by Calinda B
Ryan’s brow furrowed. “What kind of everything?”
Marie’s hands shot overhead. “About our struggles with being part Leviathan. About how we wished we hadn’t been born. About…everything.”
“Ho, boy.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. He patted the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you sit down. You’re zooming around the room like a crazed bird.”
She whirled to a stop in front of him. “No, Ryan. I have a plan.” Her breath caught at his handsome visage. Now’s not the time to get all caught up in lustful thoughts. She swiftly turned away.
“What is it? The plan, I mean?”
She stomped her foot. “I’m so frustrated. Mum turns into a hysterical bitch about William, and William becomes a right ripe asshole back at her. The whole thing…it makes me feel completely out of control. So…” She grinned.
Ryan sat up, no doubt alert to her sudden mood shift. “This can’t be good. Spill it.”
He took another pull off the beer bottle.
She crouched before him and placed her hands on his knees. “I thought, if I could control something inside of me, then I’d feel better. I just want to feel like I’m doing something. I’m willing to do anything. I can’t simply sit around and watch Mum weep and Dad brood.”
Ryan pulled his head back, looking ever so cautious. “What, exactly, does that mean?”
“Let’s head down to the Dearg-Due gravesite. I’m going to attempt a transformation into a Leviathan. Maybe I can retrieve rocks and trap the vampire. I want you there to spot me.”
Ryan bolted to his feet, nearly bowling her over. “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, Marie. It seems best to ask your parents. I mean, they’re familiar with the process, right? What if…What if something happened? I wouldn’t have a clue how to help you if something goes wrong.”
Marie pushed to standing. She stepped in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you see? That could be part of the problem. I’ve only ever attempted the transformation with William or Mum and Dad. That’s a lot of pressure. I’ve never gone and tried it with a neutral party.” Not that the gorgeous man in front of me is a neutral anything. Staring at his reluctance, she fluttered her eyelashes and pasted on her most winsome expression.
He caved, with a shake of his head.
“I’m going to regret this,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a slight smile.
On impulse, she kissed his cheek and gave him a brief hug. “Thank you. You’ve made my day.”
He kept his arms stiffly by his side. “Wait to thank me until we’re done.”
Thirty minutes later, at the grave site, the midday winds whipped Marie’s hair around her face. She stood at the shore, staring at the sunlit waves, second-guessing her decision with a knot-tight tummy. Maybe I should have thought this through. What if I fail…again?
Ryan stood at her side, his arms crossed tightly. His gaze fixed on her profile.
“Well?” he said. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan?” she said, absentmindedly, blinking. She turned to look at his chiseled features. “I guess the plan is I strip to my swimsuit and get on out there.” Her hand gestured toward the water beyond the waves. “And we see what happens.” She forced a smile.
“Are you sure about this?” His arms tightened across his chest until Marie thought he might choke the life out of himself.
She pivoted and stared earnestly into his eyes. “Yes, Lion, I’m sure. This is a solid plan. It will help me feel a measure of control in an out-of-control world.”
He shrugged. “Where do you want me?”
“Over there.” She pointed a few yards away. “By those standing stones.”
He nodded, shoved his hand in his coat pocket. ”Okay, then.” His legs remained glued in place.
“Okay, then. You walk over there, and I’ll strip to my swimsuit and get on in there.” She smiled, feeling all kinds of awkward.
Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He stood, planted in the sand, staring at her. His lips parted.
She gazed back at him, longing spilling from every pore.
“Right, then,” Ryan said, breaking the spell. He pivoted and marched toward the standing stones.
Marie sighed. She slipped off her sweats and studied the waves.
Let’s do this.
Without another thought, she waded into the water and powered through the surf.
Once she bobbed in deeper waters, Ryan called to her.
“You okay?”
She waved her hand overhead. “I’ve got this.”
Sunglasses shielded Ryan’s eyes. The sun glinted off the lenses, giving him the appearance of a lighthouse—of her lighthouse. She lay back in the throbbing current. Her thoughts turned to the mess she left back home. The scene with William storming from the house and driving his car away did a few loops in her head. Anger bubbled in her belly. Stop it. Don’t think of my twat of a brother. Think of becoming a Leviathan.
She pondered what it would be like to transform into a tentacled beast. It might not be so bad to have a few tentacles.
Nothing happened.
“I’m going to dive,” she yelled to Ryan.
“What?” He cupped his hand behind his ear.
“I’m going to dive,” she yelled back, louder this time.
He gave her a thumbs up.
She held her breath and dived beneath the surface. The water surged and swirled, pushing her around like seaweed. Being at the water’s whims freaked her out. She hated the feeling of being bossed around by the ocean. She popped to the surface.
Thoughts of defeat bobbed about her head. Don’t think that way. You’re not a failure. She sucked in a lungful of air, held it, and dived again. Once beneath the water, she tried to open her eyes. Blurry shapes danced before her stinging eyes. She quickly shut them, squeezing hard to force the pain away.
Something large bumped her leg.
