by Jami Gold
Cursed to darkness,
he makes a wish for freedom.
She shows up instead...
A shapeshifting gryphon cursed to eternal darkness...
Sunlight shouldn’t be deadly to Griff Cyrus. Determined to break his curse, he follows an oracle’s bizarre instructions to have a magical package shipped to his apartment. Since when do brown trucks deliver mystical cures?
A lonely woman craving the spice of life...
Kala Kaneko’s social life couldn’t be more bland. When a strange parcel arrives at her door by mistake, she seizes the excuse to introduce herself to the intended recipient, her mysterious neighbor.
Fate has a twisted sense of humor...
Griff expects the package to free him from the curse, but opening the box unleashes a mythical creature bent on Kala’s death. Yet if Griff follows his instincts to protect her, he could sacrifice his last chance at freedom.
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For my readers
and everyone who’s supported me over the years—
This is my gift to you.
Chapter One
Kala knelt next to the sofa and raised her voice to a loud, perky pitch. “Come on, Buster. Let’s do something fun. Want to go for a walk?”
Not even the W word was enough to stir the half-deaf old mutt from his nap. Drool bubbled along his mouth and threatened to join the wet spot already on the cushion.
So much for relieving her boredom with his help.
Maybe she could coax him awake by force. She scratched behind his ears, ruffling the bristly fur. “Please, Buster? I need an excuse to get out and meet people.”
In the few hours since she’d dropped off her parents at the Los Angeles airport for their who-knew-how-long trip to Japan to care for her ailing grandmother, emptiness had settled into her gut and begun putting up knickknacks. No more using them or her “just moved in” status as an excuse for her lack of local friends. Yet her so-called “faithful companion” remained unmoved.
“Sheesh. I rescued you from Death Row, and according to that shiny new lease agreement, I might be risking eviction for you too. The least you could do is show some appreciation.” Kala stroked his head a final time and pushed to her feet, a hint of a smile still stretching her face.
The doorbell buzzed. She lunged for the door before Buster chose that moment as the perfect time to wake up and bark. The last thing she needed was a neighbor complaining to the apartment manager about her “on probation” dog before she’d even finished unpacking.
She whipped open the door. “Yes?”
A package delivery guy stood in the hallway, his cap pulled low. He shoved a clipboard at her. “Sign here.”
“Good morning.” Or was it past noon already? With her screwed-up work schedule, she could never keep track of the time. “How are you today?”
The guy didn’t respond. Granted, that attempt at conversation had been pretty lame.
She tried again. “So...” She scrawled her name on the indicated line and pointed her toe toward the cubic-foot-sized package at his feet. “What is it?”
The guy gave her a how-would-I-know look and snatched the clipboard from her as soon as she finished signing. The metal board’s edge sliced the tender skin between her left thumb and index finger.
“Ow! Damn.”
The guy picked up the box and thrust it in her direction. “Sorry.”
He jogged down the hall fast enough to set the keys on his belt jingling, robbing her of the opportunity to chew him out. Yeah, real sorry.
She tucked the box under her injured arm and squeezed the cut to stop the bleeding. Crap, that hurt. Now she’d have to wear gloves in the kitchen at work, and her hand would sting for the next few days every time she moved her thumb, which was... Oh, constantly.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The box under her arm jiggled.
What the—? She didn’t remember ordering anything recently, much less something wiggly.
Heck, with how busy she’d been, preparing for the move across L.A., none of her childhood friends even knew her deficient love life required a vibrator.
The address label faced away from her, and she used her unencumbered right pinky finger to spin the box under her left arm. The delicate balancing act allowed her to keep pressure on her injury and glance at the sender information.
Ireland? That really didn’t ring a bell.
She searched the box for identifying marks and stopped at the addressee. GRIFF CYRUS. Crap. All that hassle with the stupid cut, and the package wasn’t even for her.
She juggled the box and her keys while locking her door. After sprinting down the hall and six flights of stairs, she flung herself out the front of the apartment building.
Nothing. Only an empty curb along Wilshire Boulevard, no idling delivery truck anywhere. Double crap.
She trudged back inside and up the stairs, sticking to her self-imposed rule to avoid the elevator. That insurance against putting on pounds was the price for working with sinfully rich desserts every day. Her breathing deepened at each floor.
Now what? The shipping label didn’t have a logo, and she drew a blank for the company name of his cap. Which delivery company was it? QuickShip? ParcelExpress?
Ugh. Her only choice was to deliver the package herself. No matter how much of a pain it was, she’d want someone to do the same for her.
She studied the label again, and a smidgen of annoyance drained off her shoulders. At least the delivery guy hadn’t bungled everything.
The address was for the apartment at the end of her hall—another neighbor she hadn’t yet met. Her new pastry chef job at the swanky Beverly Hills resort down the road was a dream come true, but the middle-of-the-night hours were proving disastrous for her social life.
The package shook again, and she swore she heard a squeak. Was there something alive in the box? It had better not be a container of insects. She held the carton at arm’s length and suspended the box between her fingertips, minimizing contact with the cardboard.
