Noir paused, his eyes taking in Keirah. The pools of hazel weren’t condescending as they looked at her, nor were they amused or angry. They were simply studious, as though he wanted nothing more than to memorize everything about the young woman before him.
“You, my dear,” he continued in his dark, melodious tone, “use other people’s definitions of love which is why you don’t, hum … understand what you feel. You’re the only person who knows you best, doll. It rrreally makes no sense for you to adapt their interpretations as your own.”
Keirah’s mouth dropped open. How could someone so psychotic say something so poignant?
“So,” he said, standing at his full height and regarding her with an even gaze, “how do you feel … about me?”
Keirah tensed at the question. Noir seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to make her feel undeniably exposed.
“I think you’re a wicked human being,” she told him in a firm voice just above a whisper. She forced herself to lock eyes with him. “I think people think you’re psychotic because of how merciless you are, but you’re not. You’re not crazy. In fact, you’re incredibly rational. You do the things you do because you can.” She blinked in realization. “The most complex riddles usually have the simplest solutions,” she murmured to herself.
Noir smirked. “Very clever, princess,” he said, “but you didn’t answer my-ah question.”
“I think you’re smarter than people give you credit for,” she continued, unable to look away from him. “You use both their ignorance and arrogance against them.” She paused, her thoughts racing, her eyes searching the blankness of his. “I really don’t know how I feel about you. Every logical piece of me tells me I should be afraid of you—and I am—yet there’s this part of me that … It makes me like you when I know I shouldn’t, when I don’t want to.”
Noir smiled in triumph as he finally led her back to the lone bedroom the two would be sharing for an indefinite amount of time. “I knew you’d warm up to me, pet,” he drawled. “Everybody always does.” He smacked his lips together, that sparkle reclaiming its position in his eyes.
The first thing Keirah noticed in the bedroom was the only expensive thing in the entire apartment: a beautiful baby grand piano, placed near the wall, across from the bed. It looked brand new, maybe untouched. Her fingers itched to caress the ivory keys. Granted, she never took lessons but she knew the melodies of a few songs and loved playing them.
“Do you play?” she asked hopefully, spinning around so she faced him.
“The, uh, piano?” he asked, furrowing his brow. He stepped over to the instrument using large, dramatic steps until his shins brushed the bench. His finger was resting on his bottom lip, his other hand holding his elbow, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he sat down, almost unsure, before taking off his leather gloves and resting them beside him. He paused, and without warning, began to play a song with the instrument, intimately, passionately. Keirah knew it was something he composed himself, and she couldn’t help herself as her body slowly slid on the bed behind him, listening to its haunting beauty.
Without realizing it, she shut her eyes, getting lost in the music. She had never felt as at peace as she did right now. It didn’t matter who he was or what he had done; all that mattered, at least for now, was the music.
When he finished, he opened his eyes. “That was beautiful,” she murmured to his hunched back.
“Do, hum … you play, princess?” he asked. His fingers began to caress the keys so gently they didn’t make a sound. The room remained silent as his gaze burned the piano.
Without answering, Keirah stood up from the bed and walked over to the instrument. She hesitated before she sat down next to him. He turned and stared at her profile, and with her index finger, she began to play the melody of “Deck the Halls.” She noticed an amused smile touch his face from the corner of her eye, but he did not laugh. As she played, Noir stood up and walked around the bench until he was right behind her. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body as he leaned his head forward so his chin gently grazed her shoulder. Her skin responded by dimpling with goosebumps. Without warning, his hands reached up and his fingers hung loosely as he ran them across her forearms. Keirah felt her breath hitch, and she missed a couple of notes due to the distraction. He remained silent rather than deliver his usual condescending remark, and when his fingers finally reached hers, he locked them around hers to prevent her from playing. She sat so still, trapped against his back, and at that moment, she was not afraid of anything.
“I guess that would be a … well, a no, wouldn’t it?” he asked against her neck.
She could do nothing but nod. He had yet to remove his mouth from her neck though he wasn’t kissing her. But her body was reacting as though he was, and she hated it.
“You need to get changed, my love,” Noir stated and abruptly pulled away from her so all she was left with was a new assortment of goosebumps, this set in response to the cold. She promptly ignored the disappointment in the pit of her stomach and glanced over her shoulder to look at him.
Noir had already stripped off his blazer and vest and was currently undoing the buttons to his long-sleeved shirt. What is he doing?
As though he felt her stare on him, he met her eyes with a knowing smile, his scars twitching. “Well, you don’t honestly think I’m, ah, that I’m going to sleep in that garb-ah, do ya?” he asked her, raising his brow. He slipped off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Keirah snapped her eyes back to the piano keys in order to avoid looking at him. He laughed. “Out of all the people in this place,” he continued, and Keirah could tell he was walking toward her, “I’d expect that you would have known what I am. Well, I’m human, of course. I just can’t die. Look at me.” She silently refused, her focus on the keys, not him. He smacked his tongue against his lips before leaning his head down and whispering, “I said, look. At. Me.”
