Twisted Fate: Of Love And Darkness Part 15

"He's cursed," William said. "Prim's work. The Chala has claimed him."

Gavin bristled. "If anyone is doing any claiming, it's me," he growled.

"Later, sweetie," Sydney said, as she patted his chest and then wandered off to inspect the rest of the house.

William glanced at Killian when Gavin smirked, but the other Fate did no more than glower at the cursed Rakshasa.

Killian's home had a dining room with a long plank wood table that seated twenty. They would have to eat in s.h.i.+fts, which was fine, since Gavin required no less than ten s.h.i.+fters to be on guard duty round the clock.

Killian insisted he didn't cook, which left William to resume cooking duties in his stead.

Killian also insisted upon sitting at the head of his own table, and he glared at Gavin, who was seated at the other end, gnawing on a rib bone.

"What I don't get is why all these Light Ones are blindly following you, when you used to go around killing them all the time."

Gavin lifted a bottle of beer to his lips and steadily regarded the Fate. "Actually, it was their Chala I used to go around killing, as well as the humans they pledged to protect. And I did that for less than two hundred years. For the past two hundred, I've been killing my own kind, on behalf of the Light Ones. By my own estimation, I've killed ten times as many Rakshasa as Chala."

An uncomfortable quiet fell over the table, as everyone digested this information. Sydney had a.s.sumed everyone knew about Gavin's past, but the absolute silence told her otherwise. She wondered how this would affect the dynamics of the pack.

"Where's Jack?" someone asked, breaking the silence. "I haven't seen him or Nate since we left Michigan."

Sydney swiftly glanced at Gavin, who furrowed his brow and scanned the room, as if he expected Jack and Nate to suddenly appear. When they didn't, he pushed away from the table and strode through the doorway leading into the main great room, where the group tended to gather when they weren't patrolling or practicing or sleeping.

He returned a short time later, looking grim. "Send out search parties. Retrace our tracks. Find them. I want to know where they are, and I want to know if we were followed."

The news came two days later, and it wasn't good. "Jack's dead," Quentin reported sadly. "I found his body in a ditch by the side of the road, near the last exit before we entered Arkansas. No sign of Nate."

Or Brandon, Sydney thought, as fear and guilt wrapped oily fingers around her heart and squeezed. She choked on a sob and rushed from the room. Gavin hunted her down less than half an hour later. He found her tucked into a crevice created by two large rocks that had at some point collapsed against each other on the bank of the wide, shallow stream running through Killian's yard.

"You okay?" he asked, as he stepped onto one of the rocks and then lightly leaped to the ground in front of her. He was more like a cat than a dog. All sleek and s.e.xy and light on his feet. And he was about to hate her.

"I screwed up, Gavin." She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.

"What now?"

"I killed Jack and probably Nate."

"How?" He sounded confused.

She turned her head to the side. "I captured Brandon, back at Hilde's. He was there, fighting. I came up behind him, ambushed him, and dragged him back to the house and locked him in the cellar."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h. No wonder I couldn't find him. I've had scouts looking for him since that night he betrayed us, and you've had him hidden right under our noses this whole time?"

"I suppose it's good there are so many s.h.i.+fters around. Otherwise you might have noticed his scent."

"I don't think we see this in quite the same light."

She burst into tears. She couldn't help it. The idea that Gavin might hate her, combined with knowing she was responsible for Jack's death, was too overwhelming. She should have told Gavin when she captured Brandon. Maybe Gavin wouldn't have killed him, like she'd feared.

Gavin went perfectly still. He was so still he might not have even been breathing. "How do you figure you killed Jack and possibly Nate?"

"I a.s.signed them to bring Brandon with us, after everyone else left. I didn't know what else to do."

"Telling me comes to mind," Gavin said deliberately. "And if not that, at least you could have a.s.signed two more seasoned s.h.i.+fters to such a dangerous task." He dropped to the ground next to her. "I'm going to take a wild guess here and say you thought you could redeem him."

Sydney sniffled and nodded.

Gavin shook his head. "I killed his mother. More than two hundred years ago. That's a lot of built-up anger and resentment."

Sydney's tears dried instantly as she widened her eyes and stared up at him. "You really did kill his mother?"

"Probably. He said she was a Chala."

"He wouldn't tell me. I questioned him, after I captured him, and he refused to admit it. I heard part of your conversation out in the woods, enough to be suspicious, but I still wanted him to confirm it. And he wouldn't."

"That's interesting. He could have easily driven a wedge between us during that conversation, I'd wager."

"No, he couldn't. No one can. Ever." Her words were infused with the confidence she held. If there was one thing she was absolutely sure of in this world, it was her love for Gavin. His past was just that-the past. All they could do now was move forward. Together.

"Fa-Christ, Sydney," he said, catching himself before he accidentally summoned William. "You should have told me."

"You would have killed him."

"Probably. But then he'd be dead and Jack and Nate would still be alive, now, wouldn't they?"

A sob escaped her, and Gavin sighed, pulling her into his arms.

