Of Love and Darkness (2 page)

Gavin gave the sweater a look that indicated he could not quite understand why it was her favorite, and then he prodded the wounds on her arm. Blood poured freely from four long slashes, dripping off the tips of her fingers and onto her now-ruined coat.

“I doubt he had rabies,” he muttered as he continued to inspect the wounds. “And I just rescued you, so you’re welcome.”

Sydney gaped at him. “Rescued me? Rescued me? You ran like a cat when somebody pulls out the water hose, you moron. There were two dogs. One jumped out at me and the other attacked him. They started fighting and I somehow got caught in the crosshairs. We should probably get the hell out of here though, because only one of them is dead back there. The other one might decide to come back and attack us.”

“He won’t,” Gavin said with an odd inflection in his voice. “But you’re right, there are others, and the scent of blood will bring them relatively quickly. Especially your blood. What
are
you?”

To Sydney’s utter horror, he leaned close to her wounded arm and sniffed, like a dog checking out another dog’s scent.

She gave her arm another jerk, but Gavin held her in a death grip. “What are you doing?” she asked as he bent closer still and then . . .
licked
her wounded arm.

“Ew!”

Gavin’s eyes glazed over, as if he had fallen under some sort of spell. He blinked dazedly for a few heartbeats, his hands grasping her arm in a tight enough grip she thought the appendage might go numb. And then he bent his head and licked her wounds again, this time with earnest, licking over and over, as if he intended to clean up every last bit of blood. By the time the entire area was cleansed of all traces of blood, he was panting heavily and his eyes were still glazed. Sydney couldn’t be certain, but the bulge in his pants seemed to have gotten larger.

“Gross,” she snapped. “Now I have to get a rabies
and
a tetanus shot. I hate shots. Can you get hepatitis this way? I bet you have some sort of sexually transmitted disease, and now you’ve given it to me.”

“No disease,” he managed between pants and licks.

“I’m supposed to take your word for it? Get away from me.” She twisted her shoulder, and slid her arm out of a grasp that had gone slack. She was startled that she only experienced a twinge of pain, and when she looked down at her arm, her eyes widened as she realized the four long gashes were no longer bleeding, and in fact, appeared to actually be healing right before her eyes.

“What the . . .?”

“Chala,” Gavin whispered, his eyes still glazed and—were they glowing? It was the third time that evening she thought she saw glowing eyes. Sydney glanced up at the darkened, cloudy sky and wondered if it wasn’t some trick of the lights in downtown Detroit.

“Chala,” he whispered again.

Sydney gave him a cross look. “My name isn’t Chala.”

“You are a Chala,” Gavin said. The glazed look faded from his eyes, and while they still appeared to glow faintly, they had taken on a far more calculating look. Despite her current situation, she couldn’t help but think he had lovely silver-blue eyes.

“And you are my mate.”

While she mulled over the color of his eyes, he sat on the cold pavement and pulled her into his arms. She was so startled, she didn’t struggle out of his grasp quickly enough and ended up in his lap. As he stroked her cheek and murmured suggestions that involved hot, sweaty sex, Sydney stared up into an unshaven face covered with scratch marks that looked unnervingly like the ones even now fading from her arm. There was also a wound on his neck that appeared as if an animal had bitten him.

“Where were you when those dogs were fighting?” she asked as she struggled to climb out of his lap. It felt good there, too good. His body temperature was elevated, as if he had a fever, and she hadn’t been crazy a short time ago when she imagined the bulge behind his zipper had gotten bigger. She could feel it pressing into her backside, and it was certainly . . .
large
. Sydney’s experience with sex was embarrassingly limited, but she was knowledgeable enough to know that size really does matter.

“I
was
one of those dogs,” Gavin said as calmly as if he were explaining that two plus two really did equal four. “The one that won, obviously.”

Sydney shot out of his lap with a speed that surprised even her. “Oh my God, I just let a crazy man lick my arm. Gross, gross, gross!” She tugged her shredded coat sleeve back over her arm. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel nearly as cold as she should, given the fact the outside temperature hovered in the teens.

“It wouldn’t be gross if I wasn’t crazy?”

Sydney’s arm shot out, palm facing him. “Stop. Do not come any closer. I am going to get into my car now, and go straight to the nearest hospital. Do not follow me. If you do, I’ll tell the hospital personnel that you’re stalking me.”

She slowly backed toward her car, and gave a little shriek when she nearly tripped over the body lying on the ground next to her car.

A human
body
?

“Ahh! That’s a dead man! A man! He’s dead! A dead man! Ahh!”

In the blink of an eye, Gavin stood in front of her, wrapping his arms around her back and shoving her face into his chest to muffle the sound of her shrieks.

