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

by Stasia Morineaux

  “Stop it,” I pleaded. I could imagine the pain. I could see the deaths.

  “Maybe you would like one to know the feeling of being dragged beneath a motor boat’s engine blades?”

  I could feel it. “Stop, Gideon.” I was feeling sick now, my throat tightening.

  “Or maybe the absolute terror and agony of being trapped in a burning building?”

  The torture in my body intensified, sweat speckled my brow, I groaned, and if Gideon hadn’t had such a grip on me I would have sagged to the floor.

  “Stop!” I screamed from between gritted teeth, and pulled away, tore away from him with everything in me. His grip faltered and I fell to the floor, nauseated and weak. Crying…again, holding myself, rocking against the lingering pain throughout my body. “Why did you do that to me?” I cried out.

  He knelt in front of me, raised my chin up in his hand, forcing me to once again look in his eyes. “Because you have one hope, one last chance of surviving, of keeping this life. You’re out of time. You have to believe in everything I say to you, trust in me, in the others, or I can help you no further…or prolong a visit from the Comhairle. Are you going to keep wasting my time Iliana, or are you going to work with us, give it your every effort? Do you want to live? I need full compliance, a complete, and nothing less than, tell me teach me everything mind set. If you can’t abide, then we might as well end this here and now.”

  I was shivering. I was chilled clear to my bones. It was as if the frostiness was coming from him, his words, his thoughts, his touch. When I tried to nod—my teeth were chattering too hard to allow me to speak—Gideon let go his hold on my face.

  “Okay then, that’s a start.” Some of the icy fire left his eyes.

  “But why me? Why was I on the list? Why now? Why didn’t I get an Ingress? Why this for me? It’s all too crazy, it’s making me crazy. Just as I think I can do it, it all falls apart. I fall apart.”

  “Who are you to argue, or ask questions, of an order that has existed for the span of time”?

  “Am I just not supposed to wonder? To blindly accept and follow? How is that even possible?”

  “People die when they are meant to die. The rules you knew, were led to believe were truth, have changed, but death is still death. The end of one thing, the beginning of another.”

  “So who decides it? Who gets that final say in the matter? Who chooses?”

  “You’ll drive yourself crazy with all of these questions.”

  “Gideon…I need to understand. It’s how I’m built. I can’t learn if I don’t get it.”

  “But you understand the hierarchy?” He asked as he stood me up, and then sat me on my bed. He remained standing, still above me. Still the authority figure. Still being the Cerberus. Always the one in charge. He wrapped the soft throw from the foot of my bed around my shoulders.

  “Yes. I can’t pronounce any of it, but yes.”

  “People are due to die—humans die—whether it’s by sickness, or age, or tragically by horrific accidents. It happens, everyday. It has to. And it’s our job to see to it that the mhésens do not suffer. Release them Iliana, before the pain, before whatever is due to befall them. It is simple. You never have to see the cause. Take the mhésen. Turn your back on the shell left behind before it gets messy, if you’re able…if you need.” Then his voice turned dark and threatening. “But never leave a mhésen in a body again.” He leaned into me, held my face again, locked his gaze with mine. “Never.”

  I shivered again. My heart was racing, but not entirely from his intended verbal threat. His nearness was affecting me in the most confusing way.

  “If you miss another cull…I’ll be the one that has to deal with you. They’ll send me. I’ll be the one that has to carry out the Comhairle’s edict.” His sight grazed over my face.

  Did it linger on my lips just for a moment? Did I imagine that? Because I could still recall that dream-kiss so vividly. He was giving me a final warning, of job ‘termination’, and I was thinking of that damn kiss…that wasn’t even real…that he knew nothing of.

  “And I’d really rather not,” he added.

  He didn’t want to end me. That was good news. A mere three seconds felt more like five minutes as we stayed locked that way, then he liberated my face and crossed the room to the door. Before exiting he turned—all traces of that moment flown. “Get yourself ready, we have an appointment to keep. You will be culling today.” He closed the door gently behind him.

