Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) (7 page)

“Ascend? Like get my power? When? And how do they know I’ll even have any? I don’t feel like I do.” I look down at my now cold breakfast and pick up a piece of bacon to nibble. I don’t even taste it. I just have to keep myself busy before I have a nervous breakdown. 

“When you turn 21. There is no doubt that you’ll be powerful, considering who your parents were,” says Donna. The reminder of my wicked Warlock bio dad causes a shiver to run down my spine. “However, no one knows what type of magic you’ll have.”

“You mean no one knows if I’ll be good or evil,” I whisper. 

“We know you’re anything but evil, sweetie. And you could very well put an end to all of the fighting. Your mother, Natalia, had hoped for that. She wanted there to be peace among the Light and the Dark and wanted you to be that bridge. But it had never been done before. Ever. People fear what they don’t understand.” Donna places her hand over mine in reassurance.

“But does anyone even have a clue what I’ll become? What if I’m some crazed psychopath or something? Can’t I just opt out of this ascension?”

“It doesn’t work that way, honey. You are what you are. And that is a very special, very unique young woman,” says Donna. For someone who has no idea what will happen in another 12 months, she’s oddly optimistic. That’s even if I make it to my 21st birthday being that there’s someone trying to kill me.
Oh yeah, that.

“For now, just focus on keeping yourself safe and out of harm’s way,” adds my dad as if he can read my anxiety. “The herbs will work on concealing your identity. Just be smart and no risky behavior, okay, Kiddo?”

“Right,” I reply flatly. Demented Warlock out to kill me.
No big deal.
They must be pretty damn confident in Donna’s concoction. “I’ve gotta get ready for work.” 

I rise and walk over to the trash to scrape my leftover food, and then place my dish into the sink. Once I’ve retreated to my room, I mindlessly get my clothes ready for work, deciding on soft cowl-neck cream sweater, fitted jeans, and brown riding boots. It’s dressier than my usual jeans and t-shirt work attire but I need a pick me up after the news of my potential attacker. I put in some stud earrings and leave my long tresses down in soft waves. I smile at myself in the mirror and think
I feel pretty
. Not that I think I’m ugly. Just not very glamorous, especially next to Morgan.
Morgan!
I pick up my cell phone and call her, knowing she’ll be agitated with my brief text last night. Did I even get a chance to send it?

Shoot, her voicemail. “Hey, Morg, sorry bout last night. Crazy shit. But I do have something quite interesting to report!” Not only do my cheeks heat at the thought of Dorian, but my heart instantly beats into overtime. “Heading to work now. Call me later?”

I grab my purse and my favorite brown leather jacket just in case it’s cold after I get off. Before stepping outside, I check to make sure there’s no one out there waiting for me. It’s a beautiful day, the warm sunlight kissing my cheeks with Vitamin D. I smile up at the sky and my trepidation instantly vanishes. One of the perks of Colorado’s high altitude is the sun always feels closer and brighter. There’s a chill in the air but I’m comfortable in my light sweater. I pop in my favorite John Mayer cd and blast it all the way to Chapel Hills mall. It’s going to be a good day, I can feel it. I’ve at least earned it.

No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get motivated at work. I want to be out enjoying this beautiful Saturday just like everyone else, not wasting away selling overpriced denim to bratty teenagers with Daddy’s credit card. As I’m retrieving about 10 articles of clothing that some pesky kid has tried on and left in the dressing room, I feel my cell vibrate in my back pocket, indicating a text message. I begin to rehang the apparel on their appropriate racks then pull out my phone once I’m masked by the shroud of the jeans display. I suspect it’s Morgan but to my surprise it’s Dorian. My heart beats furiously and my breathing becomes ragged as if I’ve just run the length of the entire mall complex.

Dorian, 1:17 P.M.

-I want to see you.

God, it’s amazing the feelings this man can evoke with just a sentence. I think about delaying my response in an attempt to not seem too eager, but to hell with playing coy.

-I’m working :(

There. If he really wants to see me, maybe he’ll suggest meeting up later after work like the night before. At least that’s what I’m hoping.

“Hey, Gabi, there you are!” 

Holy shit!
My disturbingly cheerful supervisor pops up out of nowhere and scares the crap out of me, causing me to drop my phone and the pair of jeans draped over my arm. “Oh my God, Felicia, you scared me!” I clutch my chest in a cheesy soap opera fashion and scramble to pick up my phone and the jeans. “What’s up?”

