Marked by Sin: an Urban Fantasy Novel (The Gatekeeper Chronicles Book 1)

by Jasmine Walt

  Eamon pulled open the door, and sunlight streamed into the foyer, bathing me in gentle warmth. As my eyes gradually adjusted to the light, I saw a woman standing on the step, a small white card clutched in her hand. Her hair appeared greasy and unkempt, her eyes were red-rimmed and heavy with bags, telling a story of their own.

  “It says . . . it says you can help me?” She held out the card, blinking up at Eamon as if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there.

  Eamon stepped back. “Come in.”

  The woman slid by me, stepping over the threshold of the building to vanish into the foyer.

  Eamon glanced over my head. “Your ride is here, Malina. Be safe.”

  Stalker bloke, or Garuda as he was called, leaned up against his car, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes squinted against the sun. He was sans jacket today, his muscles packed in a black T-shirt with a V-neck. I turned to say bye to Eamon, but he was gone. In fact, the whole gothic house had disappeared. In its place was a dilapidated, graffitied, boarded-up building. Familiar panic that was becoming common around Garuda flared to life, but I exhaled, squashing it before it could turn me into a gibbering idiot.

  “Don’t worry, it’s still there. Look again.”

  Cool. He thought I was worried about the house vanishing. Good, I didn’t want him knowing how he affected me. It was a weakness I didn’t like and certainly didn’t wish to advertise.

  “Malina,” Garuda said, and I realized I was staring blankly at him. “Look again.”

  His voice was a smooth rumble, an aural caress, and my anxiety faded a little. I blinked at the building, and the ramshackle façade peeled away to reveal the majestic gothic mansion beneath.

  This was some amazing next-level shit.

  “Honestly, I know magic exists, but this, everything, is gonna take a lot of getting used to.” I walked toward the back of the car, eager to escape his suffocating aura, but he placed a hand on the door.

  “You can sit up front since you’re no longer a kidnappee.”

  I raised my chin to look him in the eye. “You know there’s no such word, right?”

  His lips twitched. “Get in. And this time, keep the chat to a minimum.”

  “Why?”

  “Because silence is golden.”

  That was fine by me. I strode around the car and slid onto the leather passenger seat.

  Garuda climbed in and started the engine.

  I tried not to watch the play of muscle on his forearms, tried not to inhale his fresh, zesty scent, which warred with the comforting smell of leather and the flutter of panic in my chest. I was a mouse taking a jaunt with a cat. Eamon had asked me to trust him, and Garuda had done nothing to hurt me . . . yet.

  We peeled away from the curb and into London traffic.

  The air was too thick, his presence too large. My chest grew tight. I needed a distraction. I needed the sound of his voice. “Thanks for telling Eamon about Toto.”

  His brow crinkled but then cleared. “Oh, your dog.”

  “Yeah.”

  He shrugged. “It was the least I could do for a dying girl.”

  I clocked his amused smile and some of the tension leached out of my limbs.

  “Hey, I thought I was dying.”

  “Yep, I know you did.”

  “So . . . what do you do besides kidnap women from their places of work?”

  “Whatever pays.”

  “Like assassin work?”

  He shot me a quick look. “No. Not anymore.”

  “Eamon said . . . He said you used to kill naga.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. “Eamon should keep his mouth shut.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I won’t hurt you, Malina. I don’t do that anymore.”

  My mouth grew dry. “Yeah, Eamon said that, too.”

  “Seriously. I’ve had over a century to master my impulses.” His nostrils flared on an inhale, and he shook his head. “I’m always in control.”

  Was that a smidgen of uncertainty in his tone? A shiver of unease skated up my spine.

  We drove in silence for a couple of minutes, long enough for my muscles to unknot and melt into the leather. The streets finally began to look familiar. We were headed toward the west end of London.

  “So you were sniffing me because . . . ?”

  He sighed. “I got a scent, but it was all mixed up. Probably the remnants of the serum in your system. I had to be sure you were the right target.”

  “Ah.”

  “Why? What did you think?”

  “I thought you were hot for me.”

  He let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t get hot for anyone.”

  “Monk issues or impotence?”

  He chuckled. “Neither.”

  His mirth was a warm thing that wrapped itself around me soothingly. This was comfortable ground, safe ground. Banter was my jam.

  “So, you just haven’t met the right woman?”

  “I’m not looking. Why? Were you hoping to fill the vacancy?”

  He slid me a sizzling glance that had me squirming in my seat. Shit, what was it with this guy and my hormones? Being around him was like riding an emotional roller coaster. Time to change the subject.

  “We should head to Soho. I need to see my adoptive father.”

  “Bad move. Eamon filled me in. You can’t risk being seen. Pick a meeting place, call him up, and ask him to rendezvous.”

  Darn it. He was right. But my phone was still in my jacket at the dojo.

  “I don’t have my phone.”

  “Glove compartment.”

  I flipped it open and retrieved Garuda’s phone. Dialing from memory, I listened carefully as it rang. One, two, three, click.

  “Hello?”

  “Barrett, it’s Malina.”