  I let my breath out, not even realizing I’d been holding it.

  I had just finished taking a near scalding shower, trying to ease the chill that had taken up residence in my body, and to erase the multitude of aches that had permeated my entire being. It had helped, but was still been shaken as I tugged on my tight black jeans and pulled a soft and warm, super deep blue beauty of a long sweater over my head. It was incredibly touchable—my body quickly recalled his hands on my arms. Why? Why did my brain keep doing this to me? I was supposed to be bereaving over yet another rebuff from Liam…not visualizing starting up something with Gideon. That was just ridiculous. The fact that Gideon may yet be sent to ‘end’ me should definitely be off-putting as well.

  “Where’s Liam?” I asked as I emerged from my room, fully prepped for the day.

  I was sure he’d been waiting in my living room the entire time that Gideon had been telling me off.

  “I think it’s best if you two have some time apart. Let things cool down.”

  At first I thought he was referring to fighting with Liam. But then why had he looked at my mouth when he said that? Had Liam told him? Or did he just know? I felt myself blushing, deeply.

  Gideon suddenly looked really ticked off. His eyes filled with anger…resentment? “You’re wearing me out, Draghail. No more of that.” He admonished gruffly.

  Which? Wearing him out or all-that-other-stuff with Liam? I thought it wiser to leave it unclarified.

  “I’m really not hungry.” My highly odd morning continued on the path to getting weirder as the next hour found me sitting across from Gideon at a café, with plans for pancakes. I still felt too ill for any food to be sitting in my stomach.

  “Nonsense. You need to eat.”

  “I feel kind of sick.”

  “It’s just nerves.” He was engrossed in his newspaper, folding it over to a new page, it rattled crisply.

  Did he not get what he’d done to me? “I think it was a little overboard to show me those accidents, to make me feel them.”

  He looked up from his paper. “I did what needed to be done.”

  We began another stare off.

  Whatever. But what was that look on his face? The emotions flickering across his face and through his eyes were expressions of two differing sentiments. Anger was etched across his face, but within his eyes I could detect… worry?

  “Let’s focus on why we’re here.”

  “I still don’t feel like eating. You can’t make me want to eat.”

  His response was to shake his paper and return to reading.

  I pulled out my phone and was about to check my Facebook, but I didn’t have one anymore. It was so auto-pilot to do that when I was bored or needed to occupy myself.

  But I couldn’t now. I didn’t want to see my old page; it would just be crammed with more sad messages, remembrances. So, I kind of began to create a new one. I’d have to do more at a later time, when Gideon wasn’t around.

  He peered over the edge of his paper, those eyes of bottomless blue burning into me—hmm, my sweater was nearly an exact match—and I closed down my device. But I did it as though it was my idea, not his glare that induced the action.

  The waitress arrived and took Gideon’s order after I told her I only wanted coffee.

  “Are you sure I can’t bring you anything?” She asked me. I shook my head.

  “She’ll be having two eggs, basted well—she hates the runny yolks. Bacon, crispy. And a mini stack of raspberry pancakes.” Gideon rattled o
ff.

  I stared at him stunned, jaw agape. How did he know that? That’s exactly what I would have ordered—if I wanted to eat with him.

  She smiled, nodded and told us it would be up shortly, asked him if he would like anything else. She put a hand on her hip and smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Flashing too many teeth and too much leg. It made me feel bearish. I shook myself. Stupid way to feel.

  “Perhaps some more coffee, Lomhara.”

  What? Lowvara? Did he give all girls pet names? Because her name was not Lowvara, but Amber…her nametag said so.

  Bristly, I felt oh-so very bristly. Why was I feeling like that? Ugh. What was it he had called me a couple of times now? Something that began with a ‘D’ and I don’t think it was anything endearing whatsoever with the way he delivered it, all disgruntled and growly like. When he’d just said Lowvara to this girl, he’d said it all warm and purring. I shoved it all under with all the other crappy-feelings I’d been stashing away this week.

