STAIN (My Soul To Wake Book 1) (4 page)

I lean in close to the bar, pressing my front in as the three glasses are pulled in. I balance the filled tumblers against each other, and against my body. Once I’m sure I’ve got a decent grip, I stand straight, bringing the clutched beers upright with me. I look down at the trio of drinks, with the middle one perfectly balanced between my breasts.

Then, I smugly acknowledge my handsome audience as he watches. I had fully expected his gaze to drift down to the exposed cleavage, but am surprised to find them intensely locked on my own eyes.

“Such talents,” he compliments me, without a hint of sarcasm. I feel my cheeks flush under the weight of his stare.

I can feel the sweat from the cold glasses beading and dripping down the smooth surfaces, dampening the lightweight material of my top. He graciously steps aside, allowing me plenty of space for my circus trick, all the while watching every movement intently, as if he were studying me.

I take one careful step forward, as softly as I can. The movement causes a wake in the liquid, splashing up against my skin. I clench my eyes tight in embarrassment as I feel the beer overflow.

The handsome stranger politely stifles his laugh. My table seems miles away, and I picture a further loss of drink with each step.

“Maybe just a
little
help after all?” I sheepishly concede.

With his own beer in one hand, he uses the other to settle on the middle glass centered on my chest. His fingers lightly scrape against the skin of my clavicle, and I feel his warmth as it fights against the coolness of the drink. The contradiction in temperatures confuses me, causing a swirl in my mind that throws me off kilter.

“You need only ask,” he takes hold of the drink and lifts it gingerly from where it was held in place. I feel the movement of the glass on fabric as the drink is freed, sliding against me in the process.

The feeling is intense, teasing, almost. I find myself taking a sharp breath as the sensation ends, with my admirer holding the beer as a trophy. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Could that look of triumph on his perfectly chiseled mouth be one of gloating?

“Lead the way,” he says.

I walk in front, returning to my table anything but empty handed. I feel his eyes on my backside as I bring us to my friends.

Court spots him immediately, and I see her lick her lips. Great. Without a doubt, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, not to mention he’s got a sinful touch from what I’ve felt so far, and here I am, leading him right into her clutches.

Courtney is a vixen of her own admission. She knows she’s a redheaded walking Barbie doll, and so do the guys. A part of me regrets the impending introduction, and thinks twice about it.

“Who do we have here?” she asks in an obscenely sweet voice as we reach them.

Regret or not, I’ll have to introduce everyone. I hand one of the beers in my hands to Nina, and the other to Court, although it does little if nothing to distract her. It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know the name of the walking God next to me.

“Right. Courtney, Nina… this is-” I turn to my new beer-carrying assistant and open my eyes wide, urging him to interject.

He laughs. “I’m Will.”

He sets our third drink down on the side of the booth near the empty bench and pushes it in to the far side. He sets his own half-empty glass down near us and places the palm of his hand on the small of my back, guiding me into the seat.

I slide in, moving down to the where he’s placed my beer. To my surprise, he follows me, seating himself next to me.

The booth is not especially large, and given that my jacket and purse are occupying the space near my end of it, it makes for an even tighter fit. I feel his thigh touch mine, the harshness of his denim is rough against the patch of bare skin between the hem of my skirt and the top of my boot.

Either one of us could shift, angle ourselves to break the contact, but neither of us does. I feel awkward, like a thirteen-year-old teenybopper sitting next to her middle school crush. I’m unsure of what to do, or say, next. So… I do the safest thing given my situation. I drink.

I’ve never had Blueberry beer before, but it’s surprisingly good. It keeps me occupied and more importantly keeps me from making a fool of myself by attempting a conversation with this man who is little more than a stranger, but whom I secretly pray won’t leave.

“You girls here for a visit?” He breaks the silence.

I’m not at all surprised that Court is the one to answer. “Sure are. Nina here’s planned some things out but we’d be forever grateful for some pointers.”

Will chuckles to himself. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Depends on what you’re looking for. The touristy stuff is pretty well laid out on all the maps. Is that what brings you here?”

I feel as if he’s asking me directly, his head cocked and eyes shifted in my direction. I blush and take another sip of my beer.