Although... What kind of bug squeaked?
She stopped at the correct door and angled her elbow toward the buzzer. A toy-like squeal ripped from the package, and she almost dropped the box. Freaky timing.
Echoes of the screech surrounded her from the hallway at her back, and she tossed a glance over her shoulder. Toy or not, anyone else would have left the carton and tiptoed away, but apparently she was that desperate for the opportunity to meet another soul.
Before she could change her mind, the apartment door whooshed open. A hand yanked her inside, and the door slammed behind her, shutting her in the stranger’s apartment.
Her chest tightened so fast she stumbled back, the wall catching her fall. Instinctively, she lifted the box in front of her, as though warding off danger. The same grabby hand seized the carton from her grasp.
What the hell? Rude much?
Her gaze followed the limb up to its owner. Oh, hello. A Viking of a man, all long tawny hair and broad shoulders, stared down at her.
“What were you doing with my package?”
His package? A snort choked her, and she covered it with a cough. God, she was such a teenage boy sometimes. And her frazzled nerves weren’t helping.
“Uh, the delivery guy brought it to my door by mistake.”
Despite the apartment manager’s sales spiel about how their background-check process ensured safety among the residents, several Aikijujutsu self-defense lessons from her father scrolled through her head. Just in case.
“I recently moved in down the hall. I’m Kala. You’re Griff?”
A perfect brow arched over one of his golden-hazel eyes.
“I saw the name on the shipping label of your, uh, package.” She couldn’t help the twitch curving her lips.
It took all her concentration not to sneak a peek at said package. She would behave. Luckily, his movie-star-worthy looks helped her focus on his face. In addition to his lion-mane hair and striking eyes, he boasted a perfectly straight nose and kissable lips.
Not that she was thinking of kissing him.
At all.
Really.
Those lips curled into a snarl. “Package delivered. Now leave.”
He walked away and set the box on a table in the kitchen. Her throat thickened, and she blinked quickly.
Wow. His dismissal cut deeper than his rudeness. Bluntness, she respected, but the cold shoulder crushed her hopes. She could have a better conversation with her dog.
Others must get lonely for friendship though, right? The possibility of making this place into a home—complete with friends, or at least acquaintances—was worth the risk of getting her head bitten off again. She’d give Mr. Antisocial the benefit of the doubt for one more attempt.
She scanned the room for ideas of something to talk about. In her matching apartment, she’d opted to forgo a table to keep her kitchen open and uncluttered. In contrast, his living room was the emptiest space, and thick black blankets covered the picture window, leaving the lights over the table as the only illumination. Despite the shrouded window, the heavy scent of sunshine and masculinity filled the room, like at a beach volleyball game.
Oblivious to her presence, the male in question muttered something to himself about needing a key and strode into a back room. She should leave. That would be the obedient, sensible thing to do.
Obedient and sensible had never helped her make friends before.
She stepped into his living room for a closer look in the dim light. A computer and stacks of encyclopedic-looking books loaded down a table in the far corner. Pushpin-decorated maps dominated the wall on her right, the multicolored pins marking locations throughout Europe, Russia, the Middle East, Africa, and North and South America. Had he traveled to all those places, or was this a wish list?
The room inspired more questions than answers. Unlike the high-end vibe throughout the rest of the complex, his apartment felt bare and temporary. He had no personal items of any kind. Anywhere.
Best-case scenario, he was odd. Worst-case scenario, he was a terrorist.
Regardless, her feet refused to turn toward the door. Maybe he was military. Or far from home and friendless.
Something in his eyes—a desperation visible even through his snarl—tempted her to stay, in spite of the hint of danger and his order to leave. She let herself hope that something was a loneliness like hers.
Whatever his situation, he was home at this middle-of-the-workday hour, when she was done with her job and still awake, and she wanted a conversation with another human, damn it. Even one who ranked on the questionable end of the eccentric-meter.
Besides, she remembered at least three dozen ways her dad had taught her to escape capture from a larger opponent. The chance to make a friend was worth a bit of risk.
The rip of packing tape pulled her attention back to the kitchen, where Viking man had returned. He twisted a key into whatever was inside the box. He was so focused on his task he probably hadn’t noticed her in the dark corner opposite the kitchen, but curiosity kept her from announcing her presence—or leaving.
The squeal started up again, and he reached inside the carton. He pulled out something like a doll, except it was unlike any doll she’d ever seen. The red-bearded figure wore old-fashioned red clothes, complete with a long jacket and hat.
And then the doll moved. And spoke.
“You!” The tiny creature sputtered in a singsongy Irish brogue, “Have ye gone daft, Griff? Ye haven’t any right to snatch me, spell me out cold, and ship me halfway across the Earthen plane. Whatever ye want, you’ll not be gettin’ it from me. Even if ye wish for it.”
A leprechaun?
Kala staggered back and blinked hard several times, trying to clear the nonsensical image off her retinas. But the image stayed there. Still not making sense.