  “Lowvara?”

  “Excuse me?” He pulled his eyes from her receding form as she wiggled away to the kitchen.

  Blech!

  “How did you know? Exactly how I like my eggs and that raspberry pancakes are my favorite?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “Uh huh.” I gave him a sidelong look, not believing him. So was that some sort of Caomhnoir thing? Could he read my mind? Had he received some sort of dossier on me that had listed my hobbies, likes, dislikes…oh crap.

  Worse.

  He’s read my old Facebook profile and posts. That was it. I knew that was it. No special power other than the all-knowing freaking internet. I felt like slapping myself in the forehead. If that was true what other Intel did he have on me?

  He frowned at me, sort of. There also seemed to be some sort of smile playing at the edges of his mouth, which he now hid behind his coffee mug.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You read my Facebook page?” Why did I feel so exposed? It was open to public scrutiny. Oh wait. No, it wasn’t. It was limited to friends-of-friends. “Hey! How did you access my Facebook page? You’re not on my friends list.”

  He answered with a look that said, ‘Oh please.’ He had come up with an entire new identity for me, complete with photos—before he’d ever laid eyes on me—he could find me no matter where I went, like he would not be able to get into my Facebook.

  I sighed.

  “I also found your author website.”

  I looked back up at him. Annoyed, but my interest was piqued to know his thoughts on my writing.

  Yes, my ego was still with me.

  “Interesting…”

  Interesting? That was it?

  “You write about all that supernatural and paranormal subject matter, but you have a difficult time with this? With us?”

  “Well…maybe that’s why it makes me feel crazy…because I did write about that. I did dream that. So now to live it makes me feel like…I’ve lost touch with reality maybe. Wrote one too many and my brain decided to chuck it all.” I shrugged and sipped my coffee.

  “There’s still more that I need to explain by the way…if today goes well.”

  “You bet you do…you never even finished answering my questions at my apartment.”

  ‘No sense in talking more about any of it until you can show us that you mean business. That you mean to stay.”

  “I told you…”

  “Actions, not words,” he said sweetly as Amber returned with a carafe of coffee. He looked her over, head to toe. She didn’t miss his attention and gave him an even wider smile than before. I didn’t like her, at all. I stole his newspaper and pretended to read it, so I wouldn’t lose the coffee I’d managed to drink.

  More…he said there was more to explain. He wasn’t talking about my questions, but something else. What else could there be besides, ‘Hi, your dead, here’s your new job. Oh, and by the way, death is nothing like what you were taught to believe all of your life. And now you get to do the killing!’ Fun stuff.

  I shifted on the mauve, faux leather bench. Amber had left again. I leaned a smidge closer to him over the table top. My curiosity was picking away at my patience. “What more?”

  “Not here. Later.”

  I hated that, when people teased with tidbits of information that you then got to stew over for an indeterminate amount of time, perhaps all day…all night.

  I flumped back into the booth. “You suck,” I stated simply. Did he really just look at my mouth ever-so-briefly before stealing his paper back and raising it back up again?

  Oh geez. Amber was back again, setting our plates in front of us. His carefully, mine not so much. He paid her no attention this time, merely thanked her without a glance. That was better. I liked that better. I liked that his eyes were on me instead. But why his sudden disinterest in her? And why should I care at all either way?

  She departed with a fairly audible huff.

  “Eat up,” he said as he sliced into his fluffy little golden cakes. “Oh, actually,” he checked his watch, “before you pour any syrup, you may want to do your cull first.”

  “What?” I dropped my fork. It clattered to the table top. I caught it before it could bounce to the floor, fumbled it back to my plate.

  “Your cull. Over there. Table six by the window, two up from the restroom hallway.”

  I glared at him. So breakfast wasn’t any sort of make-up for nearly freezing me in my room—because somehow I knew he’d done that…that it had come from him—or for breaking and entering, for scaring the hell out me when I woke up, for threatening my life? No, it was all about the cull. “You’re kidding me? Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes you’re kidding or yes it’s really here?”

