Part 8 (1/2)
Gavin and Quentin had retrieved Sydney's car, running as good as new, so she no longer had to rely on others for a ride to work. Still, on Thursday morning, Gavin got up, and without a word, stood at the door, waiting to drive her to work.
”Why?” she asked as he opened the door and invited her to step onto the front porch.
”You have a lousy sense of direction. I wouldn't want you to get lost on the way to work.”
It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her. And another moment to realize she liked it.
On Friday evening, she had to work another event. Gavin took her to work, but explained that he'd arranged for William to pick her up. The subzero temperatures finally broke, and more humans than usual tended to hang out in downtown Detroit on weekend evenings. He had no doubt there would be action-bad action-tonight, and he felt an overpowering need to be there, to do what he could to protect the humans from his own kind.
Sydney tried not to find it endearing that he insisted upon protecting the humans in Detroit, from his own kind, no less. If she started thinking about him in such a positive light, well . . .
”Okay,” she responded.
They had formed a sort of uneasy truce. He continued to sleep in her bed each and every night, but aside from cuddling while they slept and occasionally unconsciously thrusting his groin, that was all he did. They spoke like polite acquaintances during the day, and he managed to be at least halfway civil to the increasing number of s.h.i.+fters who were taking up residence in the house.
The only issue occurred when one of the newest s.h.i.+fters questioned him as he stalked down the hall toward Sydney's bedroom one evening. She had a strict rule with all of her suitors that they were not allowed into her bedroom without her express permission, and the new s.h.i.+fter called Gavin out on it. Gavin responded by punching him once and knocking him out cold. No one else questioned him after that.
Before he left the house Friday evening, Gavin went to the living room and made a general announcement about his intentions. He was used to working alone and didn't particularly like most of these Light Ones, but it was supposedly in their blood to want to destroy the Rakshasa too, so he felt obligated to at least put the option out there.
No one offered to go with him.
Gavin stood there staring at the bunch of them. There were more than twenty now. Most were slouched in the living room, on furniture or the floor. Another television had been brought into the room, and some were either watching or playing a video game, while the rest were zoned in to the other television, where the Red Wings were trouncing the other team on the ice.
Beer bottles, pizza boxes, bags of chips, and pretzels littered the floor and the coffee table. Blankets and sleeping bags were piled haphazardly in a corner. The floor looked as if it hadn't been vacuumed in a month. In another corner, various duffel bags were piled together, along with dirty clothes and a.s.sorted pairs of shoes. The place looked like the ultimate bachelor pad. The only thing missing was p.o.r.n on the television. He had a feeling that happened later in the evening, when they were sure Sydney was sleeping.
”Hey.” When no one acknowledged him, he grabbed the remote and threw it at the larger television, the one the majority of the group was watching. The screen cracked and went black. Several s.h.i.+fters protested, but he finally had everyone's attention.
”You all are lazy f.u.c.king slobs.” He paced as he ticked off instructions on his fingers.
”If you want to stay in this house for one minute longer, you have to follow a few ground rules. One: clean up after yourselves.”
Gavin watched as most of them darted their gazes around the room. He wondered if they even noticed their mess. Most guys didn't.
”If you are having issues figuring out how or what to clean, the Fate will be happy to give you an a.s.signment.” He allowed himself a small smile. Make William do the work organizing their cleaning habits. I like that idea.
”Two: you need to bathe at least every third day. Some of you smell like G.o.dd.a.m.ned wild animals.” He watched as several sniffed at their armpits.
”Nick.” Gavin pointed at the youngest s.h.i.+fter in the bunch, the one who created the dating schedule. ”You make up a showering schedule. There are two bathrooms in this house. Make sure you s.p.a.ce things out so the hot water tank can keep up. Check with Sydney's schedule first. She gets first dibs. I guess the Fate should get second,” he said as an afterthought. He wasn't worried about himself. He could always shower at his own apartment. Or, if he ever got lucky enough, he'd be happy to share Sydney's shower.
”And third: this is not a free for all. You need to contribute if you are going to live here. And the way you are going to contribute is by helping kill off the Rakshasa.”
He watched as they all gave each other uneasy glances. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with this group?
Ignacio finally piped up. ”Most of us have some experience with battling Rakshasa. But it's been a long, long time. We all thought the Chala were extinct, so there didn't seem to be a reason to keep fighting. Some have never fought a day in their lives.” He waved his hand in Nick's direction. As if to emphasize Ignacio's point, Nick nodded.
Gavin stared at him. ”Are you f.u.c.king kidding me?” Why would they all give up like that? Didn't they realize that Rakshasa were far more fertile than Light Ones, and if they did not keep the population in check, they would eventually take over the world?
There was some uneasy s.h.i.+fting and darted glances around the room, but no one denied Ignacio's words.