With her mouth shut tight, she shrieked and rocketed toward the surface. Pivoting in a circle, she scanned the water for signs of pointy shark fins.
She searched for Ryan. She’d managed to drift away from the shore.
He stood with his hand over his eyes, staring hard in her direction, but he was a long way off.
Panic rose, pushing a wad of fear against the back of her throat. There’s something down there, I know there is. She began to bicycle her legs in frantic circles. Her hands frothed the water as she swirled in a circle.
“Did you see anything when I dove?” she yelled.
“What?” Again, he cupped his hand around his ear.
“Never mind,” she yelled. She took a couple of deep, calming breaths. “No dorsal fins. I probably hit a water-sogged piece of wood,” she muttered. “But what if it’s a shark? What if it’s circling me beneath the water, ready for a taste test?” The cold began to creep through her veins. Fear closed her windpipe, making it hard to breathe. Come on, you can do this.
Something bumped her leg again.
She screamed.
Ryan sprinted toward the surf.
“What is it?” he yelled.
“I don’t know,” she cried.
Whatever it was, it bumped her again.
She squealed like a stuck pig. “Get away, get away, get away. Don’t eat me. Don’t eat me. Don’t eat me, whatever you are.”
“I’m coming in,” Ryan called, dropping his sunglasses in the sand. He wriggled out of his coat and shirt and flung them away.
“No, don’t,” she screamed. “I’m getting out of here.”
Her arms began to pump, powering her toward the shore. A wave caught her, forcing her under the water. Completely disoriented, her limbs thrashed wildly. Somehow, she managed to surface, coughing and sputtering. Another wave crashed over her head, sending her tumbling against the sandy bottom. She let out a mouth-closed yelp. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die. Tears pressed against her eyes as she tumbled about. She crashed into
something solid. Another closed-mouth shriek forced all the air from her lungs.
Fingers closed around her arms, hefting her to the surface.
Oh, God. It’s Ryan. I don’t want him to see me like this. She wrenched her arms away from his grip. Her arms flailed, batting against him.
“Stop fighting with me,” he said, sharply.
Another wave knocked her over, but she didn’t go under. Water gushed around her.
Ryan heaved her to her feet. With his hands shoved under her armpits, he dragged her away from the surf. “Christ, woman, I thought you were going to drown. And you go all fighty with me. I’m trying to save you.”
She stumbled, getting her feet under her. “I can walk by myself.”
Shame clamped its icy fingers around her belly and heart.
“Fine,” he said, releasing her.
Instantly, she missed the contact. “I’m supposed to be the good twin,” she wailed, tears streaking down her face. Her hands balled into fists. “And I can’t even accomplish a simple transformation.” She stomped the sand. Then, she fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. “This was supposed to make me feel in control. Only I feel like more of a failure than usual,” she blubbered.
Ryan crouched next to her and put his arms around her.
His solid chest and muscles served as anchors, calming her.
“Easy, girl. You’re blurring all that’s happened into one bad story. Take the Leviathan transformation out of the mix. Your brother has stirred things up. Murders are happening again in Bally. And whether you can sprout tentacles or not won’t change things one bit.” He eased away from her, lifting his palms to her cheeks.
She laughed, despite her foul mood. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. I’m your Lion, remember?” His warm hands gripped her face.
She blinked away her tears and gazed into his eyes. Without another thought, she pressed her lips to his, letting years of longing have their way with her.
To her surprise, he didn’t pull away. Instead, a torrent of passion, matching her own, passed from his mouth into hers.
She moaned, letting her tongue slide between his lips. It met with his tongue, in slippery, swirling desire. Just as she was about to beg him to bend her over a rock and take her, he yanked away from the kiss, scooting back as if electrocuted.
“Shit,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What?” she said. She scrambled toward him on hands and knees. “Did I hurt you?”
He put his hand up to stop her. “Don’t. This was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she said, cringing from her pleading tone.
“Yes, Marie, it was. It was entirely inappropriate. I’m sorry.” He pushed to his feet, then held out his hand to her.
She refused to take it, stung by his rejection. Instead, she crossed her arms and hung her head. “It wasn’t a mistake, Ryan.” More tears began to fall again. “It wasn’t. I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
She risked a peek at his face.
He appeared slack-jawed and blinking. “It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again. I won’t let it.”
She crawled toward him, about to hang onto his pants leg like an orphan seeking a home. “Don’t say that. We both want it. You know that.”
“No, Marie. I’m so sorry. But, no.” He stooped to pick up his coat, shirt, and sunglasses, then pivoted and walked away, leaving her bereft, ashamed, and very much alone.
The shame she’d felt minutes ago about her failure to transform now mixed with confusion over the even greater shame she felt about yielding to her desires. In one reckless move, she managed to accomplish the one thing she feared the most—losing Ryan.
Chapter 15
Monday afternoon – Paul
Disheartened with yet another so-called creative teaching technique—this one called “brain-sketching”—Paul stared dully around the classroom. His mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it and asked himself why he thought brain-sketching a good idea for this band of miscreants. Finger painting might have been a better choice.
