Unintended Guardian (Full Story): A Mythos Legacy Short Story

Chapter One: Part Two

Her chest tightened so fast she stumbled back, the wall catching her fall. Instinctively, she lifted the box in front of her, as though warding off danger. The same grabby hand seized the carton from her grasp.

What the hell? Rude much?

Her gaze followed the limb up to its owner. Oh, hello. A Viking of a man, all long tawny hair and broad shoulders, stared down at her.

“What were you doing with my package?”

His package? A snort choked her, and she covered it with a cough. God, she was such a teenage boy sometimes. And her frazzled nerves weren’t helping.

“Uh, the delivery guy brought it to my door by mistake.”

Despite the apartment manager’s sales spiel about how their background-check process ensured safety among the residents, several Aikijujutsu self-defense lessons from her father scrolled through her head. Just in case.

“I recently moved in down the hall. I’m Kala. You’re Griff?”

A perfect brow arched over one of his golden-hazel eyes.

“I saw the name on the shipping label of your, uh, package.” She couldn’t help the twitch curving her lips.

It took all her concentration not to sneak a peek at said package. She would behave. Luckily, his movie-star-worthy looks helped her focus on his face. In addition to his lion-mane hair and striking eyes, he boasted a perfectly straight nose and kissable lips.

Not that she was thinking of kissing him.

At all.

Really.

Those lips curled into a snarl. “Package delivered. Now leave.”

He walked away and set the box on a table in the kitchen. Her throat thickened, and she blinked quickly.

Wow. His dismissal cut deeper than his rudeness. Bluntness, she respected, but the cold shoulder crushed her hopes. She could have a better conversation with her dog.

Others must get lonely for friendship though, right? The possibility of making this place into a home—complete with friends, or at least acquaintances—was worth the risk of getting her head bitten off again. She’d give Mr. Antisocial the benefit of the doubt for one more attempt.

She scanned the room for ideas of something to talk about. In her matching apartment, she’d opted to forgo a table to keep her kitchen open and uncluttered. In contrast, his living room was the emptiest space, and thick black blankets covered the picture window, leaving the lights over the table as the only illumination. Despite the shrouded window, the heavy scent of sunshine and masculinity filled the room, like at a beach volleyball game.

Oblivious to her presence, the male in question muttered something to himself about needing a key and strode into a back room. She should leave. That would be the obedient, sensible thing to do.

Obedient and sensible had never helped her make friends before.

She stepped into his living room for a closer look in the dim light. A computer and stacks of encyclopedic-looking books loaded down a table in the far corner. Pushpin-decorated maps dominated the wall on her right, the multicolored pins marking locations throughout Europe, Russia, the Middle East, Africa, and North and South America. Had he traveled to all those places, or was this a wish list?

The room inspired more questions than answers. Unlike the high-end vibe throughout the rest of the complex, his apartment felt bare and temporary. He had no personal items of any kind. Anywhere.

Best-case scenario, he was odd. Worst-case scenario, he was a terrorist.

Regardless, her feet refused to turn toward the door. Maybe he was military. Or far from home and friendless.

Something in his eyes—a desperation visible even through his snarl—tempted her to stay, in spite of the hint of danger and his order to leave. She let herself hope that something was a loneliness like hers.

Whatever his situation, he was home at this middle-of-the-workday hour, when she was done with her job and still awake, and she wanted a conversation with another human, damn it. Even one who ranked on the questionable end of the eccentric-meter.

Besides, she remembered at least three dozen ways her dad had taught her to escape capture from a larger opponent. The chance to make a friend was worth a bit of risk.

The rip of packing tape pulled her attention back to the kitchen, where Viking man had returned. He twisted a key into whatever was inside the box. He was so focused on his task he probably hadn’t noticed her in the dark corner opposite the kitchen, but curiosity kept her from announcing her presence—or leaving.

The squeal started up again, and he reached inside the carton. He pulled out something like a doll, except it was unlike any doll she’d ever seen. The red-bearded figure wore old-fashioned red clothes, complete with a long jacket and hat.

And then the doll moved. And spoke.

“You!” The tiny creature sputtered in a singsongy Irish brogue, “Have ye gone daft, Griff? Ye haven’t any right to snatch me, spell me out cold, and ship me halfway across the Earthen plane. Whatever ye want, you’ll not be gettin’ it from me. Even if ye wish for it.”

A leprechaun?

Kala staggered back and blinked hard several times, trying to clear the nonsensical image off her retinas. But the image stayed there. Still not making sense.

For one thing, weren’t leprechauns supposed to wear green and not red? Unless that was just the cartoon version.

Whatever. No matter how she looked at it, the whole scene was wrong.

More importantly, what was it—whatever it was—doing here? In her real-world apartment building?

Viking man raised his arm above the table, and the leprechaun squirmed in his grasp.

Kala inched along the wall toward the door. Not that she wanted to leave this way-more-interesting-than-the-rest-of-her-life scene, but the rational part of her mind screamed that she should check the corridor to be sure the normal world did, in fact, still exist out there. Maybe she’d hit her head and was hallucinating.

Either that, or she’d somehow entered the Twilight Zone.

Her knuckles fumbled against the doorknob, and the leprechaun’s head whipped around.

“A human?” He goggled at her. “Why’d ye be lettin’ a human see me, Griff? Now we have to kill her.”

The lilt of his accent overpowered the menace of his words, and she couldn’t take his declaration seriously. Especially not when Griff spotted her and his mouth fell open, yet he made no move to carry out the leprechaun’s suggestion. Smart man.

She straightened and relaxed her muscles into a defensive stance. This might be the Twilight Zone or somehow both the most and the least realistic dream she’d ever had, but she wasn’t going to let anyone—and certainly not a pipsqueak with curling tips on the ends of his boots—threaten her.

“Oh yeah? Don’t make me sorry I didn’t feed you to my dog instead of delivering you here.”

Making a run for it didn’t strike her as necessary. Not seriously, anyway. Maybe her stubbornness would get her killed eventually, but it wasn’t going to happen today.