“If you keep screaming like that, even that one will wake up and come after us. Damn, woman, can’t you shut up?”

Sydney abruptly stopped shrieking and gave him a shove. He relinquished his hold and let her out of his arms. She jabbed a finger at the dead man at her feet.

“There was a dog there five minutes ago.”

Gavin nodded. “We always revert back to human form when we die.” He shrugged, as if his words had little consequence, whereas Sydney stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head.

“
We
?”

“Yeah.
We
.”

“You are absolutely crazy. And I’m still talking to you. Which means I have, apparently, gone crazy too. Probably you infected me with your craziness when you licked all the blood off my arm. Which, by the way, was really, really gross.” She wrapped her arms around herself, dimly aware that she felt no pain whatsoever anymore. As if she had never gotten slashed by a dog that was no longer there.

“I’m not crazy, although I’ll admit I do not normally go around licking people’s wounds. Unlike most of my kind, I no longer have a taste for human flesh. But your blood smelled so . . . tantalizing, I suppose is as good a word as any. I couldn’t help myself. And now I know why. You’re my mate. You are the vessel through which I will repopulate the world with Light Ones. We’ll finally be able to get the Rakshasa population under control, if not destroy them entirely.” He spread his arms wide and grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Sydney paused for two heartbeats, and then, without saying a word, she turned and strode to her car, wrenched the door open and climbed into the driver’s seat. She dug around in her purse until she found her keys, shoved the car key into the ignition, and cranked.

Nothing.

“Shit.”

Chapter 3

“I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Sydney sat in the passenger seat of the Camaro, her hand firmly wrapped around the
oh shit
bar, as Gavin drove the rear-wheel drive vehicle as if there weren’t a thick, slushy coating of snow covering the roads. Every time he came to an intersection where the light was red, the car fishtailed dangerously as he pressed the brakes at the last minute and slammed the car into neutral, and then fishtailed again because he pressed the gas too quickly when the light turned green. He did not appear at all concerned that they might go careening into a light pole or another car at any moment.

Unfortunately, she’d had little choice but to get into the car with him. When her vehicle wouldn’t start, she had demanded he let her use his phone so she could call her stepbrother to come rescue her. He had willingly handed over the phone, but as soon as William picked up, Gavin snatched it back and began talking in his low, gravelly voice. Sydney caught snatches of words like “shifter” and “mate” and “Chala,” none of which made any sense to
her. A heated argument seemed to have ensued after Gavin said the word “Chala,” and after a few minutes of fervent discussion, he abruptly handed the phone to her. When she put it to her ear, she heard her stepbrother’s voice reluctantly tell her to let Gavin bring her home.

“What about my stuff?” she had demanded, talking into the phone.

“What stuff?” Gavin had answered. When she explained that her supplies from the display booth at today’s event were still sitting on a cart in the lobby of the convention center, he had made an impatient sound and then drove the block to the building, only to be annoyed anew when her equipment did not fit in his sexy yet compact sports car.

“I could have told you,” she had commented when he began cursing.

“Why didn’t you?” had been his reply, before he shoved her into the passenger seat of his car, locked the doors, took both sets of keys, and then grabbed the cart and dragged it, presumably, back to her sedan. She had spared a brief moment to contemplate climbing out of the car and hurrying into the building to seek help from someone—anyone—but before she could fully formulate a plan, he was back, sliding into the driver’s seat and cranking the powerful engine.

“You’re fast,” she had commented, not hiding the frustration in her voice.

“Not always,” he had replied, and she was pretty sure she understood the sexual implication behind the words. At least, she hoped that was what he meant, and she hadn’t turned into a hussy who read into everything the man said to her.

“Do you and William know each other?” she asked now, in an effort to distract herself from his frightful driving.

His phone announced their next turn in a sexy, female, computer-generated voice, and Gavin twisted the wheel, causing the car to skid across three lanes of traffic in order to turn left at the next intersection.

“Who’s William?”

Sydney ground her teeth and resisted the urge to growl. “My brother. Stepbrother, actually. The guy you talked to on the phone earlier. Which I guess answers my question, since you don’t even know his name.”

“He isn’t your stepbrother, and no, I don’t know him. Although, I’m not surprised that he comes with the package. Chala are always assigned their own personal Fate, to watch over them until they find a mate.”

The car slid through the next intersection and Sydney held her breath as they nearly sideswiped a pickup truck doing the same thing. Gavin didn’t even break a sweat.

“William is too my stepbrother,” Sydney replied once they were safely through the intersection and her heart dislodged itself from her throat. She ignored the rest of what he said, since none of it made any sense anyway. “His mother married my father when I was thirteen. They both died when I was sixteen.”