Today’s lesson plan revolved around the poet, Lord Alfred Tennyson, one of Paul’s personal favorites. He’d arranged the room so that the students could sit in clusters of six around a table. He would ask precise questions about Tennyson. The students would then sketch a drawing of what they understood and pass it to the student on his or her left. He had envisioned connections made in each mind, sparks flying and inspired discussion. Brilliant, right? Dead wrong.
Timmy and Tommy were goofing it up and laughing like idiots. Ciara’s brow had furrowed so much she looked like a pug. And Selene placed her head on the desk and presumably slept.
Timmy gave Paul a quick side-eye, then with the face of an innocent, bent his head over a piece of paper and drew something. He passed it to Tommy, who laughed uproariously.
“All right, all right, what is it about Tennyson you find so humorous?” Paul grumbled, stalking toward the two errant boys. His phone buzzed again.
“It’s nothing,” Tommy said, crumpling the paper and then shoving it under his thigh to sit on it.
“Hand it over,” Paul said, reaching out his hand.
“It’s really nothing, sir,” Timmy said. “You asked us a question about Queen Victoria’s regard of Tennyson,” he continued, sounding somewhat mature.
“And?” Paul said, withdrawing his hand.
Another buzz sounded from his pocket.
“And, I remember reading in our homework last night that the Queen wrote in her diary that she was ‘much soothed & pleased’ by Tennyson,” Timmy said. His face appeared utterly angelic.
Paul cocked his head. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. He actually read the assignment.
“Continue,” he said.
His phone continued to chime and buzz. What the heck is going on that someone needs to text me so much?
“That’s it,” Timmy said, glancing at his brother.
“So, show me the sketch.” Paul extended his hand again.
“It’s not very good,” Timmy said, reddening.
“Let me be the judge.” He wiggled his fingers.
Tommy slid down his seat, dislodging the paper. It fluttered to the floor.
As Paul stooped to retrieve it, Timmy shot a look at his brother and muttered, “You asshole.”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy said.
“Cut it out,” Paul said. He un-crumpled the paper, revealing a very crude image of a cock and balls being thrust into the backside of a female stick figure with a crown. “It’s not your best work,” Paul said, his gut boiling with anger. He re-crumpled the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “What do you say we let the headmaster ultimately decide?”
“I was only kidding,” Timmy said, shooting daggers at his brother.
Paul’s phone buzzed and chimed three more times.
“One second, I have to see what this is. It sounds like an emergency. Get back to your sketches.” He skewered Timmy with his gaze, then retrieved his phone.
As he scanned the screen, he felt the color drain from his face, until he was certain he looked like a ghost. Holy fuck. A slew of Google news alerts filled his text message window. And, eight texts and three voicemails had been left by Marie.
Bluebeard had killed again. Right here in Ballynagaul.
“Are you okay, Mr. Riordan?” Ciara asked.
He looked up from his phone. “Yes. I mean, no. Wait right here. And Timmy and Tommy, don’t you dare even breathe while I call the office.” He stabbed his forefinger in their direction.
His tone of voice must have been frightening as they sat straight up and bobbed their heads in assent.
He picked up the ancient phone com-line next to the door and pressed the numbers for the office.
Mrs. Xavier answered on the third ring.
“Yes,” she said, in her frail, dry-paper voice.
Paul stepped into the hal
l, letting the door close over the phone cord.
“Mrs. Xavier, I need you to come to watch my class. It’s an emergency.” He glanced through the tiny window in his classroom door. The students were whispering among one another. He tapped on the window and gave them an “I’m watching you” gesture.
They grew quiet and stared at the pieces of paper before them.
“What kind of emergency, dear?” she said.
Oh, good grief, don’t ask me stupid questions.
“The kind that requires you to come to watch over my class while I deal with it.” Silence fell onto his ears. “Will you come?”
“All right, dear, it will take me a second to tidy up my desk.”
He bashed his forehead against the wall. “Mrs. Xavier, you know I wouldn’t ask you to watch my class without good cause. And, I can assure you, I have a very good cause. There’s been a death.”
“Well, the dead don’t usually cause trouble, Mr. Riordan.”
He thumped his forehead against the wall a few more times. “Mrs. Xavier, please. I’m begging you.”
“I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Don’t be so dramatic. You young people always think the world will go up in flames if you don’t chase it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Xavier, thank you.” He pivoted, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thump. He let out a long sigh. Then, pushing away from the wall, he opened the door, hung up the phone and gave the class another menacing glare before resuming his post in the hall.
Next, he texted Marie. Who died?
She texted back instantly. Get over here and see for yourself.
He texted, I’m waiting for someone to come to watch my class. I’ll be there as soon as I can. He pocketed his phone and peeked inside the classroom. Surprisingly, the room was quiet. All heads were bent over their drawings.
Several minutes later, Anne scurried down the hall.
Paul blinked in surprise.
“Paul! What is it?” she said, concern in her eyes. “Mrs. Xavier sent me to watch your class.”