want to stall the inevitable, escape it as much as I could for as long as I could?

  “You’re going to go freshen up. We have somewhere to go. There are clean towels for you in the bathroom. I’ll put your things in my room and I’ll be sleeping out here tonight.”

  “Where do we have to go?” I asked in a low tone, wanting to know…and not wanting that information as well.

  “Elysium, it’s a coffee house. Gideon’s meeting us there at nine.”

  Gideon. I remembered that name. Liam had said it before, when we were looting my apartment; Gideon was going to have his ass. Gideon was the one who told him he could not tell me anything.

  “Is he the one who did this to me?”

  “I already told you…that was the guy at your party.”

  “But Gideon…he’s what? Your boss?”

  “Yeah. Of sorts.”

  “So what does he want?” I moved in closer to him.

  “He’ll tell you everything.” His eyes had that look again. I leaned in a little more, and then further still. My face so near to his.

  “I want you to tell me,” I whispered against his mouth.

  And then he kissed me.

  Bliss. Ah, blissful, wonderful kisses that erased any other thoughts.

  And then he was pushing me back gently, and down into the softness of the couch, his hands caught up in my hair, his mouth crushed against mine. Hard, deep kisses that made everything seem normal. Because Death doesn’t have make-out sessions, right? He came up for air, pushing my hair from my face, kissing my neck.

  “Liam,” I exhaled somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and wrapped a leg over him. “You make it all go away.” His mouth came back to mine. Hot and full of need and want. And I felt nineteen again. Joy Division playing in the background, hot and heavy kisses with a sexy wonderful boy. So alive and new.

  “You are new,” He breathed against my neck where he had been nibbling. Then he abruptly stopped, pushing up, looking at me. “What?” he asked. He looked bewildered.

  “What?” I was confused and slightly delirious.

  “You said you felt so alive, new.”

  “No I didn’t.” I hadn’t said it…I’d only thought it. Somewhere deep, lost in passion and the wildness of the moment.

  “I heard you.”

  “No, really, I didn’t. Why wouldn’t I tell you if I did?”

  Sadly he seemed to be coming to his senses.

  I had a feeling making out was just as taboo as raiding my apartment. But it felt so damn good after everything that had happened over the past twenty four hours; so brilliantly, delightfully normal. I wanted more.

  I wanted to stay here all night just kissing him, and kissing him more, losing myself in his arms. To stay here and not go to Elysium. To not meet this Gideon person—was he a person?

  “I was thinking it Liam. I was kissing you and thinking how amazing it felt, how normal and real and unlike the past hours.” I leaned up with my body, pushing against him, reaching my hands up, twining them behind his head, pulling him back down into the couch with me. I was abandoning myself to the kisses and the desire and that whatever feeling that clung to him. The kisses went on for countless time. He was as lost to this as I was…until his cell phone chimed.

  A text message. He ignored it twice, but then on the third notification he disentangled himself from me, our clothes rumpled, our breathing ragged

  He picked up his phone and read the messages. “Shite.” He ran a hand over his face, through his even messier than before hair. “Time’s up.”

  I covered my face with my hands. He pulled them away and tugged me to a sitting position.

  “I’d stay here like this with you all night if I could.”

  That thought made me shiver deliciously. All night with Liam. No Elysium. No Gideon.

  “But reality time. If we don’t go he’ll simply come find us here. And I’d like to keep my job, and keep breathing, while keeping this as affable as possible.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to talk here anyway? A coffee house isn’t very private, seems like this sort of discussion might need some privacy.”

  “Gideon has a private room there, it’s his place.”

  “Oh…”

  “It’s going to be alright, you’re going to be fine.” He pulled me off the couch, and with his hands on my back, pushed me from behind, down the hallway. He was back in charge now, resisting me, not looking at me.

  “You. In the shower. Everything you’ll need is in there.” He pushed me gently into the tidy room and closed the door. “I’ll put your things in my room. Try not to take too long, we need to get moving along,” he called through the door.

  I looked at myself in the framed mirror over the sink, touched my lips. They were hot to the touch and kiss-plumped from the hour or so of snogging Liam.

  I found myself in awe of the perfection of my new skin and radiance of my hair, truly a crowning glory now. The past hours had only improved things.

  I took a steaming hot shower, not good for the hair, but wonderful for my unsettled spirit.

  I wrapped his robe around me before leaving the bathroom and making my way to his room to dress. It smelled like him. The warm spiciness and vanilla of his skin. I craved another kiss. Now. If only he’d be in the room waiting for me…but I knew that was only a fanciful thought.

  I had a very distinct, dreadful feeling that washed over me from out of nowhere, or somewhere, that he’d be avoiding any closeness. It didn’t feel good at all.

  I wasn’t going to be able to avoid this meeting with Gideon. Well fine. I had a lot to say to him. I mean, since when is this how it’s done anyway?