Keirah swallowed and stood. She took a deep breath and turned, her eyes resting on his. He gave her his lazy, expectant stare, and she allowed her eyes to drop to his torso. He was fit, his body lean and tight. A couple of scars littered his flesh, and before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch one that was worse than the others. It looked deep and should have been fatal, given that it was where his heart should be. She gently traced it with her fingertip, following the vertical line. She watched with wide eyes as the hair on his chest stood erect.
“He tried to go for my, uh, well, my heart,” he said. “Too bad he, hum … forgot I didn’t have one.”
“But you do,” Keirah murmured, looking up at him. Her palm flattened over the scar. “I can feel it beating.”
He stared at her with emotion she didn't know how to interpret, though it might have resembled wonder if Keirah believed she could affect him in such a way. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and threw it off of him.
“Find clothes, princess,” he mumbled. “My clothes. Change. I’ll be … well, I’ll be in the next room.” With that, he all but stomped out the door and slammed it behind him.
Keirah watched him go, jumping when the door shut. She rubbed her arm but it didn’t hurt as much as her chest did. She walked over to the dresser to find something comfortable to change into. All of the clothes Noir had looked handmade, and she wondered if someone made them for him or if he did it himself. After minutes of searching, she decided on a black, red, and white t-shirt that fit relatively well and mirrored a Jackson Pollock painting. For pants, she found red pajama bottoms with black and white question marks, grabbing black socks with red toes to put on.
When she finished, she crawled into bed and put her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. Her raised arms caused the hem of the shirt to rise, exposing the lower half of her stomach, exposing her scar.
At that moment, Noir walked back into the room without knocking. He was still shirtless, but now wore plain black sweatpants. He paused when he noticed Keirah’s position on his bed. He didn’t look a
ngry; his eyes focused on her lower stomach, primarily on her new scar. She held her breath as he walked over to the foot of the bed and knelt over her. She was nervous but didn’t push him away. Much like Keirah had only moments ago, Noir traced her scar—his scar—delicately. And then, surprising her, perhaps surprising both of them, he leaned over and kissed it. It was neither chaste nor sloppy. Keirah let out a moan—a whimper, really—before she could stop herself. His eyes snapped to hers and he slowly removed his lips from her stomach so he could crawl over her. He leaned toward her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.
However, his lips teetered off course and moved to her ear. “I love you too, princess,” he whispered before rolling off of her.
Just as Keirah felt her body relax, Noir turned on his side and gently wrapped his arm around her waist. His cool fingers slipped under the shirt she was wearing—his shirt—until it came in contact with the scar again. She tensed under his touch. He tilted his head up and softly began to kiss the column of her throat. He started off tenderly, but as his lips moved lower, they parted, seeking out more of her skin as though it were some sort of cure for a disease he had. “You are, hum … mine, princess,” he murmured, his lips vibrating against her smooth skin. He inhaled her scent sharply. She giggled and felt him smile against her skin. “Are you tickle-ish, my love?” he asked her, his finger tracing a random pattern over her scar.
“No,” she said, but even she did not sound too convinced.
“I don’t like it when you, ah, lie to me,” he said, and then kissed the crevice of her throat as his fingers gripped her tighter. “Even though you look sooooo pretty doing it-ah.”
Keirah shifted so she faced him. His arm was still wrapped around her, except now it consumed the skin on her lower back. She looked up at him, trying to read his eyes.
“Why?” she asked him softly. “Why me? Why am I yours?”
“Fate, my sweet,” he said, taking in every detail her face provided him. He lifted his hand from her back and gently swept a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “We’re, uh, supposed to be together.” He brought his fingers back to her face and traced her firm jawline before moving to caress her bottom lip with the pad of his index finger. She closed her eyes and she felt the tip of his nose touch the bridge of hers. She sighed then, and was surprised it was one of contentment rather than resignation.
24
Reese
All Reese thought about for the rest of Friday night and the majority of Saturday was Ollo and what he had told her. She couldn’t decide whether or not to believe him, about if she was some oracle, if Gabe was the Devil’s son. It seemed ridiculous to consider that as truth, but every time she brushed it off as impossible, a glimmer of her most recent vision blacked everything else out and she couldn’t help but feel jolted into possibly believing him.
Who was Ollo, anyway? Besides a drunk jerk who dressed like a stylish forest-dweller and had no problem throwing her over his shoulder like he was some kind of Neanderthal? Dionysus immediately sprung to mind, but for some reason, Reese thought that was too easy. He mentioned being her trainer, but what did that even mean? Did the Oracle of Delphi have a trainer in Ancient Greece? She had taken Greek mythology as a freshman but couldn’t remember. He certainly wasn’t charming, unless one found snark, cynicism, and sarcasm swoon-worthy.
Saturday afternoon, her mother dragged Reese to an emergency facial, worried that her daughter’s uncharacteristic stress would cause permanent wrinkles.
“And everyone knows smile wrinkles are the lesser of two evils since you at least enjoyed something while getting them,” her mother said on the way over.
