Light Beyond the Darkness

by Tami Lund

  The lightbearer had yet to speak, although he could tell by her widened eyes, rapid breathing, and the stench of fear in the air that she knew precisely what he was.

  “I only wanted to compliment the chef,” he said, his gaze fixed on the lightbearer.

  She lifted a hand and cupped her narrow, smooth neck, as her eyes widened farther and her breathing escalated a notch or two.

  “Usually people do that without actually leaving their seats,” the dark-haired human woman said. “And you need to get out of our kitchen. It’s a health-code violation for you to be back here.”

  He could care less about anyone’s health except that lightbearer’s. He had no specific code, not anymore. And if there was to be any violating around here…

  He stepped forward, extended his hand, and bowed his head slightly, not an act of submission, but an act of acknowledgment. I know you’re afraid. I don’t intend to hurt you.

  She did not accept his gesture. If anything, she shrank away even more.

  “Order—oh.” A server hustled through the swinging doors and then stopped short when she spotted Reid standing there. One of the other chefs extended his arm across the stainless-steel counter and snagged the meal ticket from her hand. Then he turned and shoved it at the lightbearer, clearly trying to pull her attention away from Reid.

  “We need to get back to work, Carley,” he said. “The orders are starting to back up.”

  Carley. Was that the lightbearer’s name? Reid continued to stand there, continued to watch her. Wisps of silver-blonde hair stuck out from under her chef’s hat, which was a tall, white paper contraption that perched at a jaunty angle on her head. While everyone else in the room looked sweaty and bordering on exhaustion, she looked as fresh as a spring breeze.

  Magic. Only magic could keep someone looking so damn unaffected amidst the chaos of a popular restaurant kitchen on a Friday evening.

  “I’d like to speak to you,” he said, his gaze never wavering. “Alone.”

  She shook her head and accepted the ticket that was thrust into her hands. She looked down, read what was scribbled there, and finally spoke to him.

  “That isn’t possible,” she said without looking up from the ticket. And then she apparently decided to act as if he wasn’t there, and began issuing orders to the humans, each one scrambling to do as she commanded.

  It was fascinating to watch. Until the spunky human woman with the blue-black hair stepped in front of him and stood on her tiptoes so she could get in his face.

  “Look, buddy. If you don’t leave our kitchen, we’re going to call the cops. Great meal or not, you don’t belong back here.” She glared at him, not intimidated in the least.

  It was almost refreshing. Nearly everyone was intimidated by him, and he rarely bothered to disabuse people of the notion that he might strike them down at any moment. He rather liked the fact that most people—magical or otherwise—were too frightened or nervous to get close to him. He was not fond of personal contact.

  “Carley,” he murmured, repeating the name he’d heard the human male say a moment ago. “Did she make my steak?”

  “Yeah,” the woman said with obvious impatience. “She makes all the steaks here. It’s one of her specialties. Now, can you go back to your table?”

  “What else does she do?”

  She gave him a peculiar look. “What do you mean?”

  “What other plates? What are her other specialties?”

  “Oh.” The human considered his question for a moment. “She makes a mean beef stew,” she decided. “And duck. Amazing duck. And key lime pie. I know it sounds weird, because it seems like such a simple dish, but her key lime pie is just out of this world.”

  Duck. He loved duck. “Key lime pie?” he repeated out loud. He didn’t often eat dessert. There usually wasn’t meat in dessert. “Maybe I’ll give it a try,” he decided, and then he asked, “How often does she work?”

  “You’re awfully damned obsessed, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  The woman shook her head. “We’re open Tuesday through Sunday. Closed Mondays. Carley has some serious work ethic. She’s here every single night.”

  *

  Carley Santiago loved to cook. It didn’t matter where or for whom. She’d loved it when she worked as a chef at the king’s beach house, creating elaborate dining experiences for the queen’s parties. She’d stumbled out into the human world just a few months ago, and as frightened as she’d initially been, she honestly couldn’t say she wasn’t glad it happened. Cooking for humans, in this massive kitchen, with all these eager human helpers, was truly an exciting experience.

