Light Beyond the Darkness (Lightbearer Book 3)

Prologue

Carley’s entire body ached.

As she lay in the snow, at the bottom of the stone steps leading up the side of the steep cliff, she reflected upon her life and concluded it was sadly lacking. She knew her way around a kitchen, could concoct a delicious meal from the most meager of ingredients … and that was about it. She couldn’t think of a single other aspect of her life of which she could feel proud or accomplished.

Except the babe in her belly.

She tried to lift her arm to flatten her palm on her abdomen, as she’d done a hundred times already that day, but her arm wouldn’t move. Broken. Everything in her body was broken. Was the babe broken as well? Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, sliding down her cheeks to pool in her ears, blocking out the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore a few hundred feet away.

She’d fallen from the top of the stone steps leading from the village at the lake’s edge to the beach house at the top of the cliff, where the king of the Lightbearers lived.

No. Not fallen. Pushed. She had been pushed down the stairs and left for dead. She had planned to warn the king and his family of impending danger, and instead she’d become a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, and she was pretty certain she was dying.

As ever, she had failed.

The only thing she had ever been good at was cooking, and the fact that she was good enough to cook for kings was what inevitably put her into her current situation. If she hadn’t worked at the beach house, no one would ever have wondered if she overheard things she was not supposed to hear. There would not have been a need to push her down a flight of stairs.

Would he have done it if he’d known about the babe in her belly? She had not told anyone yet, except for Alexa, the healer who had confirmed her pregnancy just the day before. Carley had even been afraid to tell Alexa, but the healer was as wise and good as her reputation, and she guessed on her own. Carley had blown out a breath of relief and admitted that yes, it was true.

The healer’s quick magical exam confirmed her suspicions, and even as she’d assured Carley that everything was perfectly fine, she promised not to breathe a word to anyone, until Carley was ready. Such a nice healer. If only she was here now.

Oh my lights—who is that?

Carley could not even turn her head to look at the source of the exclamation. Nothing on her body would work the way it should. Nothing wanted to work at all, save her lungs and her heart, and even those organs hurt so badly that she suspected her end was drawing near. She vaguely wondered if the babe was still alive, and would they die together?

It’s one of the chefs from the king’s home, a male voice commented, from the same vicinity as the female exclamation.

Carley? Oh, my lights—Carley!

Carley recognized the voice. Alexa. Had her prayers truly been answered? She opened her mouth and croaked—it was the best she could do.

Carley felt movement near her head, and comprehended that someone was crouching next to her. Alexa, no doubt. Warm hands cupped her head, and Carley would have sighed in bliss if she’d been able to, as soothing magic pushed into her head.

But it left as quickly as it started, and Carley made a noise of protest as the hands pulled away from her head.

She’s grievously injured, Alexa said. Dangerously so. I’m not sure I can heal her alone, not at this time of night.

What do you need me to do? the man asked.

Pick her up. Let’s take her back to my home. Then go find another healer. Maybe even two. I—I think she might have fallen from the top. Carley heard a sharp intake of breath at that statement.

Pushed, she wanted to say. I’m not that much of a klutz. But no words would come out.

A noise of distress managed to escape when the man lifted her into his arms. I’m so sorry, Carley, Alexa said as she walked beside the man who carried her. We need to get you to someplace warm. And I’m afraid to touch you until we are there. Your injuries are going to sap all of my magic. But we’ll get you fixed up. I promise.

Babe. She tried to say the word, but only a croak came out. Babe.

She blacked out as they walked, and was jolted awake again as she was being placed on a soft mattress. Go, she heard Alexa command. Find another healer. Quickly. I’m going to get started, but I won’t last long. But I’m afraid to wait any longer.

I’ll find someone, the man promised, and then he left, and Alexa knelt on the bed next to Carley’s hip.

Who would do such a thing? Alexa whispered as she took a deep breath and cupped Carley’s face with her palms again.

Carley’s last coherent thought was, She knows it wasn’t an accident…

Chapter

One

Human women were high maintenance.

Reid Hennigan just wanted to get laid, to find a decent-looking, warm, feminine body with which to spend a few hours of the night. To chase away the shadows. To satisfy his libido, nothing more, nothing less.

Unfortunately, his dining companion was making the process damned difficult, and despite the fact that he was pretty certain the signs were there, he wasn’t entirely sure he had enough patience to see it through to the end.

She was attractive, in a human Goth sort of way. She had an earring in her nose and another in her tongue. It was the one in the tongue that had prompted him to invite her out to dinner. What would that feeling like laving at his⁠—

He’d taken her to a steak house, recommended by one of the human neighbors who lived in the apartment building he’d recently moved into. And then he’d discovered she was a vegetarian.