“How?”

“Home invasion. Criminals who meant to break in and steal our TV and stuff, but when they discovered my dad and stepmom were home, they killed them and then took off, without even taking anything.”

“Where were you when this happened?”

“William and I had gone on vacation with one of his aunts. I didn’t have any family except my dad, so my stepmom’s family felt sorry for me and let me tag along on their family vacations sometimes.”

Gavin snorted. “Feeling sorry for you isn’t why they took you away at that time, Chala. I’m sure they knew, or at least suspected the attack was coming, and they knew they had to protect you.”

“That’s ridiculous. It was a home invasion. I still have the police report. And why do you keep calling me ‘Chala’? What does that mean, anyway?”

“The word loosely translates to mean Mother Goddess. Chala are very rare. Always have been. I wasn’t even sure there were any more left in the world, since the Rakshasa have been so intent upon destroying you.”

“Mother Goddess?” Sydney laughed, slightly hysterically. “You think I’m some kind of goddess? I’m flattered and all, but come on. I’m about as ordinary as you can get.”

“A disguise,” Gavin said dismissively. “I suppose your Fate should be congratulated for that. He’s done a decent job of hiding you from the Rakshasa—from even me, and I’m a Light One. Well, a cursed Rakshasa, but it’s all the same in the end. How old are you, anyway?”

“None of your business.” Sydney sniffed. “What’s a Rakshasa?”

“Shape-shifter. The dark kind. The ones who like to snack on human bones.”

She shook her head. “Shape-shifters aren’t real.”

Gavin reached across the seat and squeezed her thigh.

Sydney smacked his hand away.

“You feel pretty real to me.”

“You’re an idiot. I’m not a Rakshasa.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re a Light One. Actually, you’re a Chala. The rarest type of Light One.”

“I’m not a shape-shifter. I’m not a Chala or whatever you call it, either. I’m just Sydney Amataya, ordinary girl.”

“Regardless of what you look like, you are far from ordinary, Chala.”

Sydney’s lips thinned as she absorbed the insult in his words. She
looked
ordinary, did she?

“In fact,” Gavin continued, oblivious to her annoyance, “you are really quite extraordinary. Quite possibly the only one of your kind left in the world. And I get to claim you as my mate.” He sounded almost giddy at the prospect, as if he’d won a life-size stuffed animal at the fair.

“I’m not a prize,” Sydney muttered darkly. “And you can’t just claim me.”

“Sure I can. Is this the house?”

Sydney looked out the windshield and nodded.

Gavin whipped the car into the driveway of the basic brick ranch home she shared with William, and skidded to a stop inches from the closed garage door. Ignoring her completely, he unfolded his tall frame from the driver’s seat, strode up the steps of the front porch, and headed toward the door.

Sydney climbed out of the car and hurried after him. “Wait,” she said, recalling that he actually did not know her stepbrother. “I should probably warn you—”

The words were out a scant second too late.

The front door opened and a hulking figure loomed behind the glass storm door. Gavin’s steps faltered as his gaze swept over the closely cropped blond hair, smooth-shaven face, narrowed brown eyes, and rigid set of the thick jaw. His gaze travelled south, to take in the muumuu decorated with cabbage-sized flowers visible under a hot-pink satin robe. Thick, tree trunk-like, shaven legs could be seen under the hem of the muumuu, and feet that were at least a size thirteen were shoved into clearly custom-made hot-pink high-heeled slippers with a fluffy, pink ball of puff on top.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gavin said as he turned to face Sydney, with an accusatory look in his eye. “
This
is your Fate?”

“
This
is my stepbrother,” she retorted as she shoved past him, jerked open the storm door and allowed herself to be pulled into a hug by the huge man on the other side.

“Fuck me.” Gavin stepped inside behind her.

The muumuu-wearing linebacker sniffed and said, “You aren’t my type. I prefer less . . .
animalistic
men, thank you very much.”

“Fates,” Gavin spat the word as he stepped into a small living room done in earth tones. An overstuffed couch in an olive-green color sat against the opposite wall. A large flat-screen television hung from one wall, and a muted taupe easy chair was positioned directly in front of it. The coffee table was blond wood and had several artsy books laying on it. Gavin recognized the prints hanging on the walls as scenes from northern Michigan. A variety of framed photos lined the mantel above the fireplace. He suspected they were all of Sydney, in various stages of her life. He had a curious urge to walk over to inspect the pictures.

“Shoes off,” the linebacker barked, and Gavin was annoyed when his limbs froze for several heartbeats. Once the spell wore off, he toed off his hiking boots and kicked them into the general direction of the front door.