”f.u.c.k me,” Gavin muttered as he stormed out of the living room and headed down the hall to William's bedroom. When he walked in without knocking, he found William and Quentin in the room together. He tried really hard not to think about what they had been doing, or possibly were about to do.
”Do you realize none of your Chala's suitors have the wherewithal to fight off the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Rakshasa?”
William's brow furrowed. ”I noticed none seemed as eager as you to go off to track them down, but when you say 'wherewithal' . . .”
”I mean, not a one has any interest in fighting. Apparently the youngest ones haven't even done it at all. As far as any of us were aware, there hasn't been a Chala in two hundred years, so they just quit trying. Lying down and letting the Rakshasa take over.” He was breathing heavily and suspected his eyes were glowing. He felt very strongly about his point.
William glanced at Quentin and nodded slowly. ”I had not realized things were so dire. I suppose it is a good thing she did not choose to mate with any of them. If I am going to allow her to go into someone else's protection, it has to be someone who really will protect her. Besides the fact that no one knows if there are any other Chala left, I happen to care for her a great deal.”
”She's under my protection.” Gavin growled and stabbed his thumb at his chest. ”And I will protect her. And those a.s.sholes out there need to learn how to do it, too.” He pointed at the open door through which he had just entered.
William gave Quentin a little push. ”You'd better go with him. Make sure he doesn't do anything rash. I'm afraid Sydney has become somewhat used to his presence around here.”
Quentin nodded then he and Gavin left the room.
As if reiterating what William told Quentin, Sydney defended Gavin when William picked her up from work. ”I want to learn how to fight.”
”You are surrounded by almost two dozen s.h.i.+fters and your own personal Fate, and you think you need to fight? Are you implying that one of them is treating you poorly? Is it the Rakshasa? Because I know a few curses of my own-”
”His name is Gavin, William. Stop calling him the Rakshasa. It's so impersonal. And no, no one is treating me poorly. They all treat me like a queen, even after I inform them that I won't be their mate.”
William slid her a sideways glance. ”It sounds as if you may be warming to, uh, Gavin.”
Sydney shrugged and turned to stare out the side window. ”I guess I'm starting to get used to him. He's not really as mean as he likes to pretend. I think he's more misunderstood than anything.”
”Misunderstood?” William said the word slowly, enunciating each syllable.
”Yes. The poor man, every single day he has to deal with this internal conflict. He's forced by the curse to kill his own kind, even though he once used to be just like them, and still remembers what it's like to taste the kill. And he's been alone for the last two hundred years. That has to take a toll. It's no wonder he's so gruff all the time.”
”Oh Fates,” William muttered.
Several hours later, Sydney jerked from a sound sleep by a loud commotion. She realized Gavin was not in the bed with her, but she could still sense his presence. Wherever he was, it wasn't far. She scrambled out of bed to see what was going on in the other room.
Gavin stood in the living room, with a b.l.o.o.d.y, limp man draped over his shoulder. His arm was around the man's waist, and he held the man's hand, or else the body would have slid to the floor in a boneless ma.s.s.
”Oh my G.o.d!” Sydney clapped her hands over her mouth and stared with wide eyes.
”Help me get him to a bed,” Gavin instructed a nearby s.h.i.+fter. ”And get her the h.e.l.l out of here.” He turned away without looking at Sydney. But she saw it anyway: the cuts and bruises on his face, the blood on his clothes, the worried glint in his eye.
The next several hours were a flurry of activity. The beaten man was placed on the bed in the guest room. Hugo, who had seen even more battles than Gavin in his day, presided over tending to the man's injuries, while two other s.h.i.+fters hovered nearby and followed whatever instruction he belted out. A few left to go to the nearest Walmart to purchase additional blankets and pillows and toiletries, since the supplies were now depleted. Somebody else scrounged up a few sandwiches and bags of chips, and everyone hunkered down to wait.
Gavin paced the hall outside the guestroom, pausing every so often to receive an update from one of Hugo's a.s.sistants. Sydney, despite Gavin's demands, insisted on helping.
Quentin was also injured, although not nearly to the extent of the s.h.i.+fter Hugo was tending to, so Sydney took it upon herself to tend to his various cuts and claw marks and one vicious looking bite that had taken a small chunk out of the meat of his calf. When she tried to ask him what happened, he was close-lipped, saying Gavin needed to be the one to explain.
After Quentin was cleaned and bandaged to the best of her abilities, she ran back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom, carrying bowls of fresh, soapy water, dumping old, dirty, b.l.o.o.d.y water out in the toilet, and returning yet again with fresh, clean water. Hugo muttered something about st.i.tches, so Sydney dug out William's sewing kit, and at Hugo's instruction, she soaked the thread and needle in alcohol before taking it in to him.
Gavin grabbed her arm when she tried to pa.s.s after giving Hugo the needles and thread. ”You're exhausted.”
She pushed a clump of hair out of her face. ”So are you. And everybody else. You haven't even cleaned up yet. Go take a shower before those wounds get infected.”