by Lund, Tami
Ignacio had taken her to one of the best steakhouses in the state. They had a secluded table in the back, and no less than five servers fawned over them. When she took a sip of water, someone reached over her shoulder to refill the glass. Every time a course was removed, another person appeared to scrape the crumbs from the table. The manager hovered, introducing himself and informing them that he was at their service, should they need anything, anything at all. It should have been the best dining experience of her life.
“My Chala does not like steak?” Ignacio said, a little too loudly. He lifted a hand and beckoned a server, who immediately rushed to their table.
“No, Ignacio, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with—”
The server’s appearance cut her off.
“Take this away. My Chala is not pleased.”
“Stop calling me that,” Sydney said through gritted teeth. The man was worse than Gavin.
Ignacio ignored her protest. “It is not good enough. Nothing is good enough for my Chala.”
The server slid the plate away and stammered apologies.
“Ignacio, it was fine, really. I’m just not very—” She was interrupted again when the manager swooped down upon the table.
“Mr. Arroyo-Lopez, my sincerest apologies. I told the chef that cut was too well done. Should I bring another? What can I do to make this up to you?”
Sydney shook her head. “I really don’t want—”
Ignacio cut her off and nodded. “Bring me another filet, with that crab béarnaise on top. Rare, this time.”
The manager apologized again and hurried off to do his bidding. Sydney stared at him. “I don’t like my steak rare.”
Ignacio shrugged. “You said you were fine. I’ll eat it. Why waste this opportunity?”
Ignacio was crossed off her list.
Unbeknownst to Sydney, Gavin’s day wasn’t faring any better. It was, in fact, possibly worse, because on top of a killer hangover, he carried guilt like a thick, oppressive cloak.
He had been the world’s biggest ass to Sydney this morning, despite the fact that she had obviously let him sleep in her bed again the night before, and then she had gotten up and fetched him a tall glass of water and a bottle of pain relievers to combat his headache. And he thanked her by cussing and telling her to leave him alone?
Almost four hundred years of living had turned him into one hell of a jerk.
He wished he could remember the night before. Had something happened to cause Sydney to be so nice to him, or was that simply her personality, and she would have been so nice to anyone? Had he actually managed to seduce her while he was drunk as a skunk?
He didn’t think so, because he still felt like he had a raging case of blue balls. Hangover or no, he imagined if he had sex with Sydney, he would feel pretty damn sated the next morning. Besides, he’d been that drunk before, and usually, he wasn’t even able to perform.
Was it a simple matter of Sydney arriving home from work, seeing that he was in her bed—he was pretty sure he passed out there sometime before ten o ‘clock—and she decided it was easier to crawl in next to him than to try to boot him out? Knowing Sydney, and the fact that five additional shifters were now sleeping in her living room and one guest bedroom, that was exactly what had happened.
Which meant she had been her usual, nice self this morning, and it had nothing to do with him. Still, Gavin felt guilty, and felt like he probably ought to apologize. The problem was, Gavin had never been very good at apologizing, even when he knew something was his fault. And he was enough of a badass and enough of a loner that he rarely had to do it.
He doubted he could get away with not apologizing to Sydney. She was too considerate, too caring, too emotional. Damn, but he had always hated emotional women. Such baggage. He hated having to sort through all the bullshit to get to the prize. It wasn’t worth it, not when there were half a dozen other women who were willing to give up the prize without a fight. He fought real battles each and every night of his life. The last thing he wanted was to fight an emotional battle just to get into a woman’s skirt.
But she was a Chala. The Chala. His Chala. Which meant, if he wanted to consummate this relationship any time soon, he was going to have to figure out a way to make it up to her.
She managed to ignore him all day long. She had the day off work, but William worked a regular office job, so while he was gone, Sydney spent the day alternating between cleaning her house and entertaining her houseguests. When Gavin finally made his appearance in the kitchen, she pretended he wasn’t there.
Although he noticed she made enough bacon and eggs that there was plenty left over despite the vast number of shifters in the house. He decided to take that as a good sign.
It was over lunch that the bevy of shifters discussed their plans to woo Sydney via individual dates. None of them seemed bothered by the fact that they all had the same goal in mind: to win the Chala’s hand. They all had the same understanding: Gavin was the common enemy. They worked together to exclude him and give everyone else a reasonably fair chance, even the dorky eighteen-year-old Jack. Jack was the one who drew the graph, outlining each date night and each shifter who would go on that particular date. They even reviewed her work schedule with William, so they only planned dates for evenings when she wouldn’t be working late at events.
Gavin thought the whole thing was a stupid gimmick designed to flatter Sydney, and he figured she’d go off on them all and kick them to the curb for being so presumptuous. Instead, she had laughed and agreed that the schedule was quite nice, and she looked forward to each and every date. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he could have sworn her voice lifted a notch when she made that proclamation, since he had been in the other room at the time. He considered pointing out to her that with his enhanced shifter hearing, she didn’t need to bother. He could hear her breathing three rooms away.
