Skye's Sanctuary (The Sanctuary Series Book 5)

by Nikita Slater

  As amazing as it is that Silas was discovered alive, sometimes I wish he’d stayed dead instead of popping up to complicate my already complicated relationships even more. As I pull out of the hug with Hannah, a wave of dizziness hits me. I reach out for something, but there’s nothing nearby to prop me up. As I grope, big black spots floating in my gaze, Hannah takes hold of my arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, concern overriding her earlier upset.

  I nod, but that’s all I can manage.

  “How long have you been feeling this way?” Hannah asks, a knowing tone in her voice.

  I blink several times until the black spots pass from my vision and I’m able to focus on her pale face, surrounded by a cloud of blond curls.

  “A few days,” I answer truthfully.

  “What other symptoms?” she demands.

  I frown and think about it, taking a mental inventory of my body. To be honest, I’m not all that in tune with myself. My emotions, my physical body, I have a tendency to box those things up and set them aside so I don’t have to think about them. Now, when faced with an unknown physical issue, I have no choice but to reassess myself.

  “I suppose along with the dizziness I’ve also experienced some nausea, exhaustion and lack of appetite. I thought maybe I was overworking myself and I’d just get some extra sleep when I had time.”

  Hannah presses a hand to my forehead, her face creased with worry. “No fever,” she says as she removes it. “Maybe not the flu.”

  I’m hopeful she’s right. “What else could it be?”

  She looks at me slyly. “Well, you know morning sickness has similar symptoms as the flu.”

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  Hannah grins at me. “I’m guessing you’re pregnant.”

  My mouth drops open and I think quickly back to my last period… nope, no idea. I’ve always been somewhat irregular and with all that’s been going on lately, I can’t remember. I don’t know how to feel about pregnancy, except that I know I don’t have time for it. Still, a baby Wolfe…

  “I’m not pregnant, Hannah,” I say impatiently, but soften my tone with a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get checked out when I have a minute.”

  She tries to protest, but I say goodbye and stride toward my escort of guards who are standing near the hospital exit, pretending not to hear my conversation with Hannah. Over my shoulder I say, “You stay out of that lab and away from Silas.” At her stricken expression, I add, “We’ll talk about it later. Maybe we can find a safe nonintrusive way for you to go see him.”

  “I’m ready to go,” I inform Kingston.

  Extremely grateful that I brought a vehicle today, I climb into the passenger seat of my city car, a 75-year-old Jeep Cherokee. I don’t really know much about different models of cars, I only care that they work. I was assured that this one could get us through a war zone if needed. Kingston slides into the seat next to me while the remaining three guards that Wolfe assigned get in the vehicle behind us.

  “Where to?” Kingston asks, glancing at me.

  I’m blinking away another wave of dizziness as I try to think about where I was heading next. Then I remember. I’d planned on visiting the East Santa Fe school rebuild. The construction is taking place under the supervision of a man named Sheik. Tabitha recommended him to me as a brilliant architect. According to her, he worked under the direct tutelage of the man who originally designed Sanctuary cities shortly after the Great Fall. He escaped the New York Sanctuary with Tabitha and the other women, along with a few dozen other survivors.

  So far, I have no complaints about his work ethic or leadership. I plan to ask him if he’ll extend his contract with us and work on two more schools for the city.

  I’ll have to move my meeting though. I can’t risk spreading this illness. “Please take me home, then you’ll need to isolate away from me.”

  Kingston looks alarmed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat. There’s a buzzing in my head that’s making it impossible for me to pay attention to him.

  As we arrive at the palace, Kingston pulls into the underground parking lot and rushes around to my side of the car. I wave him away. If I have the flu, I don’t want to spread it. Probably should’ve stayed at the hospital, but I can’t seem to think straight.