“We’re here for five days so we’d like to see it all. Although Leah is more interested in the boring stuff.” Court’s eyes dart back and forth between Will and me, curiously watching the body language between us as it adds even more combustion to the pressure cooker I’m feeling inside.

“Leah?” he asks me, softly speaking my name. “That’s a beautiful name. It fits you.”

Court sighs deep, conceding some imaginary lost cause. She doesn’t wallow long. Instead she takes solace in her beer, catching up with the rest of us. Nina’s almost done with hers, holding the back of her hand up to hide the burp that the hastily gulped beer solicits.

Will flags down our waitress, signaling another round by swirling his finger in a circle, pointing to all of our dwindling glasses.

“Are you from around here?” I scrounge up enough courage to join the conversation, although I fear Will may think I’m rude already for staying silent so long.

I see his finger twitch and tap the tumbler in his hand anxiously. “You could say that. Salem’s where my family comes from.”

I perk up. “Really? How far back? I’m reading a book about the founding families of Salem. Maybe yours is in it?”

“Possibly. I’ve heard there were some of us around back then. Trumbull. That’s my family name. This book you’re reading… are you interested in that kind of stuff?”

I shift my body to face him however I can with the limited space we have.

“I think so. I’ve never really given it much thought, but since we’ve gotten here, it feels… I don’t know- important somehow.”

I feel foolish at my over dramatization of an answer and bury my unease into the alcohol at hand, finishing off my glass to catch up with Nina’s empty one. The waitress appears on cue, clearing away the discarded ones and setting fresh drinks before each of us.

“This is so good!” Nina is already loosening up. At this rate, she may forget all about her iPad for the rest of the night. One can only hope.

“So do you make a habit of coming here alone?” I ask Will.

“Who says I’m alone?” he answers.

Of course. Why on earth would I think a drop-dead gorgeous guy like this would actually be
alone
? He’s probably got a girlfriend stuck in the ladies room, ready to reclaim him at any moment. The friendly local who simply helped a girl carry an extra drink, and stayed for some small talk waiting for the girlfriend to present herself and save him from boredom.

He can see my embarrassment at my assumption. “I was supposed to meet up with a buddy, but he bailed on me. His girl wasn’t feeling the whole third wheel thing.”

A surge of hope shows signs of life.
Third wheel
? Hmm… so he doesn’t have a plus one to bring along. This is promising.

“So what do you do?” I strive to get some more information. “Besides helping damsels in distress?”

Court and Nina have started their own little conversation, leaving Will and me to ourselves.

“Construction. You?” he returns the question.

I sip some foam from my beer. “I manage one of my family’s businesses. A coffee shop.”

“You--” he takes his thumb and moves carefully as I eye him suspiciously. He swipes the calloused skin of his finger pad across my lower lip. “-- have some foam on you.”

My breath hitches at his touch, and I freeze. His finger swipes back and forth, removing the froth. I feel my lips part, my eyes set like stone on him as he does whatever this is that he’s doing to me. My stomach flips.

The bench opposite us is awkwardly quiet all of a sudden and I glance over at Nina and Court with their mouths agape, watching us. I pull back bashfully.

There it is again! His lip twitched.

~*~

Two rounds of drinks and a meal later, we’d covered the basics. Hobbies, favorite movies, bands. His favorite food is pot roast and he owns a small house on the outskirts of the city.

Nina and Court have added to our conversation from time to time but mainly kept to themselves. I can see them begin to fade. The effects of the alcohol setting in. Reluctantly, I suggest we head back to the hotel.

The check is settled against my protests as Will insists on covering the tab. He helps me slip into my jacket, one arm and then the other, settling his large hands on my shoulders for a moment.

He insists once more, this time on walking us back to the hotel, although I’m sure the streets are more than safe. If it means spending more time with him, who am I to object?

Three steps into our trip, his hand snakes down to take hold of mine, interlacing his fingers through my own. I feel myself blushing again and shy away from locking eyes with him. He smirks yet again and I feel his hand lightly squeeze before his talented thumb goes to work on the heel of my hand, massaging my flesh.

My stomach flips again. This time it doesn’t stop. We don’t speak the rest of the walk. Well, not in words at least. Court and Nina wish him a good night as soon as we reach the protective awning of the hotel, disappearing inside, no doubt to gossip about my uncharacteristic public display of affection with a perfect stranger.