"I can't make the guilt go away, Sydney. If I knew how to do that, I'd certainly be a happier individual. The only thing you can do is manage it, and not let it eat you alive." He paused, and considered. "No doubt he managed to find out where we were headed, before he killed them. Who knew a Light One could go so d.a.m.n bad?"

"He's just angry," Sydney said. "And frustrated. He kept telling me that you and I couldn't be mates, because you're a Rakshasa. I know he was just saying it because he was trying to get under my skin."

Sydney felt his entire body go rigid, but before she could read anything into the subtle body language, he stood and helped her to her feet.

"We aren't running this time. Instead, we stay, and we fight. And you are going to keep yourself out of harm's way, do you understand me?"

"You don't really believe I'll do that, do you?"

The next day, Gavin summoned the entire pack out to a clearing in the far back corner of Killian's property, on the other side of the stream. Considering it was still fairly chilly, he heard a great deal of grumbling as they waded through the water to get to their new practice area. Yet within minutes, the group stood in perfect rows, facing him, arms at their sides, eyes focused, minds cleared. He'd made an army, and he was d.a.m.n proud. Now he only hoped what they'd learned about him would not destroy what he'd built. It couldn't. Sydney's life was at stake.

"I called you here today for two reasons." He caught a glimpse of Sydney out of the corner of his eye. Instead of standing in line with the rest, she'd stepped away, to stand at his side. He couldn't decide if he liked that or if it would only make things worse. If Sydney couldn't follow his direction, why would anyone else?

"First, to tell you that yes, what you heard at dinner last night is correct. I am a Rakshasa." He heard the rustling, saw the doubt in some of their eyes.

"Was," he corrected. "I was cursed two hundred years ago. And I have been fighting your fight ever since. Our fight. I am just as much a Light One as any of you, now. I am your Chala's mate. I think that alone speaks volumes."

No sound. No more rustling. Was that good or bad?

"Second, Jack and likely Nate died because the Rakshasa caught up to them. They are still chasing us, and it is very likely they have become aware of our whereabouts." There was a great deal of rustling at that, and low murmurs. Lots of quiet cursing.

"This means they are probably on their way to us right now. To kill our Chala." He pointed his finger at Sydney. She blushed under the unexpected attention, but he got the result he wanted: a whole lot of angry Light Ones. n.o.body messed with their Chala.

"We can run again, and they'll catch up with us again at some other point. Or we can stay and fight." He paced before them, gathering his thoughts, weighing his words, trying to determine how best to persuade them to possibly lay down their lives to protect the Chala. His mate. No matter what William or Brandon said.

"I personally think we should fight. This is what you've been training for, and I believe you are there. We can do this. But we can only do it as a team. So everyone is in, or everyone is out, and we pack up and run again. What will it be?"

A near-deafening roar exploded from the pack of s.h.i.+fters, as they waved their fists in the air, stomped their feet, and shouted out their plans to carry on contests to see who could kill the most Rakshasa. Everyone had fierce looks on their faces. They wanted to fight. They would fight. And win.

He hoped.

Killian burst into the clearing, shouting at them, and the trash talking and cheering slowly died down to a low roar.

"Fates be d.a.m.ned!" the redheaded Fate yelled as he too pumped a fist in the air. "Not only are you going to lead those b.l.o.o.d.y Rakshasa right to us, you're going to wake the dead, too! Don't any of you understand the idea of quiet? Fates!"

After Killian left, training began. They divided into groups: those who still needed training on certain areas, those who were most integral for strategy planning, and those who were best at recon. It was time for war.

Chapter 13.

Killian O'Connelly was a crotchety old Fate. Considering how long he'd been a Fate, and given the number of Chala he'd lost over the years, he figured it was no wonder. He was pretty sure he had the record for most Chala lost. Why the head Fate continued to a.s.sign him charges was beyond him.

And that d.a.m.ned Rakshasa who was even now whipping those Light Ones into a frenzy was the main reason for Killian's terrible lack of success. That man had a track record better than any other s.h.i.+fter in history. And now he was living in Killian's house. Living in Killian's house, eating Killian's food, and sleeping with possibly the last Chala in the world.

It was unnatural and a huge slap in the face to him and his kind. He didn't understand how William tolerated it, but then again, William had always been a little strange. Any man who preferred dresses to pants and could belt out a Whitney Houston song like he could, well, that wasn't natural, either.

It was easy, really, to make his excuses to leave. William knew his feelings on the subject of Gavin Rowan. h.e.l.l, everybody did, now. He'd hoped his little proclamation at dinner the night before would have stirred them to rebel against him, but no-o-o. Those d.a.m.ned Light Ones followed him blindly. Sometimes, Killian thought they deserved to be wiped out.

They were all so d.a.m.ned stupid when it came to love. To a last one, they were all born with the hope of meeting and mating with a Chala, despite the fact that even at the height of the population, there had probably only been a few hundred Chala in the entire world. Not very good odds.