  As I step from the vehicle a wave of dizziness hits me, followed by nausea so strong that I clutch my stomach and drop to my knees. I hear a shout, but I don’t have time to think about it as the contents of my breakfast come rushing up in a hot embarrassing display all over the ground next to Kingston’s boot clad-feet.

  “Oh god,” I groan and reach out blindly.

  Kingston takes hold of my hand and, with another hand on my elbow, attempts to help me stand. That’s when the dizziness hits me so hard I have no choice but to give in, allowing myself to succumb to the darkness that has been slowly creeping into my life over the past few days.

  “Fuck, someone get Wolfe, now!” It’s the last thing I hear before passing out.

  Twelve

  Wolfe

  I sit next to Skye where she’s laying on our bed, looking small and frail against the huge frame. She is such a powerhouse of a woman that seeing her in a position of less than complete control is one of the most frightening things I’ve ever experienced.

  She could die.

  When I was five, I lost both of my parents to the fall of our Sanctuary. Tijuana was overrun first by flu, then by Outsiders, and finally by Primitives. My short life had been devastated in those weeks, leaving me an orphan in a dangerous world. Not long after losing my family I lost my eye in a battle for food scraps with an older boy who was bigger, faster and stronger.

  Later, as I grew, learned how to make my own way in the world, I killed my first zombie. The feel of its skull shattering under the rock I smashed into its head had been both sickening and satisfying. I’d done it in self-defense, attempting to protect myself from the Death Kiss. After that first kill, I grew comfortable with killing.

  Until I was faced with a human intent on killing me and stealing my supplies. An Outsider.

  That first human kill changed me. It toughened me, creating a cold, impenetrable shell that remained intact until the day I met Skye. All that glorious beauty and fire, proud despite being sold into a harem as a slave. I resisted at first, but slowly she chipped away at the ice surrounding my heart until I was forced to admit she had power over me.

  As the years passed, my feelings for the Warlord’s wife crystallized. But she was already in love and I couldn’t bring myself to destabilize her life after she’d spent her childhood running from every bad thing in the world. Maybe she needed the steady, caring presence of our ineffectual Warlord.

  Now, looking at her in this bed and thinking about all the choices that brought us to this point, I can’t help but feel regret. Maybe if I’d taken her from Silas when I had the chance. Maybe if I told her about my feelings long ago. Maybe if I’d stayed with her in the Tucson Sanctuary instead of leaving and forcing her to find herself. Every step we have taken has brought us to this moment, with her life hanging in the balance.

  And I am to blame.

  “It’s not your fault.” The soft voice startles me, and I turn to look over my shoulder at Dr. Summers. She has been a beacon of light in a situation where I can only see darkness. With each visit, I cling to the meagre scraps of hope she tosses my way.

  I stand, ignoring her comment, and say, “Check her.”

  Dr. Summers gives me a half smile and sinks onto the bed beside Skye, lifting her arm and checking her pulse. She then listens to Skye’s breathing. My heart sinks as I watch her expression become grave.

  “She’s getting weaker.” She lifts her eyes to mine and I see fear. Not fear of me, but fear for Skye. That look freezes me in place.

  I want to shout at her, shake her and force her to give Skye the world, everything she needs to recover, but I know the docto
r well enough to know that she’s already doing everything she can. Besides, when Skye wakes up, she will treat me to the sharp edge of her tongue if she finds out I’ve harassed her friend.

  It’s been two days since Skye fainted in our parking garage. I was radioed immediately and told of her collapse. At the time I’d been at the highest point on the wall, scouting the wall expansion. Upon hearing about Skye, I made it to the bottom in record time, recklessly allowing the lift to freefall, bringing it up only just before it hit the ground.

  I’d torn through the city, heedless of those in my path as I frantically drove to Skye. They’d tried to transfer her to the hospital, but I’d insisted she be brought to her home, where she could be comfortable and away from the sick. She’s having a difficult enough time fighting this virus without having to fight off anything else.

