No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) by Stasia Morineaux

Author:Stasia Morineaux [Morineaux, Stasia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Apocrypha Athenaeum
Published: 2014-09-30T05:00:00+00:00

I didn’t wake until well after night had fallen. I was on my bed, still fully clothed, minus my boots. A blanket was draped over me, tucked around me. I was cozy and didn’t want to move, but then memories came crashing around my peaceful cocoon and unwrapped my sense of safe haven.

And my stomach was protesting over my abandonment of food for the day.

I wondered how much trouble I was in for my screw up today, for my semi-fail of a cull. Everything had been going just fine…until it just wasn’t anymore. What was wrong with me?

I swung my feet to the floor, I should eat.

My bedroom door was wide open. Obviously Gideon had brought me home after, I can only assume, I passed out again. What was that about?

I left my room, padding on bare feet to the kitchen. And I froze in my tracks as I rounded the corner from the hallway. Gideon was in my kitchen. Pouring soup. It smelled like Hot and Sour, hopefully from Red Dragon. The spicy-tangy scent wafted through the apartment towards me, making my mouth water—Gideon might be adding to that as well. Shut up brain!

Without turning he acknowledged my arrival in the room. “Well, hello there…how are you feeling?” He turned to face me, deftly sliding a bowl of the soup across the counter to me, not a drop escaped. “Try to eat something.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel—why was it that every little thing he did captivated me this way? He came around the counter, passing me without a glance, and went in to the living room.

I had questions. And he had said at the café that there was more to tell me, he just couldn’t do it there and then.

He stopped at the window, my favorite window in the apartment, which overlooked the courtyard and the little gas lamp that burned so charmingly throughout the night. He was staring out, an intense look plastered across his face.

I liked it better when he wore that playful smile, as rare as it was, that played at the edges of his lips. This was the look that always set my mind to a frantic, scrambling, state of anxiety. The kind that made it hard to breathe right…in a bad way.

I settled myself into the far corner of the couch, furthest away from that window, and him. I blew softly on my soup, it was steaming and I had no desire to burn my tongue. I tucked my feet under me and sipped at my dinner. I was cold. Still chilled through.

The apartment was so quiet…except for the rain. I could hear it pelting against the glass panes occasionally as we stayed fixed in our spots, not speaking. I normally had some sort of sound permeating the place, sometimes even when I slept, either the television or my music. It was a comfort/loneliness thing. Sometimes the quiet got to be too much for me. I’d think in excess without the distraction of the sounds.

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