  She loved getting creative with food. She loved the challenge of coming up with a new entrée special each and every night. She loved to work, and did so, every opportunity she could. The restaurant manager had no issue whatsoever taking advantage of her eagerness, and scheduled her six nights a week without fail.

  The other under chefs and the servers all thought she was either crazy or a kiss up. She definitely wasn’t a kiss up—at least not intentionally—but crazy, well, that was another subject entirely. She tried not to go there—ever.

  It was Friday night, and she was catering to a packed house, despite the late season snowstorm that hit the Chicago area earlier in the day. The reservations were full until midnight, and there was still a line out the door. Even the patrons in the bar were ordering full entrées tonight, not that her appetizers were anything to sneeze at. Yes, Carley was in her element.

  At least, until he walked into her kitchen. Him. That—that—that—shifter. A shape-shifter strolled right into her kitchen!

  Shifters aren’t the enemy. Her heart beat madly, and her hand clenched and unclenched around the razor-sharp Santoku knife.

  At least, those with whom she was acquainted were not. The shifters she knew were polite and respectful. They praised her food and expressed genuine appreciation for her efforts in the kitchen. They were also, frankly, pretty damn good-looking.

  Not that this one wasn’t. Must be a shifter trait.

  She contemplated the incredibly tall, rugged man who stood before her. His hair was coppery and trimmed short around his collar, and spiky on top. His eyes were palest blue. His face was sharp angles and planes covered with a thick coating of auburn stubble. His nose had a bump in the top and was slightly off-center, indicative of a break that had not healed properly. What could have been a flaw in his appearance only added to the man’s craggy good looks.

  He wore a gray button-down shirt over a white undershirt, and a pair of black slacks that looked tailor-made to show off every muscle. Every single one. Damned bright lights.

  She tried to convince herself that he wasn’t a shifter—maybe just a human, or possibly a lightbearer—but it was a futile attempt. Few lightbearers were quite so large, and if they were, they were far less scruffy than this man. And humans, well, they didn’t even compare.

  Shifters aren’t the enemy. It was the truth. Which meant fear wasn’t the reason her heart rate was accelerated and she felt as though she could scarcely breathe. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, especially the ones at the apex of her thighs.

  Lights above, Carley, get a grip.

  It was hard to do, with the coppery-haired shifter watching her with such an intensity she suspected he wasn’t even aware of anyone else in the kitchen.

  What would it be like to be the center of this man’s universe?

  The thought drifted through her head, startling her so much that her body gave a jerk. And he’d been halfway to the door, too, about to walk out of her life. Yet when her body reacted to the thought in her head, he stopped and turned to look at her again. His eyes flared, and she knew she wasn’t imagining it when they began to glow faintly. Tanner’s eyes had glowed even brighter than that when he looked at his mate, Olivia. And Finn—his eyes had glowed whenever Cecilia, Olivia’s cousin, was within ten feet of his person.

  Her pr
evious life. A life where shifters weren’t the enemy, no matter what the history books claimed. It wasn’t a shifter who pushed her over the edge of a cliff and left her for dead.

  She cleared her throat, conscious of the fact that they were surrounded by humans, and the very last thing either of them needed was for one of her human coworkers to question some random customer’s glowing eyes.

  “D—did you enjoy your steak?”

  Did he even order steak? Of course he did. He was a shifter, after all. Finn once told her that most of them rarely ate anything but meat. Until he started eating out of the lightbearers’ royal kitchen, Finn had counted himself in that classification, but Carley had changed that for him. She’d introduced him to delicious vegetables and delightful pasta and rice dishes and desserts that simply melted in one’s mouth.

  She was tempted to peek at his ticket, to see what cut he ordered, which blend of herbs she’d put on his steak. She was positive he had ordered it rare, because that too was a shifter characteristic, according to Finn. And Carley had to agree. Too much cooking ruined a perfectly fine piece of meat.