  “She’s strong, Wolfe,” the doctor says softly, touching my arm. I want to pull away but remind myself of what Skye would do. She likes to touch and be touched, she would allow this interaction. “Skye is a survivor, she won’t allow herself to fall now.”

  I hold Skye’s hand as she sleeps, leaving her side only to speak with my people about the running of Sanctuary. We are in lockdown now, with only necessary excursions being made. For the most part, the city has complied though there are a few dissenters.

  The doctor has assured me that the few who refuse to stay indoors and slow the spread of this virus shouldn’t have too much of an impact. For now, we are leaving them, though I desire to put them firmly in their places.

  I will not, because I know Skye wishes for our Sanctuary to move toward a democracy. We will wait and see if her way is tenable or if I must step in with my security team.

  I had foreseen this potential issue when I’d decided to make my love the Warlord. She is more compassionate than I am, more willing to give her people their way. I would choose to stamp out all dissent and force the Sanctuary to comply with my rules.

  I don’t know whose way is better, but I suspect a combination will serve us well.

  Placing her hand on the bed alongside her too-warm body, I rise and make my way to the door. Kingston has taken up post outside.

  “I need you to ensure the security of Sanctuary for the night. I will remain with Skye,” I tell him. “Please update the Tucson Sanctuary. Let them know that trade must be suspended until we are out of lockdown.”

  We’ve established a solid trade base between the two Sanctuaries, which allows each Sanctuary to concentrate on the production of certain items, knowing it will receive what it lacks from the other Sanctuary. It has turned out to be a blessing having the two sisters lead their Sanctuaries.

  Kingston glances past me toward Skye’s prone body then nods and walks away to do my bidding.

  I might feel jealous of his attachment to my woman, but his fondness for her will make him a more effective bodyguard. He admires her and will watch over as if she belongs to him. Of course, she will never belong to anyone but me and he knows that taking his regard further than admiration will see him skinned and hung outside my gates.

  Closing the door, I sit on the bed next to Skye, dipping a cloth in the cool water that Hannah had provided. She’s been checking on Skye, distraught that she hadn’t realized Skye had the flu. I had to ban her from the room so I could have some peace.

  I run the cloth over Skye’s fevered limbs in an attempt to bring down her temperature.

  What scares me most is how quiet she is. Her breathing has grown so shallow that I can barely hear it, but I can see the laboured lift and fall of her chest. I can feel the heat coming from her skin.

  If indeed her life is slipping away, shouldn’t she be screaming and railing against her fate? My Skye is a fighter. She will not die silently, but with a sword in her hand and a curse on her lips.

  She can’t die here. She can’t die now.

  Not without a fight.

  Thirteen

  Skye

  The sun is shining down on me as I lay on the grass outside my house. I truly enjoy these rare moments. The winters have become harsher, and my parents are talking about abandoning our private Sanctuary in the woods and travelling south. They’re talking about the Las Vegas Sanctuary. My siblings, Taran and Blaze, are excited, but I don’t want to leave the only home I’ve known.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I twist my head around to look up.

  “Dad?” I can’t see him properly. He’s all blurry around the edges. He’s big and comforting. Always near when I’m not feeling well.

  But why am I not feeling well? The sun is shining down on me and my head is warm. My entire body is warm, almost burning up.

  “Want to go fishing?” he asks, and I notice the fishing rods clutched in his hand.

  I push myself up and excitedly climb to my feet. “Does a fish swim?”

  He laughs at our old joke.

  I follow my father through our familiar forest path to the river. After the Great Fall, my grandparents chose this beautiful haven to raise their family. It provides most of what we need. Fresh water, fish, abundant wildlife and a good-sized plot of land for a garden. We rarely see other people, but we’re content.

  My father met my mother when he saved her from a Primitive attack. She’d been trying to get to one of the last Canadian Sanctuaries when her car broke down. She’d locked herself inside, eating the last of her food and enduring constant attacks.

