Light Shadows Read online

  Light Shadows

  Copyright © 2014 by S.L. Jennings.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover: Steph’s Cover Design

  Editor: Tracey Buckalew

  Proofreader: Kara Hildebrand

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Also by S.L. Jennings

  dedication

  before.

  one.

  two.

  three.

  four.

  five.

  six.

  seven.

  eight.

  nine.

  ten.

  eleven.

  twelve.

  thirteen.

  fourteen.

  fifteen.

  sixteen.

  seventeen.

  eighteen.

  nineteen.

  twenty.

  twenty-one.

  twenty-two.

  twenty-three.

  twenty-four.

  twenty-five.

  twenty-six.

  twenty-seven.

  twenty-eight.

  twenty-nine.

  thirty.

  thirty-one.

  thirty-two.

  thirty-three.

  thirty-four.

  thirty-five.

  thirty-six.

  thirty-seven.

  thirty-eight.

  epilogue.

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  Also by S.L. Jennings

  The Dark Light Series

  Dark Light, Book One

  The Dark Prince, Book Two

  Nikolai, Novella

  Taint

  Fear of Falling

  “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

  ~Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

  IT WAS TIME.

  The revolting stench of hatred was palpable, even from miles away. I could taste it in the frigid air and feel it rake against my skin like a bristled, dark cloak. They were coming for us. We knew this day would come, but sitting here, waiting for death to arrive…that was a trick not even I had mastered after centuries on this earth.

  I clutched my bulging belly and said a silent prayer, asking for courage and strength for my beloved Alexander, the Dark Warlock who’d captured my heart and freed my soul. His large, tanned hand covered mine as he wrapped his arms around me to cradle our daughter, safely tucked away in my womb. I wanted to remember us like this…together, safe and deliriously in love. I looked up into his endless blue eyes and smiled through the pain of losing him.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll never leave you—either of you. We are a family. We’re in this together. This is forever, Nat.”

  I nodded, but my agreement was steeped in deception. It had to be. There was no way he and I could stay together; there was no chance of survival for either of us. He knew it too; he just wanted to believe in the illusion of second chances. Those didn’t exist for us. Not after what we’d done.

  “Alex,” I whispered hoarsely. “We don’t have much time, my love. You have to go. You have to leave now or you won’t have a chance.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he said without a second thought. His voice was thick and rough, emotion squeezing the air from his chest. “I will wait here with you and our daughter. There’s no way I’m abandoning my family. You’re all I have.”

  He squeezed my body tighter, burying his head into the crook of my neck. I could feel him breaking, and I did my best to absorb his agony. It was too much for him to shoulder alone, and too strong for me to contain along with my own. This was it. This was our final goodbye.

  As if on cue, his partner hurried in, a frantic look painting his usually stoic face. “Alexander, it’s time. We must go now.” He looked between the two of us, the frown between his brows urgently conveying that trouble was near.

  Alex’s head snapped up even faster than my trained eyes could follow. “No,” he growled, baring his teeth. “I am not leaving her. I will not leave my family.”

  His dearest friend, his brother in arms, shook his head in exasperation before his ocean blue eyes locked with mine. He knew there was no way to dissuade Alex from doing what he thought was right. He was stubborn to a fault—a quality I both loved and loathed about him.

  “Alex…” I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Baby, you need to go. If you’re here when they arrive, there will be no chance of survival for you. For us.” I pressed his hand into my belly, hoping to tap into his rationality. “I can talk to them. I can make them understand. If there is any chance of mercy, you cannot be here.”

  Falling to his knees, Alex cradled my belly. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces as he pressed his cheek to my stomach and closed his eyes. I couldn’t fight the tears and let them spill down my face freely. He began to hum a tune I knew well. Since the day we found out we would be parents, he had sung this melody to my belly every night, his silken voice coaxing me and our little one into slumber. It would be the last time I’d ever feel the richness of his voice enrapture me in harmonic euphoria.

  A low hiss resounded behind us. “There’s too many. If we don’t leave now, there will surely be bloodshed. We’ll split up. I can lead them farther north while you trail them east. The Light wouldn’t dare go south.”

  “And the Dark?” he mumbles against me.

  “We’ll have to hope like hell that they’re too pompous and arrogant to give enough of a damn to look.”

  I could see the uncertainty he hoped to conceal wash across his almost angelic features before he turned toward the front door. He was beautiful, as was my Alexander. They all were. The Dark were believed to be the Divine’s most perfect creation. Where we, the Light, encompassed humility and compassion, they exuded beauty and mystique. Together, we were balance and harmony. Apart? Treachery, chaos and envy.

  “Wait!” I called out, surprising myself. Alex was on his feet immediately, ready to attack. “Wait,” I repeated in a gentler tone. Softly, I touched the bare skin of Alex’s arm, soothing him instantly. “I just need to speak with him before he goes,” I said, nodding at Dorian.