Being a shape-shifter, a predator, a natural-born killer, Reid did not quite comprehend the point of vegetarianism. For an appetizer, he ordered an expensive bottle of red wine. She ordered a plate of fancy, colorful…vegetables.

When the waitress returned and asked if they were ready to order their entrées, Reid asked for the largest, best cut of steak they served. Rare. His date made a face and ordered vegetarian lasagna. Before she left to turn in their orders, the server gave him the sort of glance that told him she fully appreciated his menu choice and wondered what the hell he was doing with the woman sitting across the table.

Reid wondered the same damn thing. Maybe he’d ditch the date and return at the end of the waitress’ shift.

You aren’t even listening to me, Reid, his date complained. The bottle was empty, and he was still working on his first glass. He wasn’t a fan of losing control of his senses, unlike his date, it would seem. Such a shame, because it was damn fine wine, and he’d just wasted it on this woman.

No, he said. I’m really not.

Reid was not one to mince words. Nor was he one to be particularly nice on any given occasion. There hadn’t been very much nice in his world, after all. Why should he put forth the effort to be nice to others?

The date pouted and drank more wine. Reid twirled the stem of his glass and let his gaze wander around the restaurant. The decor was warm, with lots of wood paneling and wrought-iron latticework in the doorways of the various dining rooms. The lighting was recessed and muted, and pin lights highlighted the fresh flower centerpieces on the white cloth-draped tables.

Most tables held groups of two or four human guests, chattering happily, drinking and eating with enthusiasm. He’d had to bully his way in tonight, intimidating the maître d’ until he stammered that he forgot Mr. Hennigan had a reservation after all. Apparently, the chef here was a recently discovered phenomenon. All of Chicago clamored to try her fare. Reid idly wondered if she’d live up to her reputation. He had high expectations of the steak that was about to be delivered to his table.

He caught the scent of a unique blend of herbs and smoky, charred cow flesh, and he turned from admiring the scenery to focusing on the waitress who was walking toward their table. She faltered under the intensity of his gaze, so he shifted it to his date. He knew he had that effect on other beings—humans weren’t the only ones. He was too intense by far. It was part of his species. It was part of his makeup, born from a lifetime of living under the reign of an insane pack master.

But that didn’t mean he had to intimidate the waitress and cause her to inadvertently drop his dinner on the ground.

Ohh, I can’t wait. His date chortled as she clapped her hands together like a three-year-old.

Reid scowled. You ordered lasagna without meat. How can you possibly be this enthusiastic?

Like the three-year-old she apparently was, she stuck out her tongue. Reid was not a man with a great deal of patience. He was half tempted to stand up and walk away. Even if this woman did decide to spread her legs for him tonight, he was no longer sure that he wanted her to.

But that steak smelled far too good to pass up. Without even taking the first bite, he wondered if there was something to the rumors about this chef after all.

The server placed their plates on the table with a flourish. Reid ordered another glass of wine for himself and water for his companion—despite her pout of disapproval—and then he lifted his fork and knife and prepared to be impressed.

As he sliced a bite of meat from the giant steak, his knuckles brushed the side of the plate and then his fork and knife clattered to the table. His date gave him a peculiar look, but he ignored her. Instead, he hesitantly reached out and touched the plate. And felt it again.

Magic.

It tingled on his fingertips, shooting off magical sparks like a sparkler from the Fourth of July holiday. He lifted his fingers and stared at them. And then he leaped out of his chair and strode away, leaving his date calling after him in a frustrated voice that he only peripherally heard. He was far too focused on determining the source of the magic he’d felt on that plate.

Ignoring the servers and busboys who gave him incredulous looks and even the one who made a pitiful attempt to stop him, Reid pushed through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the restaurant proper.

He was greeted with a nearly blinding light, so bright he actually lifted his hand to shield his face until his pupils shrank sufficiently to allow him to see properly. When he was finally able to blink his vision into focus, what he saw was a fairly standard—although ridiculously bright and rather impressively clean—kitchen. It was huge, as would be expected for a restaurant on a main drag in Chicago, and there were humans bustling every which way.

Servers strode through the swinging doors and attached small, rectangular bits of paper to the turnstile hanging between their area and the kitchen proper, where the real cooking was done. Two young humans stood at a salad prep station. Another that Reid guessed was the dishwasher carried a stack of plates that were almost as tall as he was. He was short and stocky, with a dark complexion and colored with tattoos everywhere Reid could see. With expert ease he placed the plates in perfectly symmetrical rows on the stainless-steel counter separating the servers’ area from the kitchen proper, and then he retreated again through another swinging door on the far end of the kitchen.