  Who’d ever heard of any of this? A Coimhdeacht? A La…I couldn’t pronounce that one either. Who’d heard of any of it? When had those rules changed? I’d studied so many mythologies and never heard these names before. I threw on some skinny jeans, brown leather boots and along asphalt colored alpaca sweater. After a quick application of some makeup—it certainly didn’t take much now, just a little eye enhancement and lip gloss—I grabbed my leather pea coat and strode to the living room.

  Liam was finishing off his ale. He stopped mid bottle lift and stared at me. The look on his face one of bewilderment, and perhaps wonder mixed with desire, would do any girl’s ego good. I stepped mere inches from him—currently my favorite place to be—and took the bottle from him, finishing it off. I noticed his hair was wet and he had changed his clothes. He must have spruced up in the kitchen.

  “Sorry if I took too long, the water was just too nice af
ter all that time in the car. You could’ve gone first.” I touched his wet hair, moved in closer, still wanting that next kiss.

  “No problem, the kitchen sink worked fine for now.” He moved away, grabbing his coat and keys, seemingly avoiding eye contact with me. I stared at him, not moving to leave, until he finally turned and looked at me.

  “That…all of that,” he gestured at the couch, “wasn’t supposed to happen…should not have happened.” Was that an apologetic look or was it more contrite, more full of remorse.

  I walked to him, feeling frozen inside suddenly and as if a hand was clutching around my heart squeezing. “It was just some kisses,” I said forcing my voice to be cool and indifferent.

  His face was covered in longing, and regret. Regret? Stupid thing regret.

  I shook my head. Had I misread him so much? “Let’s get this over with.” I strode past him, out the door, ready to tell this Gideon off. Ready to not see those looks etched on Liam’s face any longer.

  ~ Chapter Five ~

  Thankfully we caught a break in the rain, which was a plus since the coffee house was close enough that we walked to it.

  In silence.

  Liam was still acting oddly and as though he was full of remorse. He walked as far from me as the sidewalk would permit without walking in front of me or behind…or on someone’s lawn.

  “Here we are.” He stopped. The sign in front read, Elysium.

  Ha ha, funny, I get it. Could this Gideon character perhaps have a sense of humor? “Elysium? Seriously? I asked Liam.

  “I told you that was the name of the place.”

  “I know, I guess it didn’t really register.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “No. Does it make any difference?” I asked coldly, swallowing down my hurt.

  “No.” He grabbed my coat sleeve—not my hand, but my

  sleeve, and pulled me up the steps of the early 1900s Craftsmen style cottage. I was familiar with this particular style of architecture since they were quite prevalent in Long Beach. That mere thought refueled my anger. My old neighborhood, of just a day ago, a place I’d lived for nearly half my life. All the sweet kisses of Liam were forgotten as newly powered rage and anguish surged through me.

  As we stepped through the entrance I distractedly took in the ambient coziness of the repurposed house. It offered leaded glass windows, warm lighting, cushy furniture consisting of overstuffed sofas, plump arm chairs and velvet chaise lounges, elegant-but-well-loved Queen Anne chairs and settees, and shelves of books. It was artsy, bohemian, quaint. A fire even burned in the fireplace. Music played softly from hidden speakers. As we passed through the crowded main room towards another destination, I distantly thought of how it was my idea of a perfect coffee house.

  As we walked, my eyes chased the room, doing the usual sweep of faces that I’d been doing all my life, searching…searching.

  We stopped at the damask curtained doorway of a room. I was so overly absorbed in my exploration that I bumped into the back of Liam. “Sorry,” I said lowly. He didn’t even look back at me.

  I did a quick visual scan of this room and my gaze immediately locked onto one face, the only person in the wonderfully appointed room—and my breath caught. My head swam slightly, very similar to how it felt when I took that first draught of ale earlier.

  He was startlingly something. Very dark, nearly black, slightly waving hair that had the appearance of attempted taming; light skin, that held an edge of gold from the sun; a strong five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw that matched his prominent nose—not the beaky sort, much more of the Roman heroic variety. He had what I would have referred to as ‘chiseled features’ in one of my books.

  There was a seriousness to his face, an ease to his body. He seemed very comfortable with himself, in his skin. He was formidable. He exuded dominance—the way he filled the chair completely, not because he was bulky, but because he had an intrinsic demeanor that was both striking and powerful. He was intensely male. His mere presence was commanding. He didn’t just occupy the space he was in, like so many individuals do, he dwelled in it, and he saturated it. It was his. To say he was handsome was too serene a word. He was elegant—he was feral.

  And then he turned his head and saw me. And I stopped breathing. My breath actually caught—completely got stuck. That had never happened before. It felt like I’d struck a brick wall. Have you ever had that feeling? Of running smack-dab right into a brick wall when you see someone for the first time? So hard that it knocks the breath clear out of you…right along with any sensible thoughts? Well, that’s exactly what happened. I could swear I knew him, but of course I didn’t. It’s like I remembered him. Something in my heart recognized him, remembered him from another time, another place. It was like déjà vu on steroids.