For one thing, weren’t leprechauns supposed to wear green and not red? Unless that was just the cartoon version.
Whatever. No matter how she looked at it, the whole scene was wrong.
More importantly, what was it—whatever it was—doing here? In her real-world apartment building?
Viking man raised his arm above the table, and the leprechaun squirmed in his grasp.
Kala inched along the wall toward the door. Not that she wanted to leave this way-more-interesting-than-the-rest-of-her-life scene, but the rational part of her mind screamed that she should check the corridor to be sure the normal world did, in fact, still exist out there. Maybe she’d hit her head and was hallucinating.
Either that, or she’d somehow entered the Twilight Zone.
Her knuckles fumbled against the doorknob, and the leprechaun’s head whipped around.
“A human?” He goggled at her. “Why’d ye be lettin’ a human see me, Griff? Now we have to kill her.”
The lilt of his accent overpowered the menace of his words, and she couldn’t take his declaration seriously. Especially not when Griff spotted her and his mouth fell open, yet he made no move to carry out the leprechaun’s suggestion. Smart man.
She straightened and relaxed her muscles into a defensive stance. This might be the Twilight Zone or somehow both the most and the least realistic dream she’d ever had, but she wasn’t going to let anyone—and certainly not a pipsqueak with curling tips on the ends of his boots—threaten her.
“Oh yeah? Don’t make me sorry I didn’t feed you to my dog instead of delivering you here.”
Making a run for it didn’t strike her as necessary. Not seriously, anyway. Maybe her stubbornness would get her killed eventually, but it wasn’t going to happen today.
Chapter Two
Griff’s lips almost curved into a smile before he caught himself. When had he last smiled? Before the curse, that was certain.
He turned to Niall in his fist and arched a brow. He’d found that successful in intimidating others, especially when combined with silence.
The little troublemaker propped his hands on his hips, only slightly out of sorts at being pinched up in the air after his cross-globe shipping adventure. “Well, now. Aren’t ye goin’ to put me down and kill her?”
“Why would I do that when she’s willing to help me torture you until you tell me what I want to know?”
Niall’s ruddy face paled, and his gaze bounced between Griff and the woman. “I don’t believe it. Since when would you—of all that’s Mythos—ever be workin’ with a human?”
Griff glanced at the human in question—the human who hadn’t been by the door when he’d checked before opening Niall’s cage. His assumption that her disappearance had meant she’d followed his instructions to leave had been sloppy of him, but it was too late to change that situation now.
Glossy, blacker-than-black hair framed her face, and the shape of her eyes marked her as being of one of the Far Eastern races. Not an area of the Earthen plane he’d explored much over the centuries. For all anyone knew, humans from that region of the world might irritate him less than the others did.
She wasn’t unpleasant to look at by any measure. The softness of her features, like water had blended the edges, even reminded him of some of the Mythos races.
Her dark eyes hid her thoughts, but an amused smile told him enough. His lips twitched in response, and the unfamiliar feeling nearly prompted him to touch his face and confirm his suspicion.
He forced his mouth into a thin line and faced Niall. The troublemaker’s brow had hardened into deep furrows, and Griff tightened his jaw so another twitch wouldn’t betray him.
“You’d be surprised what you’re willing to do after losing everything a
nd being cursed to eternal darkness.”
“That was not me stealin’ from ye, Griff, and ye know it.”
“But I think you can tell me where my bound treasure is and how to get it back.”
The woman appeared at his elbow. “Yeah, and you’re going to tell him what he wants to know, or Buster will be getting a new chew toy. And I should warn you, he drools. A lot.”
Griff held himself still, fighting the instinct to enforce his space. A waft of her scent, strawberries and vanilla and everything soft and sweet and unlike him, drifted his way. He let himself breathe deep.
Niall grimaced. “Now I know why you’d be workin’ with this one. She’s as vicious as ye are, she is.” He shook his head, his red jacket shifting in Griff’s grasp. “I wish I could help ye, my friend, but I don’t be knowin’ where your treasure is. Not a bit.”
Griff poked the liar in his chest. “That’s not what the Great Owl told me.”
“Ye did not see the Great Owl.” Niall laughed. “There’s no such thing. A legend, she is.”
The woman tilted her head. “Are you sure about that? When I woke up this morning, I’d have sworn leprechauns and whatever-he-is were legends too.”
“Gryphon.” Why he told her, he didn’t know. But so far, she’d reacted better than he’d ever thought a human could, and the urge to test her—see what she could handle, learn what she could accept—burned in his chest.
“Gryphon?” She scanned him up and down. “I thought they were a cross between an eagle and a lion, not a guy who out-hunks Thor.”
Did he want to know what she meant by that comment? Probably not.
Heat flowed through his body at her expression anyway, adding to the distraction of allowing her close. However, that feeling—more pleasant than it should have been for all the alarms it set off in his logic—didn’t dissuade him from taking another deep breath and savoring the invitation promised by her scent.