Light Shadows (2 page)

“Shhh.”

And he’s gone from the doorframe, dissolved in a blur of color and smoke. I’m almost too stunned and confused to react. The crack of hard flesh on wood and shattering glass crunching under heavy footfalls starts to pull me back. Reality crashes down and, smothering the shock, I turn in time to see Alexander, my father, with his hand around Dorian’s neck, slamming him against the wall with enough force to cause plaster to rain down from the ceiling. He pulls Dorian forward, just inches from his murderous sneer and the bloodlust paling his eyes, before slamming him back into the cracked wall. Dorian paws at Alexander’s grasp around his neck, his own glare icy with violent fury.

Stop it. Make him stop.

I can clearly hear the voice whispering in my head, but I can’t move or talk or think. It’s like I’m watching a slow motion sequence, drifting farther and farther from each frame. Away from a truth that my heart and mind refuse to accept.

Minutes ago, I was sprawled out on the couch, kissing and touching the man I love. The man that my father is currently trying to kill. The father that’s supposed to be dead.

Now I’m bearing witness to their demise—the demise of their friendship and potentially their lives—and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Wake up, Gabriella. This isn’t a dream. Stop this. He’ll kill him.

I hear the voice again, realizing that it is not my own. Not the usual tap on my conscience whenever I engage in my usual questionable behavior. But I know this voice. I don’t know how, but I do.

It sinks in further, making me aware of the rumbling of the floor beneath my feet and of shouted curses as the two men fight to gain control of the other. I gasp for air as the tang of blood and sweat floods my lungs.

“Stop.” They don’t hear me in their struggle over the ground, rolling through shards of jagged glass and splintered wood. “Stop!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dorian growls, after wrestling Alexander’s grip from his neck.

“You!” Alexander spits, landing a punch to Dorian’s temple. I grimace at the impact, and my knees buckle as vertigo seizes my equilibrium. The taste of metal fills my mouth. “You sick fuck. She’s my daughter. My daughter! I told you to protect her, not fu—,”

Dorian retaliates with a blow to Alexander’s chest that steals his breath before he utters his next words. “It’s not like that! You know I wouldn’t betray you! You know I would never hurt her.”

I watch through hazy eyes as their skin begins to fall away like ash, their human guises dissipating into black vapors. I can see Dorian trying to hang onto his humanity, trying to remain the man that I love and know—the man that doesn’t want to hurt his friend. But with every blow, he becomes more of what he is—a monster, a demon. Dark to his core.

Dorian gets the upper hand and straddles Alexander, pinning his arms to his sides. Sweat-slicked black hair falls into opaque eyes and a gash across his bare chest seeps with a tar-black substance. I grimace, because seeing him hurt—knowing he’s in pain—devastates me. I feel his pain too. I feel the way his lungs burn with exertion. I feel the throbbing at his temple, causing his vision to be splotched with fuzzy, black dots. And I can feel the pain in his boney knuckles as he squeezes my father’s wrists until the bones crack threatening to break.

I clutch my own chest, rubbing the sting of a phantom abrasion. When I pull my hand away, it’s sticky and wet with fresh, warm blood—blood from a wound that shouldn’t be there. That wasn’t there just seconds ago.

“Dorian,” I whisper hoarsely, still staring in disbelief at my hand covered in the dark, thick substance. This can’t happen. It’s physically impossible. I can
feel
him—our link ensured that—but this…this isn’t supposed to happen. “Dorian. Dorian,
please.”

Somehow—some way—he hears me, or maybe he just feels my discontent. Maybe he can smell fear tingeing the air, because in a blink, he’s beside me, grasping my blood-stained hand.

“Gabriella, what…” He gently pulls down the shirt where it sticks to the gash across my chest, his pale eyes narrowed in bewilderment. They’re lighter now—wild with violence and carnage. As he assesses the deep cut stretching from my collarbone down to my left breast, his eyes warm and thaw, returning to that brilliant blue that hypnotized me the very moment I saw him exactly a year ago in a crowded nightclub. Those eyes have mesmerized me every day since.

He takes my cheeks into his spiny hands, searching my face with that same penetrating gaze. I can feel his dread—can almost predict his next words as if they are my own. “What happened? Little girl, what happened to you?”

Trembling, my vision dimmed with sudden exhaustion, I touch a bloody finger to the broken flesh marring his once beautiful skin.

Dorian’s arms are the last thing I feel…before I feel nothing at all.

I’M NOT A stranger to confusion. I know it well—probably better than I know myself. But that’s not saying much, is it? Not when the life you thought you had was never really yours at all. It was an illusion. A rouse. Your family, your friends … all designed to uphold the perfect picture of a normal, young woman. And there’s not one damn thing normal about me.

Me and confusion? First name basis.

Still, this is something else—something more. Something that you can’t really prepare yourself for. Cataclysmic-status shit that makes you feel like you’re on one of those Tilt-a-Whirls at a carnival.

No, the Funhouse. My life is definitely more like a Funhouse. Mirrors that distort your image of reality, reflecting something that you don’t even recognize. Once you get just a tiny grasp of what’s real, the floor shifts from under you and you’re on your ass, struggling to get back to stable footing. The only difference is… nothing about this shit is fun.

“Gabriella?”
a muffled voice calls out to me. I know I should answer, but the earth is moving again, jolting me into a constant state of vertigo. It doesn’t end. It never does.

“Gabriella?”
it calls again. I really wish people would shut up and stop calling my name. I don’t even know who that girl is anymore. This isn’t my life. Most people would argue that it never was. But at the very least, I knew who I
was
. I knew what meant the most to me in this life. And I knew what I was willing to die for. At least I thought I did.

“Gabriella? Please…answer me. Open your eyes, little girl.”