Normally, Reese would have rolled her eyes in amusement at her mother’s typical vanity, but she remembered her vision and couldn’t help but be grateful that her mother was not only alive but cared enough about her to schedule an impromptu facial with Cara—who didn’t even work on Saturdays—to make her feel better. Reese still wasn’t sure if her visions were a possible reality, but if they were, she promised herself she would do everything in her power to prevent her family’s deaths from happening.
When the pair got home at just after four in the afternoon, both feeling refreshed, Reese was surprised to see a familiar Rolls Royce parked in front of their home. There was only one person she knew that drove a Rolls Royce… Reese tilted her head forward to try and get a better view of the silhouette in the driver’s seat and nearly choked on her own saliva when she noticed the feathered hair and the long nose. What was Henry doing here?
“I’ll be right back, Mom,” Reese murmured as she stepped out of the car once her mom pulled into the garage.
“Is that a boy in there, darling?” Edina asked, eyes twinkling. “Do you know him? Did you meet him last night at the party? Oh sweetie, why didn’t you tell me?”
Reese ignored her as she headed to the driver’s side of the car. When Henry noticed her, he rolled down his window, a knowing smirk on his face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him. She didn’t try to mask the suspicion in her voice, even if it did make her sound ruder than she intended.
“I take it Ollo told you everything?” he asked, cocking a brow.
She rubbed her lips together, unsure how to proceed. On the one hand, she liked how direct Henry was being, as she wouldn’t have to ask a bunch of questions to get to the point. On the other, if Henry was also certain this was real, it meant that her vision was true, which meant that sometime in the future her family was going to die.
“He told me things,” she finally replied. “Doesn’t mean I understand what they mean.”
Henry’s smirk deepened. “Get in,” he said, jerking his chin to the passenger seat of his car.
Reese furrowed her brow. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Training.”
“I suppose I have no choice?”
“You always have a choice, Reese,” he said. “But I can assure you that attending this training session, and all the ones that follow, will be beneficial to you.” The implied “and your family” was left unspoken, but Reese heard it clearly.
After she ran into her house to tell her mother she’d be gone for a few hours—Edina seemed more excited about it than Reese was—she grabbed a light jacket and headed out the door. When she was in the passenger seat, she buckled herself in while Henry started the car and drove off.
“How did you get in here?” Reese asked. “It’s a gated community and I know my parents didn’t call the booth and put your name on the approved visitors list.”
Henry glanced at her with a look that seemed to say, “Please. Do you know who I am?”
Reese rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window. “Since I’m in the know now, can you please tell me how I know you?”
There was a heavy silence as Henry drove out of Onyx Court. Reese thought he wasn’t going to answer and as such, began to think of safe questions to fill the quiet. The only problem was Reese wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t safe anymore. When she finally found one—what was his favorite color?—she opened her mouth to speak, but without knowing, he interrupted her.
“We do know each other,” he said in his soft voice. His dark eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him so Reese could freely look at his profile without him noticing. There was another moment of silence and she could practically hear him attempt to formulate his next words. “Reese, what Ollo told you regarding your power is true. You have visions which will come to fruition at some point in the future. It was only a matter of awakening that power. Your importance in the upcoming war between angels and demons is not exaggerated. But let me also make something clear. Your power has traveled throughout time waiting for the appropriate point to awaken who you really are. You are always beautiful and almost always fair-haired, due to society’s misconception that darkness represents intelligence, red represents passion, and light represents purit
y and innocence.” His lips curled up for the briefest of smiles. “You will never go unnoticed because of your beauty, and yet no one will expect you to be as powerful as you are. In essence, you are hiding in plain sight.”
“Okay.” She paused, taking a deep breath. She had been reincarnated? How many times? Did that even exist? Did that mean she had past lives, or was it only her power that traveled through each body rather than her soul? “That still doesn’t explain how we know each other.”
“I’m what you might call a guardian,” Henry said, coming to a red light. “I ferry your power to the next body, the next soul, and at some point in your academic career, we might meet and our lives become intertwined.”
“So, if Ollo’s my trainer, does that mean I know him too? Because I don’t feel the same recognition of him as I do with you.”
“Ollo has never had any contact with the other Oracles of Delphi until you,” Henry replied. “After the original, Pythia, died, he refused to know any of them until her power was awakened.”
“Gabe knows who I am,” she said suddenly. “I don’t know how, but he knows who I am.”
Henry nodded as though this wasn’t news to him. “He always knows who you are,” he said. “Free will is important to God. He can’t stop the war from happening, but that doesn’t mean He can’t help, which is why He created you and your abilities. However, other supernatural beings know who you are and what you can do, and they’ll try and tempt you to choose their side. God can’t stop them and He can’t stop you. There have been times in the past where you have chosen Gabe, but because you weren’t awakened, it didn’t matter.”
“Can they tell that my powers are awakened?” she asked.
“No. That’s why it’s essential you be careful around him. Gabe is a master of seduction and you are an innocent. Once that purity is given, it can’t be rescinded. You have chosen your side.”
Awaken: Book 1 in The Dark Paradise Chronicles Page 19