Cate Tiernan: Seeker

I couldn’t; there was just no way. Tonight was all about Morgan and me. Morgan, who trusted me. Trusted me not to hurt her. Oh, no. No. I pulled my weight back onto my arm. Morgan’s eyes were wide. “Did I—is something wrong?”

The insecurity in her voice made me jerk my head down to look at her. “No!” I said strongly, holding her closer. “No, of course not.”

“Then what’s going on?” She snuggled closer to me, and once again I had to fight a vicious battle between the top half of my body and the lower half. The top half, which included my barely functioning brain, won, but only by a minuscule margin.

I sighed. “Morgan—I’m wondering. . is this the best idea?” The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out, feeling like I should be awarded a big medal for valor and chivalry.

“Whaaat?” she said, drawing back from me. I felt her aura, her vibrations instantly change. They had been incredibly strong, vibrant, involved, excited. Now they were cooling, stilling rapidly as she retreated. No, no, no, I wanted to howl.

Talk fast, Niall. “Morgan,” I said, still trying to hold her close. “Listen—I want to make love with you practically more than I want to breathe at this very moment. But is this really the best thing? I mean, I’m leaving tomorrow; I don’t know when I’ll be back; I don’t know what I’ll find or what will happen to me while I’m there. I’m saying my future is somewhat up in the air at the moment. It seems—irresponsible for me to make love with you now.”

“Irresponsible?”

I winced at the cool tone in her voice, and she pulled away from me physically and emotionally while I swore to myself in four different languages, including Middle Gaelic, which isn’t easy.

“Love, this is killing me,” I said with complete sincerity. “I want this very much. And here you are, giving yourself to me, and it’s our first time, and it’s incredible. I absolutely don’t want to hurt you. But—what if something happens that keeps us apart? I don’t want to do this just once and then forget about it. I want our first time to be only the first in a long, long series of us being together.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Wait—stop.” She had scooted to the side of the bed, and the sight of her bare, beautiful back, stiff with anger and hurt, pained me almost as much as the athame she had once sent into my neck a long time ago. “Please, Morgan, wait. Hear me out.” I lunged and grabbed her around the hips, my cheek pressed against her back as she tried unsuccessfully to get up. “I’m dying to sleep with you!” I said. “I’m mad with wanting you! There’s nothing more that I want than to be in bed, making love, all night long!”

“Except to be responsible.”

“Morgan! Just think for a minute. Do you really think that the night before I leave for Goddess knows how long is the best time for us to sleep together for the first time? I mean, if we had been sleeping together for a while, this would be fine. But this is our first time together. It should be perfect. It shouldn’t be part of a good-bye.”

Her jaw barely moved. “In your opinion.” Icicles dripping. She took advantage of my momentary appalled shock to leap out of bed. I scrambled after her, wondering where the hell I had thrown my underwear. In seconds she had pulled on her camisole with the lace and was reaching for her sweater and socks.

“Morgan, Morgan,” I said, looking desperately around the floor. “This isn’t my decision alone. We need to agree on this. I mean, I hate this. All I want to do is make love with you. But can you try to see where I’m coming from, a little bit?”

The look she gave me was distant, and my heart dropped down to my bare knees. She shrugged and sat on the bed to pull on her socks. “I don’t get it. You want to, but you won’t. You love me, but you won’t sleep with me. I feel like a leper.”

I ditched all thoughts of underwear and pulled on my jeans, being careful with the zipper. “Morgan, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my whole life. And I’m ecstatic that you feel ready for us to go to bed. That’s what I’ve wanted ever since I met you.” I knelt down in front of her and looked up into her eyes, her shuttered face. “I love you. I’m so attracted to you. Please believe me. I mean, you felt it. This has nothing, nothing to do with how much I want you or how sexy you are. It’s just about timing.”

“Timing.” She sighed and lifted her long hair away from her neck, then let it fall. I thought of it spread over my sheets, over my pillows, and began to think I was completely mad.

“Morgan, I don’t want to hurt you. But either option is bad: if I ask you to wait for the next time we can be together, it hurts your feelings and makes you think I don’t want you. Which isn’t true. But if we go to bed tonight and then something happens and we’re apart for a long time, would that be better?”

She glanced away, seeming for the first time to examine the state of my room. Great. I saw her gaze trace the bare floor, the gutted candles on my desk, the boxes still unpacked. With no warning, an image of Cal Blaire’s bedroom came to mind. I had seen it when I’d been in Selene’s house, undoing spells, setting other spells. Cal’s bedroom had been huge, quirky, and romantic. His bed had been an antique, hung with mosquito netting. Everything in that room had been beautiful, luxurious, interesting, seductive. Feeling bleak, I rested my face on my outstretched arm, wondering if I had just buggered things up in a really huge way.

“Morgan, please,” I said. When I raised my head, she was examining me calmly, and I damned her ability to rein in her strongest emotions. I covered her hand with one of mine, and she didn’t flinch. “Please don’t be angry with me or hurt. Please don’t leave like this. Please let’s have tonight be a good thing for both of us. I don’t want this to be the moment we both look back on while I’m gone.”

My words seemed to reach her, and I felt the sharp edges of her anger soften. A tiny bit. Then her face crumpled, and she said, “Hunter, you’re leaving tomorrow. I want us to be joined together in a real way before you go. Here I am, I’m seventeen”—she threw out her arm in a disgusted, disbelieving gesture—“and you’re nineteen and can be with anyone you want, and I want you to feel connected to me!” Her voice broke and she clenched her fists, looking embarrassed and angry with herself for seeming weak.

Her words completely threw me, and I gaped at her. One of my favorite Tynan Flannery quotes came back to me: “Women are impossible, witches are worse, and women who are powerful witches are going to be the death of me.”

I reached up and enfolded her in my arms, resting my head against her chest just under her chin. “Love, we are joined together in a real way because I love you, and you love me. We’re mùirn beatha dàns ,” I said quietly. “You say I can be with anyone I want—well, you can be with anyone you want, too. I choose to be with you. Who do you choose?” I tilted my head back and looked up at her.

“I choose you,” she muttered ungraciously, and I wanted to laugh but had enough sense left not to.

“I feel connected to you,” I went on. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with us having sex. Not that I don’t want to have sex!” I added hastily. “I definitely want to have sex! Make no mistake! The second I come back, I’m going to jump you, wherever you are, and initiate you into the sublime joys of womanhood.”

She burst into laughter, and I grinned. “My mother will be thrilled,” she said dryly.

“Me too,” I promised with intense sincerity, and she laughed again.