  “Yes,” he said in a voice that was hot as embers, smooth as honey.

  The apex of her thighs heated a few degrees. His eyes glowed brighter. She resisted the urge to wiggle, cleared her throat, and waved her hand in a vague fashion. “Eyes,” she murmured, knowing he would hear even over the din of kitchen noise. Then, louder, “Thank you for personally letting us know. We appreciate the positive feedback.” She snagged a ticket from the turnstile and pretended to study it. “Unfortunately, we have a full house tonight, and we have to get back to work. Thank you again for letting us know that you enjoyed your steak.”

  The shifter narrowed his eyes. The good thing about the overly bright kitchen was that the humans probably hadn’t noticed his glowing eyes. She watched as he clenched his jaw, trying, she assumed, to tamp whatever magic caused them to glow. What had Cecilia told her about a shifter’s glowing eyes? She couldn’t remember. So much of her life within the coterie was a blur these days. Most of the time, she was grateful for it.

  “You’re welcome,” he said shortly, biting off the words as if he was literally chewing them. Then he abruptly turned and allowed Vivian to herd him out of the kitchen. She knew he allowed it because she was absolutely confident that this man would not be herded by anyone, even spunky, uncompromising Vivian, unless he determined to do it all on his own.

  “You okay?”

  Carley turned sharply at the sound of her friend’s voice. Vivian, with her blue-black hair, heavy, dark makeup, and ungodly number of piercings, actually gave her a sympathetic look. Sympathetic was not a normal emotion for the hardcore human.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Carley said stiffly as she rubbed her special blend of herbs onto a thick filet, before wrapping it in bacon.

  “No, you’re not,” Vivian stated. “I’ve never seen you so out of sorts, other than that first day we met, when I could have sworn the hounds of hell were on your trail.”

  Carley nearly stabbed herself with the toothpick as she tried to secure the bacon around the piece of meat. At the time, she’d believed the hounds of hell really were after her.

  “He just…surprised me, that’s all. You know how I don’t like surprises.”

  That much was true. She hated surprises, mostly because she was still half-afraid someone was going to show up at dawn and drag her from her bed and her new life. She didn’t ever think about what would happen next. She’d never be able to sleep if she did.

  “Do you know him?”

  Carley shook her head. “I know of him,” she hedged. She knew of his kind, of course.

  Since the dawn of time, his kind and hers had been mortal enemies, spurred by the belief that to kill a lightbearer was to inherit their magic. It was only little less than a year ago that lightbearers and shifters had come together in an entirely different light. Today, the princess of the lightbearers, the only offspring of the king of the lightbearers, was mated to a shifter. Olivia was due to birth her first child any time now. The first interspecies babe ever to be born, according to the history books. That anomaly of a child would grow up and eventually become the king of the lightbearers.

  She had no proof whatsoever that the shifter who just left her kitchen was a friend of the lightbearers, like Tanner or Finn. According to Cecilia, there were still plenty of evil shifters out in the world, the ones who believed they could kill a lightbearer and inherit her magic. Carley never dreamed that one of them would stumble into her restaurant. She’d thought hiding in the middle of a large, crowded city full of humans was the perfect guise. But then again, she wasn’t exactly an expert at running away and hiding. She’d only done it once, after all.

  “We’re all walking home together tonight,” Carley said, her voice taking on a little more of its natural quality again. “I don’t care if someone has plans. Just get me home first. Please.”

  Carley, along with nearly half the kitchen staff, the dishwasher, and a handful of servers, lived in an old rental home a few blocks from the restaurant. Her roommates did it because none could afford the rent alone. Carley did it for the protection of being surrounded by humans. Shifters, so she hoped, would hesitate to attack a lightbearer who was surrounded by humans. She hoped the same was true for other lightbearers who might try to attack as well.