  “Malina? Fucking hell, one sec.” A rustling sound was followed by another click. “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I need to speak to you. To see you.”

  There was a definite tremor to his voice when he replied. “No. Do not come back here. I don’t know if it’s safe. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

  “Barrett. I have questions.”

  He sighed. “I know you do, and I’ll answer what I can, but not here. I can meet you somewhere . . .”

  “How about 24/7? Meet me there in an hour.”

  “Don’t go back to your flat either. I think . . . shit, I have to go.”

  The line went dead.

  “Is that the little café by Trafalgar Square aerial station?” Garuda asked.

  “Yeah.” My stomach was churning. What if Eamon was right? What if my kills hadn’t been as corrupt as I’d thought?

  “You feel you can trust this guy?”

  What the heck did he know about anything? “He did raise me.”

  “Yes, but you have to ask the question why? How much does he know and what is in it for him aside from the warm-fuzzies?”

  Barrett didn’t do warm-fuzzies. Not with me, anyway. A chill ran through my veins. What had been in it for him?

  “Luckily for you, you have the best kind of backup.”

  The words were cocky, but his tone and expression were almost solemn. They echoed the seriousness of my predicament, reminding me the banter had been a temporary reprieve. I was going to face the only father I’d known, to find out why he had betrayed me.

  Time to find out if the last seventeen years had been a complete lie.

  11

  The skies opened. By the time we got to the café, it was really chucking it down. We parked in the car park used by regular commuters, and then ducked quickly through the sparkling raindrops, getting thoroughly soaked in the process. My vest was no match for the downpour. Thank goodness I was wearing a bra. Still, by the time we got inside 24/7, the lace fabric was clearly visible through the wet vest. Strangely enough, the chill didn’t affect me like it usually did. Had to be part of the change.

  The entrance bell jingled as we entered. Heat slapped me in the face,
seeping into the wet fabric of my vest and caressing my damp skin. The aroma of cinnamon, coffee, and bacon hung heavy in the air. A hum of conversation enveloped me, drawing me in. I loved this place. It stayed open twenty-four seven as its name suggested; it was a place for early risers and night owls, a home away from home with its framed photos of regulars enjoying meals, warm buttery lighting, warmer service, and tea on tap.

  We slid into a booth without drawing a single eye.

  “Okay, how are you doing that?”

  “What?”

  “Making people not pay attention to us.”

  He snorted. “This is London. No one pays attention to anyone but themselves.”

  Good point. “You did it on the tram that day. No one seemed to see you.”

  He dropped his gaze. “Ah, that. Yes. Well, that was me using glamor to mask myself.”

  A server came over. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee,” we said simultaneously.

  We traded glances. “How about you make us a big pot and leave it here?”

  “Um, we don’t do that. The pots are standard size. Pots for one.”

  Garuda leaned back in his seat, lifted his chin to look her straight in the eye, and smiled . . . a spine-tingling, knee-melting smile that had me gripping the seat to stop myself from crawling into his lap.

  The server blinked inanely at him with big blue eyes.

  “Oh, come now, surely you can make an exception for a wet guy who’s about to catch a chill?”

  She nodded, taking a step toward him.

  He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes alight with mischief. “Kitchen’s that way, luv.”

  She nodded and wandered off toward the back of the café.

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” His gaze dropped to my chest. “I see you know what I’m talking about.”

  My nipples were straining to poke through the wet fabric. Crap.

  “Pervert.” I slid out of the booth. “I’ll be back.”

  Locked in the tiny ladies’ room, I stared at my bright-eyed reflection in the mirror. Garuda was difficult to read. He was obviously dangerous, lethal to my kind, and yet there was something irresistibly alluring about the man. Part of me hoped this would be the last time I was forced into his company, but another part craved more.

  Five minutes with the hand dryer, and a few choice curses later, I headed back to the booth to find Garuda pouring two mugs of coffee from a huge pot.

  “Thank you.” I took the proffered mug.

  “So what do you hope to find out from your adopted father?” he asked.

  Whether I would be considered a cold-blooded killer or a champion of justice. “Stuff.”

  “Yes, I can see how important ‘stuff’ could be right now.”

  I sipped my coffee, sweet just the way I liked it. “How’d you know how I take my coffee?”

  “I didn’t. I just made it to my tastes.”

  “Oh.”

  I watched him drain his mug and pour another. May as well pump him for a little information while he was on a caffeine high. Eamon had said he was one of the oldest beings in existence, created by the gods to hunt naga, so maybe he could shed some light on Narada and his motives.

  “What do you know about the gods?”

  He cradled his mug in his huge hands. “You mean, what do I know about Narada?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not a huge amount, I’m afraid. He was always coming or going, taking messages from the ether world to the mortal realm, whispering in the ears of mortals on the instructions of the higher gods. I never really got to know him, but I do know that if he was involved in your kidnapping, in the corruption, he now has a target on his back.” Garuda sipped his coffee. “For his sake, I hope it was worth it.”

  “You were there when the hellhounds were created?”

  His expression darkened. “You ask too many questions. Drink your coffee.”

