Page 12 of The Dark Before Light

Been there, done that.

Instead, I think about how public record listed the address we’re driving to as owned by Shadow Healing Arts LLC. A rather ominous business name, but a fitting one based off my first impression of the woman who owns it. And, you know, the fact she dominates men sexually.

No fucking wonder she raised my hackles.

I close my eyes and try to think calming thoughts, but instead, I see Stirling’s smile at the end of our session. It came out of nowhere, like a summer downpour after a morning of blue skies in Galway. Shocking, impossible to evade, and as irritating as it was captivating.

Her teeth weren’t entirely straight, the most notable imperfection a left eyetooth that sat slightly forward, overlapping the tooth beside it a bit. I have no idea why the detail bothers me to the extent I’m thinking about it hours later. Maybe because the rest of her was so objectively flawless.

While not my type in the least, I can still admit Stirling’s a stunning woman. Tall and willowy in stature, but with a fluidity of movement that speaks to physical strength. Natural breasts, average in size from what I could glean with a quick glance. Rose-colored lips, the bottom plump, the top bowed. Eyes caught in the rare space between brown and yellow, their shade all the more impactful for the dark lashes and brows framing them.

I agree with my brother’s knee-jerk assessment after he insisted Gail show him Stirling’s photo—that her looks are reminiscent of a young Brooke Shields. But while Shields’s beauty is warm, inviting even, Stirling’s is somehow off-putting. Like a modernist painting that captures your attention but leaves you with a vaguely unsettled feeling.

My lack of physical response to the woman doubtlessly puts me in the minority of men—or women for that matter—who find themselves in her path. Even Alistair and Gail looked a bit dazed after staring too long at her photograph.

Despite my verbal agreement to give her three weeks, I haven’t decided one way or another whether I’ll continue her so-called therapy after tonight. Not because I think she’s bad at her job. I’m sure she helps all sorts. Disturbing extracurriculars and certifications aside, I can even acknowledge an intellectual curiosity about her methods. It isn’t often I see that razor-sharp awareness in someone’s eyes outside Lumitech’s labs. Like knows like—just as I do, she sees the world as a puzzle to solve. Or perhaps a foe to conquer.

The simple truth is I don’t believe what’s wrong with me can be fixed. If it weren’t for Alistair and my purely scientific curiosity, I wouldn’t be entertaining this madness at all.

“We’re here,” says Sven, jolting me from my thoughts.

He drives through an open chain-link gate and parks beside a black Lexus. The gate rattles as it slides closed behind us, obeying a remote in the hand of the woman standing near an open door.

Her dark hair is still pulled back, though she’s changed into athletic leggings, a fitted long-sleeved shirt, and trainers. Shadows make her cheekbones stark and eyes dark. Light from the building behind her defines her statuesque form, paying special homage to the tuck of her waist, the flare of her hips, and long, shapely legs.

Even the stalwart Sven stares a few seconds too long before turning off the car and exiting—and he bats for the other team. As for me, I’m gratified to realize I might as well be looking at Mrs. Murphy, the elderly lady who lived in the flat above ours growing up and who used to ring us for sugar without pants on.

As I get out of the car and walk toward Stirling, however, I have a disturbing thought.

I wouldn’t terribly mind seeing that crooked eyetooth again.

Chapter 4

Talia

Kieran walks toward me across the shadowed cement, every inch a wolf on the prowl. Long, loose limbs in the same sweatpants from this morning. A hooded sweatshirt encasing his torso. Broken-in sneakers. Squared shoulders with no hint of tension. His walk tells me he knows his own body and the impact of the space he takes up, but that he isn’t cocky about it. His grace suggests a history with martial arts but also vividly reminds me of watching a younger, skinnier man float backward over cobblestones.

A man shadows him, the same one I glimpsed in the hallway outside my office this morning. Mid to late forties. Blond buzzcut. A few inches shorter than Kieran but substantially more muscled. His expression is watchful as he scans our surroundings. There’s a notable bulge at his hip under a light jacket.

I’m confident this is Sven Akerman, the man who called me two hours ago to introduce himself as Kieran’s chief personal protection officer and let me know his men would arrive ahead of time to “sweep and secure” the location. They were polite and professional, identifying themselves immediately at the gate. They, too, were armed.

I address Sven first. “Dylan and Gabe are currently inside and should be done momentarily. I’ve given them remote access to the outdoor security cameras. The interior feeds are automatically purged every night to protect my clientele.”

His roaming gaze pauses on me. “Thank you for accommodating us, Doctor.” His voice is a deep, distinctive gravel; I recognize it from our call. “We’ll keep out of the way.”

He looks at Kieran, who extrapolates meaning from a subtle shift in the man’s expression.

“Thank you, Sven,” he murmurs.

Sven nods, turning his back to us. Despite his bulk, it suddenly feels like he’s merely another shadow in the night—albeit a lethal one.

While I’m used to clients having security personnel, these men are on a different level. Clearly ex-military, highly trained and hyper focused on Kieran’s safety. All of which leads me to deduce being the CEO of Lumitech isn’t only about innovation and board meetings.

Putting my curiosity aside, I focus on the here and now. “Follow me, Mr. Hayes.”

As I walk into the building, his footsteps follow me down the central hallway lined by false walls. Industrial-sized can lights on the distant, unfinished ceiling provide ample light to the partitioned rooms on either side of us, each denoted by a brightly painted door.

Dylan and Gabe emerge from the last room on the left. The former gives us a nod and slips past us toward the entrance. The latter pauses to say, “All clear,” to Kieran before giving me a parting smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

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