  Her human roommates assumed she had some sort of phobia about being alone. She’d heard them whisper behind her back about “depression issues.” Fair enough assessment. Frankly, she didn’t care what they thought, so long as they catered to that particular quirk.

  “You got it, boss,” Vivian said with a mock salute, and then she focused on sautéing green beans, almonds, and tiny pearl onions in a giant wok.

  * * * *

  It was two in the morning before they finally left the restaurant via the secure back door. As usual, as soon as they stepped out of the brightly lit kitchen, Carley felt that familiar deflating feeling as her magic began a slow, steady drain. Unlike some of her coworkers, she was never up for partying after work. Half the time, she could barely stumble to her bed before she passed out with her head buried in the pillows. The artificial lights in the kitchen, even at full volume, just barely maintained her magic after the sun went down. The absence of light at the end of each shift was a more severe energy drain than a normal, gradual dusk at the end of the day.

  “You need to move someplace warmer, with more sun,” said Roman, the dishwasher, in his heavy accent. “Like Mexico,” he said, pronouncing it “Meh-he-co.”

  “Why do you say that?” Carley asked as they trudged down the slushy sidewalk, a motley group of restaurant workers, chattering amongst themselves.

  “You have that seasonal disorder,” he said. “The sunlight affects your moods.”

  Carley laughed. “You have no idea how true that is.” But it wasn’t just her moods—it was her very life. Carley’s kind could not function without sunlight to feed their magical energy. If she was cut off from sunlight for too long, she would die.

  “If only,” she added, feeling wistful. She and Roman often daydreamed together about moving down to his home country and opening a bar at one of the resorts where the humans went to vacation. She would make fabulous Mexican dishes and he would serve up his signature margaritas, and Carley would be able to soak up all the sun she could possibly want or need.

  But then she would be too far from her friends and family, her own kind, and even though she’d run away, she hadn’t gone far, in the hopes that someday…

  “You always say that,” Roman chided. “But at this time of year, what holds you back? You barely see the sun, and it’s colder than any human being deserves to be. Why not?”

  Instead of answering directly, she turned the question around on him. “What about you? If it’s so cold here, why are you here? Isn’t your family in Mexico?”

  He frowned. “Some of them. Most are in this country now. Mexico is not a safe place, not where I
grew up.”

  Carley barked out a disbelieving laugh. “And yet you want you and me to throw everything to the wind and move down there?”

  “Not to my hometown,” Roman insisted. “To one of the resort areas. Those places are safe. Tourists provide too much income to the government, so it makes sure they are safe, so long as they stay in the right areas.”

  “We’re home,” Carley announced at that point. “Thank you all for another fabulous night of cooking.”

  She climbed the stairs, holding the ancient wrought-iron railing tightly to maintain her balance. There was a new moon tonight, so Carley did not even have those weak slivers of light to pull from. She was near to collapsing and needed to get to her bedroom in a hurry before she made a fool of herself in front of her friends and coworkers.

  “’Night,” she said as she stumbled down the hall to her bedroom.

  The house was a three-story structure, attached to other three-story structures of similar form and styling. A sidewalk ran along the front of the block, and each house had a tiny patch of lawn out front and an alley running behind. It had been built in the 1920s, designed in the Victorian style, with lots of crown molding and fancy scrollwork details. The floors were lovely, refinished wood. The rooms were small and separated by solid walls, instead of the more modern fashion of having one giant great room that encompassed living, dining, and cooking.

  The old-fashioned layout worked well for the large group of occupants. It allowed a reasonable modicum of privacy, despite the number of people living within such close quarters.

  The top two floors were dedicated to bedrooms, with a shared bathroom on each level. Carley’s bedroom was on the second floor, at the end of the hall. It was a choice she’d made deliberately. It would be nearly impossible to sneak into her bedroom without alerting someone else in the house.

  She made a quick pit stop in the bathroom, but was far too exhausted to shower, so she dragged herself into her bedroom, striped down to nothing and then literally fell face-first onto the bed. She was out within seconds.