  My father found her as he was on his way to the Sanctuary to trade food for medicine. They’d married shortly after and had us three kids.

  I lay on the grassy bank, my fishing rod at my feet, the line in the water. My father uses an old pair of binoculars to bird watch, pointing at different birds and telling me all about them. I’ve never really been interested, but I pretend for his sake.

  A wave of nausea hits me so hard, I clutch my stomach and roll onto my side, the grass pressing against the side of my face.

  My father rushes to my side. “I’m here, sweetheart.” His deep voice comforts me.

  “Where am I?” I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the spinning.

  “You’re safe.”

  When I open my eyes, I’m in my parents’ bedroom, looking out the window at the grave my grandfather is digging. It’s for my mother, who is on the ground next to him, bundled in an old, patched quilt. She died late last night.

  A hacking cough draws me back to the bed. I lift the bowl of chicken broth my grandmother gave me and lean it against my father’s lips. He takes several sips, then turns his head.

  “Stella…” he says, his voice rough.

  “She’s…” Tears threaten to choke me, and I swallow quickly. “She’s fine. She’ll be back soon.”

  He gazes at me, his eyes surprisingly lucid. He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for two days.

  Grandpa had explained to me that this flu was common before the Great Fall and that people had easy access to vaccinations and medication to battle the illness. Now, I’m forced to watch as it decimates my family without relief. My grandparents both had it before the Great Fall and are now immune. My brother is in another room, sick. So far, Taran and I haven’t caught it.

  My father reaches for me, and I give him my hand. His grip is tight as he speaks. “Promise me, Skye.”

  “Anything,” I whisper.

  There isn’t much time left. My father is gaunt and feverish. His breathing is shallow and laboured. He’s gasping for breath to get each word out.

  “Promise you’ll go… to Las Vegas.”

  The Las Vegas Sanctuary. We’d been talking about it before my family became ill. My father had been trying to convince my grandparents that it was time to abandon our solitary existence and move to a Sanctuary where food and medicine were easier to get. My grandfather was resisting, saying he built our house with his own hands and he had every intention of dying here.

  I grip my father’s hand and lean close to him. “I promise. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

&
nbsp; “Good.” His breath comes out in a rattle. “Take… take care of your siblings.”

  “I will.” I’m crying now, the tears like raindrops as they cascade down my face. “Rest now, dad. You don’t need to worry.”

  Time passes, his breathing becomes more and more laboured. He falls into a listless stupor. I leave his side to check on my brother, who is with my sister and grandmother, then I go back to my father.

  My grandmother comes in, her eyes swollen and red, tear tracks streaking her round cheeks. She tells me that my brother has passed, then stares at my father, her face creased in grief. Then she’s gone and I’m alone with my dying father.

  I crawl into his bed, curling against his side as the heat from his body scorches me.

  “Skye…”

  “I’m here.” I snuggle closer and close my eyes, holding him as he takes his last breath. “Daddy, I love you.”

  “You’re safe.”

  I frown. That voice…

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Wolfe?”

  “I’m here. I won’t leave.”

  It is Wolfe. Damn it, he sounds worried. Wolfe never tries to reassure me. It’s not in his DNA. There must be something seriously wrong with me.

  Fourteen

  Wolfe

  Two more days pass, and Skye grows weaker. I finally allow myself to fear for her, for all of us. I refuse to leave her side, and Sanctuary needs its Warlord. While my Warlord is unwell, it’s my job to keep the city in order. But to do that, I must leave her.

  If she slips away… if I lose her, she won’t be alone.

  “If you need to leave, I can take care of her,” Hannah says quietly from the door.

  I think about her offer.

  I don’t trust Hannah.

  Her devotion to Silas, to a zombie, concerns me. She’s incapable of seeing reality when it comes to her former husband, which makes it difficult for me to leave Skye in her care. Yet, without its strong leader at the helm, the Sanctuary is weakening with each day that passes. The council is doing what they can, but they need guidance.