What do they know? Aren’t they the ones telling me time after time to put myself
out
there? To not be so picky or hard on guys?

“So…” I say.

He steps closer. I can feel his warm breath on me. Suddenly, I’m on fire. I feel the sweat break out in my palms, behind my knees, behind my neck.

“I guess this is good night.” His voice is husky. “I’d like to see you again. Is that okay?”

Does he even need to ask? “Sure. I’m only here for a few days though. When?”

I see him lick his lower lip. “Tomorrow afternoon? I can show you some of the older parts of town. The ones not on the beaten path.”

I would say yes if he told me he simply wanted to show me the local garbage route, right now.

“It’s a plan. Send me a text.” I offer.

He shakes his head back and forth. “Nah, I don’t text.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “How do you
not
text?”

He laughs under his breath, taking yet another step closer, with barely an inch dividing our space. “It’s so impersonal. So cold. Nobody takes the time to really
connect
anymore.”

He angles his head, aligning our lips perfectly. I close my eyes, waiting to feel more of his touch, to feel the softness of the lips I’d been staring at all night against mine. I can imagine how they must feel, how they must taste. I want to find out if I’m right.

I finally feel his touch. Not on my lips like I’d silently begged, but on my hand. It’s raised between us, those lips I’d craved planting themselves on the flattened area above my knuckles.

His lips are strong. They knead against the thin flesh of my hand, teasing me.

“I’ll
call
you in the morning.” His lips speak into my hand as he releases his kiss. His fingers are next to leave, with my hand no longer supported, so it drops. I search for a way to swallow, my mouth desperately dry. He walks a few paces backward.

“Sweet dreams, Leah.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I’m grateful the door to the girls’ room is shut tightly, as I’d half expected them to be waiting to lead an inquisition when I reached our rooms. Knowing that I’m not in the clear yet, I’m very careful to swipe my key card quietly and shut the door behind me as delicately as possible.

I nervously stand near the door listening for any signs of life from the other side. Two minutes pass. I think I’ve lucked out and they’re asleep.

I toss my purse and key onto the bureau and take efforts to unzip and remove my boots, letting them crumple in the corner of the small closet. Once changed into an oversized
Coffee Bean
t-shirt and face scrubbed clean, I brush my teeth and slip into the neatly made hotel bed.

I find myself replaying the moments of the night over and over. His smile, his lips, his words, his scent. Every piece of him that I can recall, to remember. I hadn’t gotten his age, but from the looks of him I’d say he was only a few years older than me. I wonder where he went to college,
if
he went to college.

I’ll bet he was an athlete. Maybe the star quarterback… he’s got the build for it. Does he even like sports? I wonder what his favorite team is.

I yawn, thinking these things to myself and turn on my side.

He seems gentle, honest. I’ll bet he’s great with pets. I can see him with a dog. A great big fluffy mutt that worships him.

His lips. I keep coming back to his lips. The roundness of them. The strength of them.

~*~

“Pray, pardon me, as I am beside myself.” His words are tortured. Pained. The heat of the ending day swelters between us, even in this late hour. My heavy petticoats and bonnet constrict me.

“God forbid me to talketh this way to a young maiden not of my household, and I will not reproach you for your purest response, but you aught know my intentions… my wishes.”

The insects of the night make themselves known, chirping and croaking around and among us in the depths of the wood. The clandestine meeting known to no other than they. I see the anguish on his face as he pleads.

“I fear I may not survive this. It will be the death of me. No sleep, nor food, nor prayer should heal this affliction my heart feels for thee.”

His weathered hands take mine and hold them to his chest. I begin to feel the beating of the heart he speaks of.

I have refused him before. Three times. I am not worthy of a man of his standing. My dowry is pitiful, my name wrought with shame. I cannot match these to him, for they will consume him as well.

“William. I beg of thee. Please do not tempt me with those things which are rightfully out of my reach. I cannot escape the desires of my heart, but I fear it will lay a bitter journey for us both should we follow.”

He shakes his head, raising my bare fingers to his mouth, placing gentle kisses on each. “Nay. Thy heart’s fancy is kindred to mine. I could scarce abandon this now that it is known.”