Behind the stainless-steel counter were five different people, all dressed in white chef smocks and some sort of hat covering their hair. In the middle of all the hustle and bustle was one woman with ash-blonde hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She had bright eyes and a pale complexion, and she was tall and thin and clearly in charge. And all around her, he could practically see the magic sparking and dancing, as if it were a living thing. He supposed in a way it was.

Lightbearer.

Lightbearers operated best in full sunlight. With the absence of light, their magic slowly faded, until it was regenerated again by the next dose of the sun’s rays. It was rumored that if you cut a Lightbearer off from sunlight for too long, she would die.

The ridiculously bright lights, he suspected, were her doing.

Her.

He stopped and stared. Take away the magical sparks dancing over her skin, and he supposed she wasn’t particularly exceptional-looking. In fact, it appeared she was doing her best to downplay whatever positive attributes she might possess. The hair severely pulled away from her face, the lack of makeup, the oversize chef’s coat, all lay proof to his suspicions. He knew nothing of other magical beings, but he knew enough about females in general to know that they tended to play up what they considered their best features, not tone them down.

Despite this, Reid found himself attracted to her, even from halfway across the room, without so much as a word spoken between them.

He’d never considered that he might be attracted to a specific type of being. Until just a few months ago, he would have assumed his type was simply female shifter. Prior to this foray into the human world, he’d never lain with any females other than shifters. Human women were new to him, so he hadn’t yet determined if he desired a specific type of human female. And never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined he would run into a Lightbearer and actually wonder, Is this my type?

She recognized his presence while he was still trying to come to terms with the reality of seeing a Lightbearer in the flesh, standing a few feet away. The only other time that had happened was last summer, when Quentin Lyons had captured one, and his son then escaped with her. That had ultimately led to Quentin’s death, his pack being dispersed, and the various members being assigned to new, smaller packs. Reid had left before that occurred. He had no wish to learn the ways and rules of a new pack master. Not after what he’d gone through with the last one.

This experience was far different from Reid’s only other experience with a Lightbearer. The last one had been a prisoner and had been sentenced to die, because Quentin believed that whoever killed her would inherit her magic. A shifter with magic above and beyond the ability to change forms at will. It was a heady concept.

This Lightbearer was—apparently—the head chef at one of Chicago’s most popular restaurants. Living in the human world. He’d noticed no other trace of magic aside from hers, so he suspected she lived there alone, without the protection of others of her own kind. How had it taken Quentin forty years to find one, if they lived among the humans like this? If her steak was as good as Reid suspected it was, he could not fathom that a shifter or two had not stumbled across this particular restaurant before. Shifters loved their red meat, and considering their typically obsessive personalities, they would go to great lengths to try a delicious steak dinner.

At least Reid would.

In the space of a handful of heartbeats, she was surrounded by humans, both female and male, and none with particularly welcoming expressions on their faces.

Hey, no civilians back here, buddy, one human sharply announced. She had blue-black hair, heavy dark makeup, and piercings in every visible orifice. She reminded him a little of some of the female shifters he knew.

He was amused by the way she stood slightly in front of the Lightbearer, almost as if she expected an attack. But surely not? All magical beings understood one overriding rule: never tell the humans about the magic.

The Lightbearer had yet to speak, although he could tell by her widened eyes, rapid breathing, and the stench of fear in the air that she knew precisely what he was.

I only wanted to compliment the chef, he said, his gaze fixed on her.

She lifted a hand and cupped her narrow, smooth neck, as her eyes widened farther and her breathing escalated a notch or two.

Usually people do that without actually leaving their seats, the dark-haired human woman said. And you need to get out of our kitchen. It’s a health-code violation for you to be back here.

He could care less about anyone’s health except that Lightbearer’s. He had no specific code, not anymore. And if there was to be any violating around here…

He stepped forward, extended his hand, and bowed his head slightly, not an act of submission, but an act of acknowledgment. I know you’re afraid. I don’t intend to hurt you.

She didn’t accept his gesture. If anything, she shrank away even more.

Order—oh. A server hustled through the swinging doors and stopped short when she spotted Reid standing there. One of the other chefs extended his arm across the stainless-steel counter and snagged the meal ticket from her hand. Then he turned and shoved it at the Lightbearer, clearly trying to pull her attention away from Reid.

We need to get back to work, Carley, he said. The orders are starting to back up.

Carley. Was that the Lightbearer’s name? Reid continued to stand there, continued to watch her. Wisps of silver-blonde hair stuck out from under her chef’s hat, which was a tall, white paper contraption that perched at a jaunty angle on her head. While everyone else in the room looked sweaty and bordering on exhaustion, she looked as fresh as a spring breeze.

Magic. Only magic could keep someone looking so damn unaffected amidst the chaos of a popular restaurant kitchen on a Friday evening.