Damned Fates. It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with one of them. How could he forget they had their own version of magic, and they weren’t afraid to use it? Based on his terse phone conversation, this one knew who Gavin was.
What
he was.

“Where the hell is the liquor in this place? I need a frigging drink.” Behind him, he heard the linebacker—William, his Chala called him—mutter something that sounded like, “How could you, Sydney?”

Gavin had no doubt the Fate referred to him. He decided to give them some space to talk, and walked through the living room into a bright, almost painfully white kitchen. Before he could open the first cupboard, he spotted the liquor cabinet through an arched doorway leading into a formal dining room done in medium blue tones and more pale wood. The liquor cabinet looked like an antique, at least by human standards. Gavin wondered if the Fate had purchased this bit of furniture when it had been new. Considering the lack of Chala to protect these days, he doubted there were very many Fates being created, so William was probably pretty damn old.

Gavin flipped over a cut crystal lowball glass, splashed a hefty amount of whiskey into it, then took a generous swallow. With a sigh, he leaned back against the cabinet and contemplated his current situation.

I found my mate
.

He’d given up on the possibility seventy-five years ago, when he had been unable to save the last Chala he even knew existed. She had already been mated when he met her, but had been carrying a babe in her womb when she died. Gavin had teamed up with her mate to protect her, secretly hoping the babe would be a female, and likely, another Chala. If so, he’d planned to claim her instantly. He was a patient shifter, when necessary. He could wait twenty years or so to bed his mate. He had already waited over a hundred years by that point, what was another twenty?

But he and the Chala’s mate had been unable to fend off the wave of Rakshasa who were determined to kill her. When she died, not surprisingly her mate had been devastated, and as was an unfortunate common practice of Light Ones who lost their mates, had impaled himself with one of the attackers’ knives, leaving Gavin to fend for himself among twenty-eight bloodthirsty Rakshasa. He had barely escaped alive. Because he, too, was a Rakshasa, that should have given him some measure of protection, but he was cursed, forced to protect humanity against his evil brothers and sisters, and they knew it.

Despite the fact that it had been seventy-five years ago, Gavin could easily bring up a mental image of the Chala he hadn’t been able to save. She had been a dark, sultry beauty with large, heavy breasts and—before she’d begun to grow thick with child—a narrow waist and wide hips. An hourglass figure. Exactly Gavin’s type. He had hoped her child would turn out just like her.

Sydney and William stepped into the kitchen at that moment, and Gavin watched as William walked over to the refrigerator while Sydney followed in his wake, chattering away, firing questions at him like bullets.

This
was his mate?

She was a blond. He had never really been attracted to blonds. She had big blue eyes, cornflower blue, which lent her an air of distinct innocence that certainly did not attract Gavin. He preferred women who knew their way around a bedroom, and if her personality was any indication, he had his doubts Sydney had ever even spent the night with a man. He should be excited over the prospect of being her first time, but in truth, he didn’t want to be a trainer. He wanted a woman in his bed who took control, who wasn’t afraid to ask for—hell, demand—what she wanted.

Sydney was tall and skinny, too, which was another strike against her. The last Chala he met had been short and curvy. When he indulged with human women, they were always dark, short, and curvy. Sydney was a frigging Disney Princess. The Ice Queen bit was
not
his thing.

But she
was
a Chala, quite possibly one of the last in the world. Her blood had smelled so intoxicating, he had been singularly unable to resist having a taste. At that moment, when he had lapped at her wound as if it were the tastiest bit of chocolate he had ever eaten, he would have gladly laid her on the cold, slushy ground and taken her right then and there. At least while the taste of her blood had been on his tongue, she had been the most beautiful, the most attractive, the most tempting female he had ever come across.
Ever
.

Her blood still sang through his veins, now mingled with his own, but the whiskey burned the taste from his tongue, enabling him to see his situation through less rose-colored lenses. And what a situation it was.

A Chala who, until a short time ago, apparently had no earthly idea what she was. Based on the way she chattered at her Fate, she still didn’t believe what Gavin had told her back in downtown Detroit.

A Chala who was, unfortunately, not really all that attractive, to him, at least. And a Chala who, instead of having a mate to protect her, had her own personal Fate who was a cross-dressing male the size of a Mack Truck. A Fate who had made it clear on the phone earlier that he was none too pleased to learn Gavin had claimed her.

Well, too damn bad.
Gavin drained the rest of the whiskey in the glass. Sydney was his. He was nearly four hundred years old. He’d spent more than half his life living with a curse that had him convinced his own damn kind was the enemy. He battled his own personal internal demons, because the curse hadn’t taken away any of his Rakshasa urges, it simply overrode them with the need to protect humanity. He, more than anyone, understood how damn lucky a normal Light One had it.