His russet eyes search mine, fearful of the refusal they have shown before.

“I fear we must be vigilant. Take great course to resist that which will surely be your ruin. I care not for myself, but only for what will undoubtedly cause you great distress in the future.” I make one last attempt.

His eyes turn hard, the long wispy blonde strands clumping together around his furrowed brow. “I care naught of the future. For no morrow will welcome me if thou willst not stand by my side.”

My argument is futile, for it is mere words, with my heart speaking against them. The true nature of what has grown between us has culminated into this very moment.

The very fact that we stand here, cloaked in shadow underneath the overgrown elm is testament enough to our sin. Two unwed peoples of dissimilar breeding expressing hidden love for one another is forbidden if not by doctrine alone, then by the fiery words given forth from the pulpit each Sabbath.

I fix my eyes on his lips, the pink, smooth flesh that taunts me. The illicit sin they beg of me. The sin I fear may be too powerful to refute. For all of the magick in this place, all of the magick in my depths, could not be enough to turn him away. With no spell of his own or old written words to trick my senses, he has used the purest magick of all to join my wishes to his.

I feel a warm tear steadily trail a path along my cheek. I can no longer refuse him. For the toll it weighs on us both is a death of its own.

“I fear I have no choice but to relent to the nature of its true course, the one which has bound me to you. For I could never love another….” I sob.

William’s voice hums deep within his throat, the emotion of this change of direction in my response for us pleasing him greatly. He gently swipes his finger to remove the wetness from my cheek. “Never shall a tear be shed in regret. I swear it to thee.”

The moist finger trails slowly to my lip, coating the salty moisture with it. His soft touch explores the delicate skin of my mouth, as if memorizing its shape, its texture. His arm wraps around my waist, the strength of him holding me closer. The fingertips abandon my smile to take hold of my chin, lifting to raise my sights to his eyes.

“Amelia, thou hath my heart, my soul, my body
,”
he swears his fealty. “By all that is good, by all this is not, they will forever be yours.”

With his words, the lips that spoke them now lower to my own. They touch, sparking an unknown flame between our flesh. I find myself crying out to the heavens as his kiss takes hold, my first kiss.

Wetness grows as we coat the other in fire, our mouths sliding over one another’s, finally claiming each other. The hand on my chin releases, snaking back, fingers splaying through the wild hair loosely held by my failing bonnet. His strong grip caresses the back of my neck, guiding me as his kiss deepens and I feel his lips part.

A fright takes hold as his body, his tongue seeks mine, stroking against me. I feel myself flutter, but his grip holds tightly. I trust him to hold me upright as the temptation to fall is ever present.

He tastes of everything, yet nothing at the same time. I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and match my own breaths to his. His lips knead at mine taking them with him to every new pose of which our kisses evolve.

Deep groans vibrate from him into me. This is what he’s wanted, what he’s tried relentlessly for… what I’ve struggled to accept. He is mine. He has said it.

And now I will show him that I am his.

~*~

“Please don’t make me do this, guys.” I try one more time to wiggle my way out of this.

The three-story cream house before us has storefront windows on either side of the front door. Neon bulbs elongate and twist into the letters announcing the craft of the inhabitants.

Psychic.

Nina is already turning the handle of the wooden door, my pleas obviously falling on deaf ears. Once inside, an aging carpet sprawls out over the creaking floors. Victorian chairs are situated against the walls, marking the room as a waiting area of sorts. A young lady in colorful clothing with many jingling bracelets and charms asks us to kindly wait our turn as we don’t have appointments.

I look at Nina and arch my eyebrow. Really? How on earth did she manage to miss this? I’m sure she’ll put it on her mental list of reminders of things to do differently if she ever returns to Salem.

She’s fumbling through her satchel looking for her iPad when a middle-aged woman of similar coloring to the younger girl joins us.

“Good morning, ladies. I am Simza. Please follow me.” She extends her hand to Courtney, who obediently follows, anxious to let the entertainment begin.

There is a water cooler in the corner, calling to my parched throat. I lift the little blue lever and fill my cup, offering one to Nina who declines.

“Very generous girl,” a frail voice calls from the doorway.

A tiny lady with hunched shoulders, using a shiny wooden cane to balance herself, stands watching me. “Come with Mamia Magda.”