  “Yes, it’s really here. Table six.”

  “But where’s Halah…or Nicklaus?”

  “Halah…but she won’t be here until a little later.”

  At least that part was good news. “So, why the breakfast?”

  “We needed to eat.”

  I glared at him.

  “Don’t get insolent with me. You have a job to do.” All humor had left his visage.

  “Fine,” I said coldly. “Would you like to refresh me on what it is I’m to do?”

  He didn’t roll his eyes at me, I’d expected that. He instead leaned across the table, placing his hand at the nape of my neck and pulled me closer to him. Thankfully, he’d bundled up my hair into his hand as he did or it would’ve surely trailed through my food.

  His hand on my neck was electric fire and I hoped he couldn’t feel the delicate tremor that coursed through me. He was close enough to kiss. Stop it! Don’t look at his mouth...don’t look at his mouth. I looked at his mouth.

  And was rewarded with an image flashing through my mind of him pulling me all the way in and crushing his mouth against mine, firm and persistent. My pulse quickened. As quickly as it appeared it fled. I would love to swear that he sent the image to me…but my heart, my head knew differently. That something else in me knew it wasn’t him. It was me. My head was crafting the images.

  I tore my eyes away, raised them to his eyes. What was that look? Shock? Mystification? Why did he look that way? Had he felt me tremble ever so slightly at his touch? Would the embarrassment never cease?

  He cleared his throat lightly, shook his head, as if to clear it, before he answered my question. “You…” he paused, seemingly still taken aback by something, shot a darting glance to my lips and spoke quietly, moving his mouth to my ear, “You walk over there. You brush up against him, stumble into him, whatever it takes, trip if you need to and crash into him. But be sure your hand makes contact with him. Then say, Scaoileadh. And walk on. Wait to the side a bit. Wait for the mhésen. That’s it. Simple.”

  “What’s the word?” It was another of those foreign things that tripped up my tongue.

  “Scaoileadh,” he whispered into my ear. I suppressed another tremor.

  “What does it mean?”
<
br />   “Release.”

  “Release. Scaoileadh,” I repeated. “Is that the right way?”

  “Perfect.” I liked how he said perfect against my ear. “Seems you may have a knack for the language after all.” He was still holding me scant inches from his face, his mouth so very close to me.

  Speaking so faintly, being so intimately close was making my heart race a bit. Release. I didn’t want him to. I wanted to stay like this.

  “Do it,” he said.

  My pulse-accelerated muddied-brain, for just a fraction of a second, thought to kiss him. The way he’d said it made me want to more than anything…kiss him...not do the cull.

  He let go of me and gently pushed me back to my side of the booth. I kind of hoped Amber had seen the exchange. “Go do it now.”

  I blinked at him. Nodded. Glanced behind me to table six. Sighed. “And you promise I don’t have to see how he dies?” I asked quietly, forlornly.

  “No. Collect his mhésen. See him to the Ingress. We’ll finish breakfast and then we’ll go.”

  “Finish Breakfast?” What? I was flabbergasted. I didn’t have an appetite now; I couldn’t imagine it improving any afterward.

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. This was so easy for him. I couldn’t stop wondering how long he’d been at it.

  “Okay.” I collected myself, ramped myself up. I could do this. Do it or die…I thought wryly. But I couldn’t move. My brain was well aware I had to do this, but my body refused to budge, to move forward with my task.

  “You have to do this,” he growled, nearly imperceptibly, but it was there.

  “I know.”

  “Do I have to walk you over there? Hold your hand to him? Force the word from you?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Then do it. Now.” Spoken firmly. Cold.

  “Fine.” I pushed up from the table roughly, jostling and spilling some of my coffee, sending a glare his way. I couldn’t believe I’d just been wishing he’d kiss me.

  I spotted table six, it wasn’t difficult with the blue-black mist that was floating around the young man.