  As always, Dorian regarded me cautiously, yet he nodded courteously before following me to the next room. There was something I needed to say, and Alex could not know. He wouldn’t understand.

  “You’re brave and loyal,” I began. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, and you struggle with the idea of Alexander and me, but I want to thank you for keeping our secret. And for being a true friend to Alex…and to me.”

  Dorian nodded, his pale blue eyes guarded. “Yes, of course.”

  “There is strength in you. And goodness. More than you can ever know. And that’s why…that’s why I need your bravery and loyalty again. This child will restore our world to how it should be. The Dark and the Light, brothers and sisters—children of the Divine. We will be as we once were. But she will need you.”

  “She?”<
br />
  “Yes,” I smiled down at my swollen belly. “Our little girl. She will save us all. And you have been chosen to help her.”

  “And why do you say that? Why me?” he frowned, unconvinced. I could see the reluctance in those gleaming blue eyes—not fully believing my words, but wise enough not to discount them.

  “It is your destiny, Dorian. She is your destiny.”

  EIGHT BREATHS.

  Seventeen beats of his heart.

  Five blinks of his icy, blue eyes.

  That’s the first glimpse I get of my father—a beautiful ghost standing in the doorway—as he finds me…hair a disheveled mess and clothing amiss. He looks at Dorian, shirtless, frozen in mid-movement, his hand still extended toward me. Furrowing his brow, my father’s eyes narrow as if he’s just now seeing me. Seeing Dorian. Seeing us together.

  His lips twitch infinitesimally—almost too fast to catch. That should have been a sign. That tiny detail should have told me what would happen in my next breath.

  He turns his head sharply to me then extends a single finger in accusation. Wisps of grey vapors swirl over his hand before he brings that finger to his lips just as his blue eyes flash with stark white.

  “Shhh.”

  And he’s gone from the doorframe, dissolved in a blur of color and smoke. I’m almost too stunned and confused to react. The crack of hard flesh on wood and shattering glass crunching under heavy footfalls starts to pull me back. Reality crashes down and, smothering the shock, I turn in time to see Alexander, my father, with his hand around Dorian’s neck, slamming him against the wall with enough force to cause plaster to rain down from the ceiling. He pulls Dorian forward, just inches from his murderous sneer and the bloodlust paling his eyes, before slamming him back into the cracked wall. Dorian paws at Alexander’s grasp around his neck, his own glare icy with violent fury.

  Stop it. Make him stop.

  I can clearly hear the voice whispering in my head, but I can’t move or talk or think. It’s like I’m watching a slow motion sequence, drifting farther and farther from each frame. Away from a truth that my heart and mind refuse to accept.

  Minutes ago, I was sprawled out on the couch, kissing and touching the man I love. The man that my father is currently trying to kill. The father that’s supposed to be dead.

  Now I’m bearing witness to their demise—the demise of their friendship and potentially their lives—and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Wake up, Gabriella. This isn’t a dream. Stop this. He’ll kill him.

  I hear the voice again, realizing that it is not my own. Not the usual tap on my conscience whenever I engage in my usual questionable behavior. But I know this voice. I don’t know how, but I do.

  It sinks in further, making me aware of the rumbling of the floor beneath my feet and of shouted curses as the two men fight to gain control of the other. I gasp for air as the tang of blood and sweat floods my lungs.

  “Stop.” They don’t hear me in their struggle over the ground, rolling through shards of jagged glass and splintered wood. “Stop!”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dorian growls, after wrestling Alexander’s grip from his neck.

  “You!” Alexander spits, landing a punch to Dorian’s temple. I grimace at the impact, and my knees buckle as vertigo seizes my equilibrium. The taste of metal fills my mouth. “You sick fuck. She’s my daughter. My daughter! I told you to protect her, not fu—,”

  Dorian retaliates with a blow to Alexander’s chest that steals his breath before he utters his next words. “It’s not like that! You know I wouldn’t betray you! You know I would never hurt her.”

  I watch through hazy eyes as their skin begins to fall away like ash, their human guises dissipating into black vapors. I can see Dorian trying to hang onto his humanity, trying to remain the man that I love and know—the man that doesn’t want to hurt his friend. But with every blow, he becomes more of what he is—a monster, a demon. Dark to his core.

  Dorian gets the upper hand and straddles Alexander, pinning his arms to his sides. Sweat-slicked black hair falls into opaque eyes and a gash across his bare chest seeps with a tar-black substance. I grimace, because seeing him hurt—knowing he’s in pain—devastates me. I feel his pain too. I feel the way his lungs burn with exertion. I feel the throbbing at his temple, causing his vision to be splotched with fuzzy, black dots. And I can feel the pain in his boney knuckles as he squeezes my father’s wrists until the bones crack threatening to break.

  I clutch my own chest, rubbing the sting of a phantom abrasion. When I pull my hand away, it’s sticky and wet with fresh, warm blood—blood from a wound that shouldn’t be there. That wasn’t there just seconds ago.