  He was hiding something. I’d hit a nerve. Should I attempt to dig further?

  The bell on the door tinkled, and I looked over my shoulder as Barrett ducked inside. He spotted me immediately and wove his way past a group of customers waiting to be seated. I shifted left to make a space next to me, as Garuda had filled the opposite bench.

  Barrett slid into the booth, placing a file on the table in front of him.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I said.

  He nodded but wouldn’t look at me.

  “Barrett, what’s going on?”

  “They found you, didn’t they? The people he took you from?”

  My pulse jumped. “You knew.”

  He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “Not for sure. I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected. I just . . . I didn’t want to know. He promised me something . . . He promised if I did this, if I took care of you, he’d bring them back to me.”

  “Bring who back?”

  Barrett turned his head to look at me, his face haggard, eyes rimmed with red. “My wife and child. They died in a car crash eight months before he brought you to me. Narada promised he’d bring them back if I took care of you for a while. I didn’t realize how long he expected me to have you. When I did, it was too late. I had you almost a year when he told me it was a long-term deal, that I was expected to turn you into an assassin, a murderer.”

  He’d had a family. A wife and child . . .

  “How old?”

  “What?”

  “How old was your child?”

  “Emily had just turned four when she died.”

  Around the same age I’d been when Narada had brought me to him. Barrett had taken me in as a means to an end, not for compassion, love, or anything else. His lack of affection made sense; he hadn’t wanted to get attached. He hadn’t wanted to love me. He’d already had a daughter. It was her he wanted, not me.

  My eyes burned and pricked, but I bit the insides of my cheeks. Fuck this. I would not cry. I wouldn’t break.

  Clearing the lump in my throat, I said, “So you took me in because he asked you. Go on.”

  “He staged everything. You being dropped off at the dojo, the paperwork for the adoption. Everything.”

  “And my illness? Did you know that was a lie?”

  His eyes widened. “What? No! You’re not sick?”

  I exhaled. At least he hadn’t been in on that lie. “Did you know about the marks? That they were infused with magic?”

  His lips turned down. He looked truly miserable. Despite everything I’d just learned, I couldn’t help but sympathize. Apparently, he hadn’t done such a crappy job of raising me after all.

  “I began to suspect something when Narada started calling after every kill to make sure I was using the correct ink. At first, I thought he was worried about your health, but then, I don’t know, something felt off.”

  But he’d kept his mouth shut because Narada had something he wanted. I swallowed the bitter tang in my mouth.

  “Go on.”

  “I began to do some digging a few months ago.” Barrett pushed the file toward me. “I’m sorry, Malina. I don’t know why he did this, but I’m sorry.”

  The file was a viper, a poisonous thing that would corrupt my peace, but I had no choice. A hollow sensation filled my chest as I flipped it open to scan the contents.

  The names and locations were all familiar. These were my kills, all fifty of them. Vinod’s face stared back at me from the file, his eyes almost accusing, and I began to read. Aside from Vinod, who had been some kind of ambassador, each and every kill on my list had been an average Joe—a teacher, a doctor, a mother, a father. Normal, everyday people. I flipped the pages, desperately searching for something I knew I wouldn’t find—some evidence of their crimes, a list, anything.

  “I’m sorry . . .” Barrett said again.

  There were no crimes . . . nothing, but I had to be sure. “Where are their crimes?”

  “I did the research, Malina. They had none.
I looked through the . . .”

  My pulse beat in my ears, drowning out his voice, cocooning me in misery as I put together the pieces and accepted what I’d done. Narada was the council representative for the gods. He’d picked my kills. Innocent victims. And because I did my job so well, no red flags had gone up. Hot pressure built inside my head, my eyeballs burning. I blinked back the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes and closed the file, a strange numbness climbing up my fingers.

  I’d done this.

  I’d killed these people.

  Innocent people.

  I wasn’t an assassin. I was a murderer.

  “Malina.” Garuda’s warm voice penetrated the icy fog that wrapped itself around my brain. “You didn’t know.”

  But I knew now. I fucking knew it all.

  Barrett slid something else across the table. It was the box containing my ink.

  “Maybe it can give you a clue about what he was trying to do,” he said.

  Eamon’s theory was right, and Narada had pretty much succeeded in his agenda. My soul was probably as black as tar by now because of all those people . . . I’d . . . all those people . . .

  I blinked hard, taking deep breaths. I would not break. Not now. Not here.

  “I need to go.” I turned to Barrett. “Move. Now.”

  I slid out of the booth and grabbed the box, intent on storming away, but I needed to know something else first. Something that would haunt me if left unresolved. Once again, only Barrett had the answer.

  “In all these years, did you ever . . . love me like a daughter?”

  “Malina, I…”

  His hesitation told me all I needed to know. My throat tightened. “It’s fine. Forget it. Just . . . thank you for raising me.”

  Turning on my heel, I strode out of the café.

  12

  Barrett had warned me not to go back to the flat.

  Fuck that. It was my flat, and I needed my stuff. Besides, Garuda, the self-professed badass, was with me. While he lounged against my bedroom doorframe, I hurriedly packed some essentials.