Hell, he could feel her presence, like she was a part of him. It was damned annoying, especially considering she didn’t want anything to do with him. But it was more than that. Gavin was nearly four hundred years old, and for the past two hundred, he’d been virtually a loner. Other than the short time he’d spent with Gloria and Hernandez, he’d lived alone, he’d hunted alone, he’d battled alone. A cursed Rakshasa didn’t fit in with dark or Light Ones.
It hadn’t really bothered Gavin. Unlike most of his kind, he always had a strong independent streak anyway. And he was used to it by now. Except now, he had a Chala to worry about. A Chala, who by rights, should be his to hold, to protect, to care about.
Was that what this was all about? Was he developing feelings for Sydney? That was crazy. Gavin had never loved a single person in his entire life. He had killed nearly every one of his sisters and brothers, and while he felt guilty on principle, he hadn’t felt sad or remorseful. In fact, if he had ever given it any thought at all, he would imagine he didn’t have the capacity to care.
In his mind, the idea of mating with a Chala meant he would have the opportunity to have sex on a regular basis, and the Chala would birth him a few Light Ones and little Chala over the course of the next few decades. She would raise them until they were ready to be weaned, then he would take over the training of the shifters, and she would teach her Chala daughters all they needed to know about their role in life. It was simple, straightforward, and shouldn’t really adversely affect the life he’d created for himself.
There was a problem with that scenario. Sydney did not fit into it. He could not see her being a vessel through which he created new Light Ones and Chala. He could not see her simply allowing him to go about his life as usual, only coming to her when he wanted a piece of ass, or when she was fertile and it was time to create life again. He could not see her raising her children alone, not if she had a mate who, in her mind, should be a part of the process—more than the m
eans by which the children were created.
Damn the Fates, he was in way over his head here. He should go back home right now, give Harmony a call and use her to bang out all this frustration and aggression slamming around in his head. At some point in the day, the hangover headache had disappeared and was replaced by a frustration headache, a Sydney-based frustration headache. It was all her damn fault. The woman was tying him into knots, and she was probably enjoying it while she did it.
He really did almost leave at that point, but when Sydney agreed to go out to dinner with Ignacio that evening, something inside him protested so loudly, so fiercely, that he hadn’t been able to do anything at all except sit there and sulk, until Ignacio returned bearing his armload of gifts and sweeping a rather prettily dressed Sydney out the door.
She was pretty. She wore a simple black sleeveless dress with a matching scarf artfully draped around her neck. Long, thin, silver and rhinestone earrings hung from her ears. Her hair was swept back into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and she had curled the ends into ringlets. One draped over her shoulder, curling down to her breast, and Gavin’s insides burned with rage as he watched Ignacio reach up and brush the curl back over her shoulder. He wanted to reach across the room and rip the shifter’s arm from his shoulder and then gnaw on it while Ignacio watched.
Instead, he hovered in a far corner, while the rest of the gaggle of shifters who had taken up residence in the house wished them luck—sincerely, for the love of Fates—and Ignacio helped Sydney into a long, cream-colored wool coat. Then they were gone, and every instinct in Gavin’s person told him to chase after them, to claim what was rightfully his.
“He isn’t the one, you know.”
William quietly stepped up to his side while the circus at the front door carried on. Gavin turned to him and bared his teeth, a silent warning that he was not in the mood. William ignored the warning.
“She’s flattered by the attention, and she thinks she wants someone who will shower her with gifts and follow her around like a puppy dog, because that’s what girls are supposed to want.”
“So you’re a psychologist as well as a Fate?” Gavin’s tone was snide.
“Nope. Just smarter than you, apparently.” And then he wandered away, to Quentin’s side, Gavin noticed. He wondered what that date would be like. He had never met a gay shifter before, but if Quentin was more interested in Sydney than in William, Gavin would eat his left pinkie. Probably, he hoped William would stick around, if he was the lucky one and Sydney chose him.
“She’s flattered by the attention, and she thinks she wants someone who will shower her with gifts and follow her around like a puppy dog, because that’s what girls are supposed to want.”
Gavin considered William’s words. If Sydney didn’t want someone like that, what did she want? Did she even know? Would she be so blinded by the flattery and attention that she would allow Ignacio to sweep her off her feet, even though it wasn’t really what she truly wanted? The thought caused his heart to clench, and for a moment, he actually struggled to breathe.
And then he strode across the room and out the front door without a backward glance.
When he arrived at the restaurant, he could tell immediately that Sydney sensed his presence. The thought helped to ease the vise clutching at his heart. He was as sharply attuned to her as she was to him, and as far as he could tell, she did not have that same tie with any of the other shifters currently wooing her.