I’d like to speak to you, he said, his gaze never wavering. Alone.

She shook her head and accepted the ticket that was thrust into her hands. She looked down, read what was scribbled there, and finally spoke to him.

That isn’t possible, she said without looking up from the bit of paper. And then she apparently decided to act as if he wasn’t there, and began issuing orders to the humans, each one scrambling to do as she commanded.

It was fascinating to watch. Until the spunky human woman with the blue-black hair stepped in front of him and stood on her tiptoes so she could get in his face.

Look, buddy. If you don’t leave our kitchen, we’re going to call the cops. Great meal or not, you don’t belong back here. She glared at him, not intimidated in the least.

It was almost refreshing. Nearly everyone was intimidated by him, and he rarely bothered to disabuse people of the notion that he might strike them down at any moment. He rather liked the fact that most people—magical or otherwise—were too frightened or nervous to get close to him. He was not fond of personal contact.

Carley, he murmured, repeating the name he’d heard the human male say a moment ago. Did she make my steak?

Yeah, the woman said with obvious impatience. She makes all the steaks here. It’s one of her specialties. Now, can you go back to your table?

What else does she do?

She gave him a peculiar look. What do you mean?

What other plates? What are her other specialties?

Oh. The human considered his question for a moment. She makes a mean beef stew, she decided. And duck. Amazing duck. And key lime pie. I know it sounds weird, because it seems like such a simple dish, but her key lime pie is out of this world.

Duck. He loved duck. Key lime pie? he repeated out loud. He didn’t often eat dessert. There usually wasn’t meat in dessert. Maybe I’ll give it a try, he decided, and then he asked, How often does she work?

You’re awfully damned obsessed, you know that?

So I’ve been told.

The woman shook her head. We’re open Tuesday through Sunday. Closed Mondays. Carley has some serious work ethic. She’s here every single night.

Carley Santiago loved to cook. It didn’t matter where or for whom. She’d loved it when she worked as a chef at the king’s beach house, creating elaborate dining experiences for the queen’s parties. She’d stumbled out into the human world a few months ago, and as frightened as she’d initially been, she honestly couldn’t say she wasn’t glad it happened. Cooking for humans, in this massive kitchen, with all these eager helpers, was truly an exciting experience.

She loved getting creative with food. She loved the challenge of coming up with a new entrée special each and every night. She loved to work, and did so, every opportunity she could. The restaurant manager had no issue whatsoever taking advantage of her eagerness, and scheduled her six nights a week without fail.

The other under chefs and the servers all thought she was either crazy or a kiss up. She definitely wasn’t a kiss up—at least not intentionally—but crazy, well, that was another subject entirely. She tried not to go there—ever.

It was Friday night, and she was catering to a packed house, despite the late season snowstorm that hit the Chicago area earlier in the day. The reservations were full until midnight, and there was still a line out the door. Even the patrons in the bar were ordering full entrées tonight, not that her appetizers were anything to sneeze at. Yes, Carley was in her element.

At least, until he walked into her kitchen. Him. That—that—that—shifter. A shape-shifter strolled right into her kitchen!

Shifters aren’t the enemy. Her heart beat madly, and her hand clenched and unclenched around the razor-sharp Santoku knife.

At least, those with whom she was acquainted were not. The shifters she knew were polite and respectful. They praised her food and expressed genuine appreciation for her efforts in the kitchen. They were also, frankly, pretty damn good-looking.

Not that this one wasn’t. Must be a shifter trait.

She contemplated the incredibly tall, rugged man who stood before her. His hair was coppery and trimmed short around his collar, and spiky on top. His eyes were palest blue. His face was sharp angles and planes covered with a thick coating of auburn stubble. His nose had a bump in the top and was slightly off-center, indicative of a break that had not healed properly. What could have been a flaw in his appearance only added to the man’s craggy good looks.

He wore a gray button-down shirt over a white undershirt, and a pair of black slacks that looked tailor-made to show off every muscle. Every single one. Damned bright lights.

She tried to convince herself he wasn’t a shifter—maybe just a human, or possibly a Lightbearer—but it was a futile attempt. Few Lightbearers were quite so large, and if they were, they were far less scruffy than this man. And humans, well, they didn’t even compare.

Shifters aren’t the enemy. It was the truth. Which meant fear wasn’t the reason her heart rate was accelerated and she felt as though she could scarcely breathe. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, especially the ones at the apex of her thighs.

Lights above, Carley, get a grip.

It was hard to do with the coppery-haired shifter watching her with such an intensity she suspected he wasn’t even aware of anyone else in the kitchen.

What would it be like to be the center of this man’s universe?

The thought drifted through her head, startling her so much her body gave a jerk. And he’d been halfway to the door, too, about to walk out of her life. Yet when