  “Dorian,” I whisper hoarsely, still staring in disbelief at my hand covered in the dark, thick substance. This can’t happen. It’s physically impossible. I can feel him—our link ensured that—but this…this isn’t supposed to happen. “Dorian. Dorian, please.”

  Somehow—some way—he hears me, or maybe he just feels my discontent. Maybe he can smell fear tingeing the air, because in a blink, he’s beside me, grasping my blood-stained hand.

  “Gabriella, what…” He gently pulls down the shirt where it sticks to the gash across my chest, his pale eyes narrowed in bewilderment. They’re lighter now—wild with violence and carnage. As he assesses the deep cut stretching from my collarbone down to my left breast, his eyes warm and thaw, returning to that brilliant blue that hypnotized me the very moment I saw him exactly a year ago in a crowded nightclub. Those eyes have mesmerized me every day since.

  He takes my cheeks into his spiny hands, searching my face with that same penetrating gaze. I can feel his dread—can almost predict his next words as if they are my own. “What happened? Little girl, what happened to you?”

  Trembling, my vision dimmed with sudden exhaustion, I touch a bloody finger to the broken flesh marring his once beautiful skin.

  Dorian’s arms are the last thing I feel…before I feel nothing at all.

  I’M NOT A stranger to confusion. I know it well—probably better than I know myself. But that’s not saying much, is it? Not when the life you thought you had was never really yours at all. It was an illusion. A rouse. Your family, your friends … all designed to uphold the perfect picture of a normal, young woman. And there’s not one damn thing normal about me.

  Me and confusion? First name basis.

  Still, this is something else—something more. Something that you can’t really prepare yourself for. Cataclysmic-status shit that makes you feel like you’re on one of those Tilt-a-Whirls at a carnival.

  No, the Funhouse. My life is definitely more like a Funhouse. Mirrors that distort your image of reality, reflecting something that you don’t even recognize. Once you get just a tiny grasp of what’s real, the floor shifts from under you and you’re on your ass, struggling to get back to stable footing. The only difference is… nothing about this shit is fun.

  “Gabriella?” a muffled voice calls out to me. I know I should answer, but the earth is moving again, jolting me into a constant state of vertigo. It doesn’t end. It never does.

  “Gabriella?” it calls again. I really wish people would shut up and stop calling my name. I don’t even know who that girl is anymore. This isn’t my life. Most people would argue that it never was. But at the very least, I knew who I was. I knew what meant the most to me in this life. And I knew what I was willing to die for. At least I thought I did.

  “Gabriella? Please…answer me. Open your eyes, little girl.”

  “What the..? Little girl? What kind of perverted shit is that?”

  “This isn’t the time, Alexander. Stand down. Stand the fuck down.”

  “Bullshit. I’m not going anywhere. Get your hands off my daughter!”

  “A little late for you to try to pull the concerned parent act. I’ve known and loved her for the past year. Where the hell have you been?”

  A deep, throaty growl cuts into the tense atmos
phere, warning of an imminent threat. “It would be wise of you to contemplate your next words very carefully, Dorian. Right now, my daughter has been hurt—because of you—and needs my help. We will settle our differences at a later time, I can promise you that.”

  Ah. There we are. I know exactly what part of the Funhouse we’re in. The part where something jumps out and scares the crap out of you, causing you to scream and run like hell. The part where shit gets real.

  “Needs you? She needed you twenty-one years ago. But where were you, Alexander? Huh? Biding your time when she needed protection? When she was in danger?”

  “Let us not forget who she needed protection from, eh, Prince Dorian? Tell me, who did that danger stem from? You know good and well that I would have given my life to protect her. All I care about is Gabriella. And if you had an ounce of affection for her, you’d feel the same.”

  “Don’t you even think you can comprehend the depth of affection I have for her. She is mine, and I am hers. I made sure of it. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change that.”

  Another low, guttural growl. “Sure about that, old friend? Or have you forgotten who the fu—”

  I force my eyes open slowly, eager to cease their bickering before it turns violent…again. There’s been enough bloodshed, and I haven’t even had my coffee.

  Dorian’s face comes into view, and he sighs with relief, his forehead dimpled with worry. “Gabriella,” he breathes, as if he’s been deprived from precious oxygen for hours…days… millennia. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before flicking an awkward glance to something—or someone—across from him.

  I die.

  Not literally… Hell, I can’t do that. But something inside me—forgotten memories, grief, lies—it perishes into dust. Because what I thought was real—what I had come to terms with despite all the pain this world has cursed me to bear—is not what it seems. My reality is standing over me, looking down at me with the type of concern and affection that only a parent could harbor. It’s the type of look that a father gives his daughter when she scrapes her knee, or comes home crying after a boy breaks her heart. The kind of look that boasts of gentleness, care and love.