I lock stares with Nina, wondering how I drew the lucky stick for the next reading. I take one sip of the cool drink and follow the small woman as she leads me further back into the historic building, to a large room with colorful rugs and tapestries welcomes us. True to every movie I’ve ever seen, a round table with scarlet cloth and two chairs is centered.

Mamia Magda painstakingly lowers herself into the larger of the chairs, with mismatched cushions propping her forward. The only thing missing from our scene is a crystal ball. I watch as she smoothes out the wrinkles from the red covering before her, showing respect to the space. I somehow know better than to dishonor her table with my cup, so I deposit it in the corner trashcan before sitting.

I straighten my shoulders, facing her, and place my hands palm down on the table surface. She eyes them.

“You know the ways. You have done this before, yes?”

I follow her gaze down to my own hands. “Um… no, I--”

I hastily withdraw my hands into my lap, embarrassed. Mamia Magda uses her sinewy fingers to meticulously lay out several ornately decorated cards between us. One row, then another. I watch as she changes directions and places one card opposite side up.

My eyes dart up where I find her studying my reaction to the misplaced card. I fight against the urge to correct her.

What am I thinking? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. Who am I to challenge an experienced gypsy such as her?

“You sense something, yes?” Magda seems to be aware of my unease.

Part of me wants to tell her. Part wants to keep my mouth shut to keep from sounding like an idiot.

“Speak, child,” she urges me.

“The card. It’s wrong,” I assert but regret it almost immediately.

Her eyes are piercing despite their age. I can see the wisdom and experience behind them, looking at this girl who knows nothing of her talents yet is extolling criticism so freely.

Her thin lips tilt up. “It is.” She nods to herself, collecting her cards and piling them again. Her hand then disappears into the deep pockets of her skirts, withdrawing a small black velvet drawstring satchel.

Colorful stones are shaken loose, dropping onto the table in random spots. “Tell me what you see,” she asks.

I stare at her in shock. What’s she talking about? How am I to read rocks?

“I- I don’t know how,” I state the obvious.

She reaches forward and takes hold of my hand. “Don’t you? Mamia Magda sees. Even if you do not yet see.”

I don’t imagine she’ll give up easily, so I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, not needing to look at the gems. I wouldn’t know what they symbolize anyway. I clear my mind, moving the stones and cards from my thoughts.

“Night,” I barely register my own voice as I hear it. “A long night. No, wait… slumber. A long sleep. Slowly waking.”

“Yes…” Mamia Magda reassures me.

I swallow hard, not knowing where my next words will come from. “Half of a whole. A piece left behind, still sleeping, waiting.”

Her hands are both grasped to mine now, resting on the fabric of the tablecloth. I feel a vibration

“There are three. There can only be three, yet one seeks to take from the others.” My words are strong, familiar as an old bedtime tale yet foreign as a strange language. I hear rattling. “He lies in wait, biding his time for the connection to be made.”

The table now moves, shaking and tilting back and forth fast enough for the legs to create a rhythm on the floor below. Mamia Magda’s hands hold tight. The noise the table makes grows louder.

“Finish,” she commands.

I fight against my better judgment to open my eyes and see what is causing the disturbance.

“Power. It lies dormant. Waiting. Always waiting.”

Thuds sound one after another as the stones fall to the ground, having been shaken violently from the table. The table itself does not calm, instead the teetering becomes harsh, hitting against my thighs with each shifting from side to side.

“The truth sings, calls to bring the two halves together. The song is old, but it will be heard again.”

I push away from the table, my chair falling over as I jump up.

Mamia Magda is breathing hard, her hair loosened and strewn about as if she’d been shaken hard. Her eyes are white, missing all traces of color, rolled back.

“You will remember the song,” she blindly avows.

I trip over my feet as I walk backward, escaping the room but not willing to turn my back on the old woman as she sits in her trance.

What the hell’s just happened?
What kind of place is this?

Nina and Court are both in the waiting area, finished with their sessions, chatting about the details.

“We’re leaving. Now.” I don’t wait for a response. I leave the front door open behind me and gulp the fresh air in my lungs as soon as I reach the street.

~*~

The phone rings on the bedside table, startling me as I’m still shaken up from my encounter with Mamia Magda earlier.