“Oops! Sorry!” she smiles. This bitch is way too perky. It’s like she’s hooked up to a caffeine IV. “Hey, I am so, so, so sorry to do this but I’ve got to start cutting back a little on shifts. I think something is going on with the company but we’ll just keep that hush, hush!” She winks over exaggeratedly.  “Would you be too upset if I let you go home early today?” She gives her best puppy dog look and even goes as far as jutting her bottom lip out.
Gag.

“Sure!” Now it’s my turn to be cheery. Has wishful thinking finally paid off?

“Awesome! You’re the best, Gabi! And I promise it won’t just be you feeling the cutback on hours. It’ll be spread out, myself included.” She’s doing that damn sad face again but I don’t even care enough to be annoyed.

“No problem, send me home anytime,” I cheese like a lunatic. Her chirpy disposition must be rubbing off on me. That and the fact that my plans for the day have just took a turn for the better. I hurriedly fold the jeans and shove them on their reserved shelf and head back to the stockroom, vigorously texting on the way.

To Dorian, 1:28 P.M.

-Plans just changed. I’m off :)

Geez, I’ve got to quit with these damn emoticons. I get a reply just seconds later and am nearly jumping with glee. Dorian has got me wide open and I haven’t even known him a mere 48 hours.

-I’m at Starbucks. Come see me.

Though it’s a demand, and I don’t take kindly to demands from any man, I am only too eager to race down to the coffee shop in record time. I stop at our employee restroom to finger comb my hair and reapply my lipgloss before grabbing my things and waving goodbye to my coworkers without a second glance.
So long, Suckas!

As I approach Starbucks, I slow my pace and take a few deep breaths, trying to get my head in a more level, nonchalant space. But no matter how cool I try to appear, it all evaporates as soon as I see him sitting at the very same table we sat at the day before. I pause for a beat and have to consciously remind myself how to walk.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
I shakily approach the table and just stare. The man is simply gorgeous, clothed in a black V-neck t-shirt, jeans and a black leather jacket. He gazes back at me in a sultry, lustful way. I can’t tell if he’s laying on the sex or if that’s his usual look but I’m buying it.
All of it.
 

“So we meet again,” he smiles crookedly. His ice blue eyes flash momentarily and my knees almost buckle underneath me. He waves toward the opposite seat. “Please, sit.”

I do as I’m told, again, with controlled movements, careful not to seem too compliant. That’s when I allow myself to tear my eyes away from him long enough to notice that he has two disposable coffee cups in front of him. He pushes one towards me. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says.

I take a tiny sip of the steaming liquid and let it quench my parched mouth. It’s a cinnamon latte, my favorite! How did he know? “Thank you,” is all I can choke out in surprise.

“So it seems we have the whole day to enjoy each other. What shall we do?” He takes a sip of his own drink and looks up at me seductively through his thick eyelashes. They are ridiculously long and lush, giving any
Covergirl
model a run for her money. Contrasted with his unbelievably light eyes, the combination is downright dazzling.

“Hmmm,” I ponder. Then I have an idea that will score me some alone time with him and offer an opportunity for us to enjoy the sunshine. “Ever been to Garden of the Gods?”

“Can’t say that I have. But I’m always up for an adventure.” Dorian cocks his head to one side as if he’s contemplating something. The gesture makes him look incredibly sexy.

“Well, I don’t know about an adventure but it is one of my favorite places,” I smile sheepishly. 

Revealing a personal detail about me, especially something as intimate as one of my favorite hideaways, makes me feel bashful, childlike even. I really do care about his opinion of me. It’s more than just the physical attraction; I want him to know me. 

“Then I’m sure it will soon be one of my favorites as well.” Dorian then stands, grabs both our coffee cups and I follow suit. “Come on. I’ll drive,” he winks. 

The ride in the sleek, black Mercedes is invigorating and I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I’m enjoying it, having never been much of a car enthusiast. Dorian is an impeccable driver and he makes it seem so effortless. We cruise down Academy Boulevard, Robin Thicke crooning sweet, soothing melodies from the state of the art sound system. He’s singing about being all tied up and urging his lover to rescue him, pleading his need for her. It’s provocative and I instantly find myself swaying to the beat. I glance over at Dorian to find him smirking at my little performance.