“What the..? Little girl? What kind of perverted shit is that?”

“This isn’t the time, Alexander. Stand down. Stand the fuck down.”

“Bullshit. I’m not going anywhere. Get your hands off my daughter!”

“A little late for you to try to pull the concerned parent act. I’ve known and loved her for the past year. Where the hell have
you
been?”

A deep, throaty growl cuts into the tense atmosphere
,
warning of an imminent threat.
“It would be wise of you to contemplate your next words very carefully, Dorian. Right now, my daughter has been hurt—because of
you
—and needs my help. We will settle our differences at a later time, I can promise you that.”

Ah. There we are. I know exactly what part of the Funhouse we’re in. The part where something jumps out and scares the crap out of you, causing you to scream and run like hell. The part where shit gets real.

“Needs you? She needed you twenty-one years ago. But where were you, Alexander? Huh? Biding your time when she needed protection? When she was in danger?”

“Let us not forget who she needed protection from, eh,
Prince Dorian?
Tell me, who did that danger stem from? You know good and well that I would have given my life to protect her. All I care about is Gabriella. And if you had an ounce of affection for her, you’d feel the same.”

“Don’t you even think you can comprehend the depth of affection I have for her. She is mine, and I am hers. I made sure of it. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change that.”

Another low, guttural growl.
“Sure about that, old friend? Or have you forgotten who the fu—”

I force my eyes open slowly, eager to cease their bickering before it turns violent…again. There’s been enough bloodshed, and I haven’t even had my coffee.

Dorian’s face comes into view, and he sighs with relief, his forehead dimpled with worry. “Gabriella,” he breathes, as if he’s been deprived from precious oxygen for hours…days… millennia. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before flicking an awkward glance to something—or someone—across from him.

I die.

Not literally… Hell, I can’t do that. But something inside me—forgotten memories, grief, lies—it perishes into dust. Because what I thought was real—what I had come to terms with despite all the pain this world has cursed me to bear—is not what it seems. My reality is standing over me, looking down at me with the type of concern and affection that only a parent could harbor. It’s the type of look that a father gives his daughter when she scrapes her knee, or comes home crying after a boy breaks her heart. The kind of look that boasts of gentleness, care and love.

Although I don’t know this striking man in front of me, I know without a doubt that he is my father. And something within me blooms with hope, urging me to accept this unlikely revelation and to desperately hold onto the beautiful apparition for fear that it will dissipate before my eyes.

“Gabriella?”

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but I can’t find the right words. So, in true Gabriella fashion, I go with my first thought.

“You look pretty good for a dead guy.”

Alexander exhales and smiles as if he has just heard the first sounds of my newborn cry. I guess in a way he has. This is our very first introduction. Something that was robbed from us twenty-one years ago.

“My child,” he murmurs, tentatively stroking the knotted, messy mass of hair on my head. He touches me with a reluctance that only the Dark could understand. He summons pure, unbound, selfless affection, something they rarely feel or experience.

I sit up to really let myself look at him, and I’m instantly stunned stupid with his beauty. Dark curls, bronze skin and startlingly bright blue eyes. His hair is longer, and there’s a good amount of scruff on his chin—just enough to make him appear menacing and dangerous. However, he is undoubtedly handsome. Almost pretty. This man can’t be my father. Despite his ripped suit jacket and blood-stained linen shirt, there’s no way I’m related to someone so damn good looking. But I see it… I see
me.
The shape of his nose, his full lips, the dimple between his brows when he’s concentrating. He’s a part of me, as bizarre as it may seem.

I make a move to sit up from the couch, and both Dorian and Alexander rush to my aid, which is completely unnecessary. I get it; it’s not for my comfort, but completely for their peace of mind.

I cast my gaze down to see the scrap of fabric I’m wearing was once Dorian’s crisp, white dress shirt. The top is stained with my blood, but the skin just beneath it is smooth and unmarred, if not a bit cold to the touch. I run a hand from my collarbone to the top of my left breast, following the icy trail that was once open, bloody flesh. Then I do the same to Dorian, letting my fingers caress his bare chest. He flinches marginally at first, still growing accustomed to the initial jolt of my touch. He leans closer, soaking in the feel of my skin and the scent of my power.

“What happened, Dorian?” I ask, just above a whisper. He opens his mouth to answer, but no sound escapes, as if the words have been stolen from his tongue. I press my gaze into his and lean forward. I’m not trying to influence him—I don’t want to ever force him to bend to my will—but I need to hear him say it. I can feel the reluctance in him; I can feel him trying to push me out of his head. There’s something he’s not telling me, and he’s notorious for being cryptic.

Not anymore.

“Gabriella, I’m sorry, I—I had no idea this would happen. I didn’t know,” he stammers. His hand covers mine where it is still planted on his bare chest, his touch cool, yet comfortable.

“Didn’t know what?” I nod, encouraging him to go on. “What happened to me, Dorian? What happened to
you?
Talk to me.”

I press in more and he grimaces, as if feeling me inside him pains him. Or maybe it’s his resistance that hurts him. A shudder runs through him as I move in even closer, hanging on to his every shallow breath.

“The link,” he finally croaks, his voice raw with emotion. “I told you I didn’t know what would happen after you ascended. And I didn’t, I swear it. But this…this is something I could never have imagined.”

My gaze is wide and focused on his. “Go on.”

Dorian takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand over his heart. “Every wound that I suffer, you suffer with me. Everything that happens to me will apparently happen to you. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to stop it, but we have to find out. Because if that’s true, if something were to…if I don’t survive…I can’t…” He grimaces again before stroking my cheek tenderly. “I’m sorry, little girl. If I would have known, I never would have done it.”