Killian packed a small bag, so as not to pique anyone's curiosity. He told William he was going down to New Orleans for a few days. Killian liked his privacy and the quiet-and a Rakshasa-free life. William had the gall to point out that he wasn't going to find much quiet in New Orleans, but he didn't question Killian and he didn't stop him. William could feel the tension as well as anybody.

He drove to Little Rock and hopped on a plane, landing in New Orleans a few short hours later, where he exited and then boarded another plane, a much smaller one. Puddle jumpers, they were called. Well, all that blue outside his window was one h.e.l.l of a puddle, but the humans were masters of understatement.

The puddle jumper landed on an island that was barely fifty miles in radius. From there, Killian was transported via golf cart to a marina, where he boarded a st.u.r.dy, sleek, white yacht and then sat on the deck, sipping pia coladas while the captain guided him toward his final destination.

His final destination was an island even smaller than the first. This one was barely five miles in diameter. There were only six occupants on this island at any given time.

It was paradise.

Killian stepped off the yacht wearing a floral print s.h.i.+rt, baggy khaki shorts, and leather flip-flops. He paused, took a deep, cleansing breath of the salty air, and then turned at the sound of bare feet slapping against the boards of the dock.

She'd come to meet him at the marina. She was a stunning woman, with chestnut hair the sun had streaked with red. She had wide, almond-shaped dark eyes, high, plump cheekbones, and big, lush, red lips. She wore a red sarong with a muted black design scrawled across the front. The hem of the dress whipped around her legs as she walked, barefoot, up the dock to meet him.

Killian opened his arms wide and waited for her to walk into his hug.

"Prim! How lovely to see you again!"

Chapter 14.

"It sure is more relaxed without Killian here."

William frowned at the s.h.i.+fter who made the comment.

Gavin grinned and leaned back in his chair far enough that the front two legs came off the ground. About a dozen of the pack was left, sitting around the dining room table, eating the last of their dinner and chatting amicably. Killian had been gone for two days. Two days without bl.u.s.tery complaints and grumbled comments.

Two days without a Rakshasa attack.

"Killian can be a bit . . ." William struggled to find the right word.

"Abrasive?" Sydney suggested. She sat at Gavin's side, right where he wanted her. Well, he wanted her under him-or maybe sitting astride him-but that would come later. During waking hours, he wanted her within grabbing distance at all times. She'd made a rude comment earlier in the day about not even getting five minutes of peace to go to the bathroom, but he didn't care.

The enemy was out there, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd let them get to his woman.

"That's as good a word as any," Gavin agreed. "My suggestions were far less polite."

William's frown deepened. Gavin could feel the Fate's unease, which ratcheted up his own sense of foreboding. Something was about to happen, he could feel it. Make that double, since for some unfathomable reason, he had developed a strange connection with Sydney's Fate.

It was weird, really, that Gavin could summon him, and that Gavin could sense William's emotions. When he'd broached the subject with the Fate, he'd come up against a solid brick wall.

"I have no idea why you have the ability to summon me," William said coldly. "And I can tell you right now that you certainly do not share my emotions. If you did, you would not still be here. Release her, so she can see to her duty as a Chala."

Gavin had ended that particular conversation by walking away. Why did the Fate think it was so d.a.m.n easy? Surely he'd fallen in love somewhere along the line of his incredibly long life. Fates were human before they died and were bestowed the honor of eternal life. Hadn't he loved in his human life? And if not then, surely there had been someone in the past thousand years. He fawned over Quentin enough to make Gavin suspicious.

And if nothing else, he loved Sydney. That much was abundantly clear. William doted on her as if she were his own child. Gavin had made a snide comment about the fact that if he actually did let her go, William would have to let her go too, and the pained look that had come across the Fate's face made him almost wish he could take it back.

Love. What a f.u.c.ked-up emotion.

It was never convenient, although, in truth, this was the first time Gavin had ever come close to feeling anything like this for another being, so he supposed he couldn't really say that for certain. But still. It would have been so much more convenient if Sydney had come into contact with one of these other a.s.sholes first. Any one of them would . . .

. . . never work for her. Sydney was determined and independent and sweet and innocent and stubborn and not afraid to dish out whatever he served and so freaking amazing in bed . . .

Yeah, Gavin couldn't give that up if his life depended on it. She was his, d.a.m.n it. His to love and cherish and all that s.h.i.+t mates did together. So nature didn't necessarily agree with them being together, so what? With him at their helm and Sydney by his side, they'd figure out a way to destroy the Rakshasa and preserve the Light Ones.

There was no other option.

The sound of car tires crunching on gravel caused him to drop the front legs of his chair to the ground with a thud. Gavin stood, snagged Sydney's hand and dragged her along with him while he went to go see who the h.e.l.l had found their location out in the middle of the mountains of central Arkansas. He wasn't worried it was the Rakshasa. They certainly wouldn't pull up to the front door and announce themselves.

"Killian's back," Sydney commented, as they watched the Fate climb out of his all-wheel-drive station wagon.