He ducked into the kitchen, moments before Sydney made her circuit through the restaurant. When the chef yelled at him, Gavin found a set of stairs leading up to the second level and what turned out to be a private dining area. Conveniently for Gavin, it wasn’t in use tonight, so he was able to lean against the wall in the shadows at the top of the stairs, with a clear view of Sydney and Ignacio’s table, for the duration of their date.
He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could tell the moment Sydney lost interest in her suitor, because her shoulders stiffened and she shifted in her chair so she was slightly facing away from him, instead of leaning into him while she toyed with her wineglass and waited for the next course. Whatever happened, Ignacio had ruined it for himself. Gavin hadn’t needed to interfere.
He watched over them until Ignacio paid the bill and helped Sydney into her coat. Her stance was still stiff, possibly even more so than it had been during dinner, so Gavin was confident enough to slip away at that point. Ignacio was finished, and Gavin needed to go patrol the streets of Detroit, to make sure the Rakshasa weren’t wreaking any more havoc than usual.
It was well after midnight when Gavin returned to Sydney’s house. The television was on in the living room, and two shifters were awake, playing a video game that had appeared at some point this evening. He counted heads and noticed two more had been added to the mix. At this rate, they’d have to start camping out in the backyard.
Gavin liked that idea. As cold as the temperatures were, perhaps a few of them would freeze to death, and competition would be eliminated. He stepped over sleeping bodies, not trying very hard to be careful. He trod on a hand or a leg and even a head at one point, as he made his way back to Sydney’s bedroom.
The door was locked, which was a slight annoyance, but Gavin had been telling the truth when he told her those pitiful locks couldn’t keep him out. He slipped inside in a matter of seconds.
“Get out.”
He froze in the process of closing the door.
“You aren’t welcome in here. No one is. Especially you. Get out.”
He blew out a breath. For the space of three very painful heartbeats, he thought Sydney was not alone in the bed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done, but there was no doubt someone would have gotten hurt. Or worse.
“There’s nowhere else to sleep,” he said easily, as he strutted across the room toward the bed. In his relief that Sydney would not choose Ignacio over him, he’d forgotten about this morning. He supposed he needed to do some sort of damage control now.
“Then go somewhere else.”
“Can’t do that. You’re my Chala, and I have to protect what’s mine.”
“I swear to God, if one more person calls me their Chala, I’m going to—to—”
“To what?” Gavin asked, amused by her frustrated outburst.
“Stop this entire charade right this second. I’ll kick you all out and move to Aruba.”
“I don’t know about the rest of them, but I’ll just follow you to Aruba. And considering how bloody cold it is here right now, that’s not a half bad idea.”
Sydney made a frustrated noise that sounded like a growl.
“Date not go so well?” Gavin asked, feigning ignorance.
“My entire day hasn’t gone well.”
She sat in the middle of the bed, her back propped against the headboard, the comforter pulled up to just below her chest, a book lying next to her. The lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow that didn’t penetrate the darkness beyond the mattress. Instead of the usual tank top she normally paired with pajama bottoms, she wore an oversized T-shirt. He was disappointed that the understated yet sexy black dress had been relegated back to the closet.
Unfortunately for her, his libido was so far into overdrive that she could wear a brown paper bag and he would still want to have sex with her. At some point during the past forty-eight hours, he’d gone from determining he would have to sleep with a woman he didn’t find particularly attractive, to feeling as if he needed to sleep with her, almost as much as he needed to breathe.
“Yeah, about that.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I was kind of an asshole this morning.”
“Kind of?” She arched an eyebrow in an almost perfect imitation of him. He almost laughed, but figured she wouldn’t exactly appreciate it at the moment.
“Reall
y was. No kind of about it,” he said solemnly.
“Yes. You were.”
“In my defense, I had a killer headache at the time.”
“You brought it on yourself. No one forced you to drink a fifth of Jack Daniels.”
Gavin felt his irritation welling and tried to push back at it. What the hell was wrong with the woman? He was trying to apologize here, and she was making it as difficult as she possibly could. Didn’t she know this sort of thing didn’t come easy for him?
“You have a living room full of suitors who you refuse to send away. What the hell do you expect me to do?”
Sydney’s chin lifted a notch. “Be one of those suitors.”
“Huh?”
“If you think you’re my mate, then act like it.”
“I am.”
“You act like you own me. You don’t own me. No one does. But if you want me to be your girlfriend, then you need to act like it. Treat me the same way you would treat any woman you want to go out with.”
Gavin stood still for the count of five, and then he was across the room in the space of a heartbeat, looming over the bed, stabbing his finger at her chest.
“I don’t want you to be my girlfriend. And for your information, I’ve never had to work this bloody hard to get a woman into my bed. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re worth it.”
Sydney shoved his hand away and scrambled out from under the comforter. She perched on her knees and pointed at him. “What the hell do you want, if you don’t want me to be your girlfriend? And you’ve obviously slept with some pretty loose women. Either that or stupid women. And trust me, I’m worth it.”