  His eyes were predatory. His eyes sparkled. No, they glinted. I’d never seen it quite like that in anyone. That intense of a gleam, that luster. I felt pulled to him, but my boots stayed glued to the Persian runner on which I stood. His very presence called to that new something in me that hummed and vibrated under my skin and all through my bones.

  He was maybe six feet three; maybe six feet five…he was tall…very. I wouldn’t know until I stood next to him—which I wanted to do with every breath in me. And at the same time was apprehensive to do.

  And then Liam interrupted, broke the trance.

  “There he is. Gideon.” He tugged on my sleeve, pulling me forward again, clear into the room and directly to the man that had made breathing so impossible. I tore my eyes from him, from Gideon. My skin felt on fire. Every argument flew from my brain—every kiss from Liam forgotten, dissolved.

  Liam plunked me down on the couch to the left of Gideon’s chair. He had a fire glowing in the hearth across from my seat. I felt suddenly nervous and on edge—I wondered briefly if I looked good—instead of the previous rage and blazing anger of just mere moments ago. I couldn’t allow him to disarm me, or let these weird misplaced feelings defuse my planned verbal attack. He was probably somewhere around ten years older than Liam, whatever that may be worth as I had no idea what Liam’s age really was. Anyway, I had some steam to release, a list of burning questions to be answered.

  I stared into the fire, thinking only of how flattering firelight had always been on my face and hair. What a stupid thought to have when I was sitting so close to the one who had signed off on my demise. I stole a glance to my right. Liam was leaning over the wing of Gideon’s chair, speaking to him in a hushed manner, too low for me to make out any of what was being said.

  I had to force my eyes from Gideon’s face, mesmerized by his facial expressions as he spoke, the way his mouth moved, his dark, heavy eyebrows lifted and dipped, a slight smile tugging at the corners—one side more than the other—every now and again. I felt so awkward, on display, to be judged…or something. Extremely, incredibly, vulnerable. Should I just say something? Were they going to say anything to me? Wasn’t this all supposed to be explained to me? I tried to keep my eyes averted, but my gaze, rebelliously, kept straying back on over to Gideon. He used his hands when he spoke. What wonderful hands; solid, strong, groomed, powerful.

  Stop! I screamed at myself inside my head. He helped take your life away!

  That’s when our eyes caught again, locked on each other’s faces and I totally forgot to breathe…again. His eyes were such a shade of blue as to seem nearly black in the soft lighting of the room. The firelight catching in them, caused flares and sparks within the midnight that his eyes were. I broke the contact first, looking back into the fire, then out at the night through the window to my left. The rain had resumed.

  It was completely unjust that the one I needed to confront had this kind of effect on me. I had questions that needed answers—I deserved answers. But I couldn’t find my voice, or make it work anyway. I couldn’t even seem to keep up my fury when I looked at him. So, I wouldn’t. I’d just keep looking into the fire—which is what my brain felt like when I thought of w
hat had been done to me, what had been taken away.

  How I’d been forced to leave everything behind, and everyone, and then dragged to freaking Seattle. A place I had loved once…and a place that had brought me pain before. And here I was again—against my will.

  I ran every tiny moment of the previous night over in my mind, from the beginning of my fabulous birthday bash to my exodus and arrival in Seattle, over and over while they talked amongst themselves as if I wasn’t present, until eventually all of my emotions collected and jettisoned forth.

  “So tell me already!” I burst in on their private chat. I made sure to keep my eyes turned from them. “I’m tired of waiting. Why am I here? Why did you do this to me?” My voice seethed, dripped with anger now.

  That pent up fury and resentment of almost twenty four hours, I dumped it all out, regurgitating all of the same rant that Liam had already heard, ticking off to him, without pause, all of the beyond messed up issues and questions that raced through my mind.

  “I want to know why this happened to me. Why am I supposed to be this thing? I need you to explain all of it to me. I think I’ve been pretty patient with waiting. Why was Liam sent to get me? Why do I have to be in Seattle? Why was I chosen? My life was amazing and you ripped me out of it, left me with nothing. Why did I have to die?” I was shaking, vibrating with ferocity. My voice was low, laced with arsenic, anguish, and mourning.

  And it pissed me off to no end that while I surged forward all the more heatedly with each question, Gideon seemed so calm, detached and almost cold, as if he couldn’t be bothered with any of this.

  I dared to steal another look at him. His serene countenance was long gone, along with his detachment. In its place was a deep, dark glower. I willed fire into my spine, into my eyes. I was the one wronged. How dare he look at me like that—and how dare he look so good doing it.

  I let the confusion over that allure fuel the flame of my anger even further. I was not going to back down. I lifted my chin and kept my gaze steady. Let this go wherever it may. He should at the very least know how much I despised him and how much I loathed them both—well, hadn’t been loathing much earlier, or just moments ago…but my wits were back in play now, so…