“Like the music?” he asks when I catch his gaze behind the dark lenses of his designer shades.

“I do. So you listen to a lot of music like this?” Perfect time to squeeze out some information.

“My tastes are eclectic. I listen to whatever moves me,” he responds.

“Humph. Me too, I guess,” I reflect. I do like to mix it up a bit. 

“The power that a musician holds is truly fascinating. To touch the masses, relaying their pain, anger, joy, lust… through song…,” he stares ahead lost in his own train of thought. I look intently at him, hanging on to his every word. He seems so passionate, so full of conviction. “The true artist is one who can evoke those raw emotions in their audience, bring them to their knees, and convey their message to them in a foreign tongue. Or without words at all. That type of power is immeasurable.” 

I’m totally consumed by Dorian’s outpouring of emotion. It’s so unexpected and unbelievably alluring. Like maybe there is more behind the incredible looks and sex appeal. As if he can sense my suspicions, he turns to flash me a heart-stopping smile. 

“Seems like you know a bit about the music business,” I comment, desperately trying to recover from the sight of it.

“A little,” he smirks, and we go back to enjoying the tunes and sensual static of our close proximity. 

When we arrive at the park of bizarre red rock formations, I feel a surge of energy. I’m excited even though I’ve been a dozen times. The possibility of spending time with Dorian and sharing this place with him is exhilarating and part of me really wants to impress him. We walk down to the first display of rock and marvel at nature’s splendor. 

I take a moment to reflect on all I’ve learned since my birthday, just a meager 2 days ago. What if the red boulders weren’t fashioned this way simply by nature? What if this was the work of a supernatural being? What if the rocks were erected as a result of an intense battle between opposing forces? 

“Weird, huh?” I turn to Dorian to gauge his reaction.

“Peculiar, yes, but beautiful.” He grins down at me and I notice he’s removed his shades, giving me full access to his magnificent irises, safeguarded by long, black lashes. I blush and hurriedly turn away to hide the flush of my cheeks.

We walk through the park in content silence, stopping every so often to admire the red sandstone. It totally boggles me how I can be so comfortable with Dorian, a complete contradiction to my usual distrusting nature. Being in his presence feels oddly right, as if we were somehow meant to be in this moment together.

“So you like to come here. Why?” he asks after a while.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I guess I’ve always enjoyed being outdoors if the weather is nice, of course. And I find the stones to be intriguing. Like, how on Earth did they end up like that? An act of God? Or something else entirely that we could never imagine? Nature is fascinating that way.” I look up and Dorian is studying me intently. Being that he’s at least 5 inches taller than my five feet four inch frame, I tilt my head upwards to meet his gaze. 

“I find
you
fascinating,” he breathes. An unnamed emotion washes over his face and his expression is unreadable. It’s as if he’s trying to relay something to me but is unsure if he should.

“Sorry to disappoint you but like I told you before, I am far from it,” I reply. My eyes drop to the ground, my own words wounding me because it’s true. “I’ve never been fascinating or interesting. I am so unbelievably ordinary, it’s a surprise that you haven’t gotten bored with me yet.” I pick up my head and mask my discontent with a rueful smile. No need to let my pessimism ruin the mood.

We stroll upon one of my favorite sandstone formations. “Kissing camels,” I say when we stop to admire it. The red rocks have created the impression of two camels facing each other engaged in a charming lip-lock. The sight makes me grin involuntarily. When I look to Dorian to gauge his reaction, he is looking down at me, much closer than I anticipate. I am momentarily startled at his close proximity, and can feel an intense heat surge through my veins at the prospect of contact. 

Dorian looks at me with hooded eyes and licks his lips. The sight of the pinkness of his tongue spikes my breathing and my own lips part reflexively from the excitement. As if I have given him some carnal signal, he slowly, deliberately bends his head down and places his soft, full lips on mine. They are strong and dominating yet as supple and light as satin. My mouth parts wider, welcoming his tongue to explore further. The sensation from his touch is electric and the familiar tingling that I experienced on our first encounter returns with a vengeance. From the pout of my lips down my neck, through my breasts and down in my belly, it’s spreading like wildfire. It meets its desired destination with ferocity and my pleasure counters the inexplicable prickling with its own throbbing. I’ve never felt anything like this; it’s simply amazing. It can only be best described as when hot and cold collide.
Fire and ice.