Sanctum (Guards of the Shadowlands, Book 1)

by Fine, Sarah

  I finally found a pair of gray pants near enough to my size that they wouldn’t slow me down and a hideous green cotton shirt that was a bit small but reasonably comfortable. I even found a frayed ribbon in the top drawer, which I used to restrain my crazy hair. I turned back to Raphael, who observed me with detached curiosity. Like he was waiting for something.

  My eyes flicked back over to the cot. Malachi was so still. “How is he?”

  “He is better. Stable.”

  I took a few steps closer. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

  Raphael pivoted on his knees, his eyes resting on Malachi’s face. “Time will tell. Well,” he said briskly, rising to his feet. “I have to be going—patients to see.”

  “What? How can you leave him alone if he’s not awake?”

  “He’s not alone. You’re with him.”

  “But…but…” But I should go.

  “I’ll be back later. If you really feel you must leave, please go ahead. No one will stop you.” His gray eyes locked onto mine with a crystal clear, entirely unreadable gaze. Then he turned and walked away.

  I was still stuttering like an idiot when the front door clicked shut.

  I should go. Now.

  Malachi might not allow me to leave if I stuck around until he woke up. He might toss me back in a cell. He might force me to go to the Sanctum. He might keep me from my whole purpose for being here. He might condemn Nadia to suffer here forever. Who said anything had changed?

  But…how could I possibly leave him alone? How could I leave this guy who had risked his life for me even after my stupidity resulted in the death of one of his Guards? How could I leave him alone and helpless? What if he woke up, maybe weak, maybe in pain, and there was nobody here to care for him?

  “Oh, you’ve placed me in a really difficult position, you big jerk. As soon as Raphael comes back, I’m gone.”

  Until then, I’m here. I’m not leaving you.

  Commitment made, at least until reinforcements arrived, I turned around to take my first really good look at him. His olive skin had regained some of its healthy color. His neck, so savaged the night before, was smooth but swirled with red and silver. He would probably bear the scar forever. Or however long people existed around here. My gaze drifted down to his shoulders and chest, his stomach…all streaked with blood. A long, thick scar sliced across his left shoulder—a souvenir from his fight with Ibram the sheik—but it didn’t hold my attention. Because Malachi had, hands down, the most impressive male physique I’d ever seen up close. Or on television, for that matter. I couldn’t stop staring. I guess running around a giant city hunting venomous animal people resulted in some pretty great definition.

  “Gah. Look away, Lela. Focus,” I coached myself. “Captain, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  A few minutes later, I carried a bowl filled with water and a washcloth into the bedroom. The water in the city smelled extremely strange, sour with a metallic tang. How people managed to keep themselves alive by drinking it—and eating the horrible food—was beyond me. I hadn’t eaten since I’d arrived, and…wait, that seemed really odd. I’d been in the city for at least two days, and I wasn’t hungry at all.

  I dipped the washcloth into the bowl, wrung the extra water from it, and got down to business. I hummed to myself as I worked, scrubbing his skin clean, making sure not a smudge remained. I replaced the water in the bowl three times before I was through, wishing there was some decent soap in this place. What was in the bathroom looked gray and gross, and I couldn’t bear to inflict it on a defenseless, unconscious person.

  I spent a little too much time and attention on his chest and stomach, but I didn’t get out of control. I let the blanket draped over his waist serve as my boundary marker. I’d never been able to touch a guy like that, and this seemed like the best way to do it—when he was helpless, unable to rise up and hurt me.

  I began to wash his arms, and that’s when I saw it. He had been wearing long sleeves every time I’d seen him, usually with those leather cuffs over his forearms. It was so small I almost missed it. A tattoo on his left forearm.

  A five-digit number with a small triangle beneath it.

  I had paid attention in class. Most of the time. When I saw the tattoo, I had a memory, clear as day, from this video we’d watched in history class earlier in the year. Stick-thin people behind the fences of those concentration camps, hollow eyes beyond pleading. The Nazis tattooed their arms with numbers. Could he have been…?

  I traced the tattoo with my fingers. “Where did you come from, Malachi? What’s your story?”

  I finished washing him, dried him thoroughly, and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders as goose bumps erupted across his skin. I moved up to sit by his head. At rest, Malachi’s face didn’t have the same ferocity it carried when he was awake. It was softer. He looked younger, like he hadn’t been hurt yet. I knew it wasn’t true, but still, looking at his relaxed and peaceful expression, I could imagine something different for him.

  I ran the palm of my hand over his neck, where the scar was warm and smooth under my fingers, and across the ridge of his collarbone to his chest. I let my hand rest there, over his heart, feeling it beat steadily, unwilling to give up the guilty pleasure of his skin. I did wonder how he’d feel if he knew, if he would push me away, if he would feel it as a violation. I certainly would if our positions had been reversed.

  Something in the way he had looked at me made me think he wanted me to touch him, though. That didn’t make what I was doing right, but this was my chance, as shameful as it was. I wanted to know what it felt like when it was my choice. When I was in control.

  I brought my face over his, stroking my fingers along his jaw. There were dusky circles beneath his closed eyes. I inhaled the leather scent of his skin. He looked so young up close, so exquisite. I leaned my forehead against his and looked down at his lips.

  I was seventeen years old and had never kissed a boy. With everything I’d been through, I hadn’t let anyone get that close to me, especially not since Rick…

  I gritted my teeth and shoved the memories away, not wanting them to spoil this moment. My moment. Unobserved, alone with him, I was so curious to know how it would feel. Was it as great as everyone made it out to be? What would it be like? What would it be like with Malachi?

  On impulse, I brushed my lips across his mouth. My skin tingled where it touched his. I licked my lips and tried again, lingering for a moment, closing my eyes and pressing in as the boundaries between us dissolved.

  Whoa. Stop. I pulled back, heart pounding, completely ashamed of myself.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” Of all people, I knew how it felt not to have a choice, so why was I doing this to him?

  “I’m sorry, Malachi,” I whispered, settling back from him. “Won’t happen again.”

  I wish I could explain why it happened at all.

  I took his hand, tracing the tattoo on his arm, and laid my head against the edge of the cot.

  “Wake up, please. Just wake up. I need to thank you, and then I have to go.” I called to him, his hand in mine, for minutes, or hours, or days, until exhaustion claimed me once again.

  TWELVE

  “LELA?” THE SOUND OF his voice, cracked and hoarse, jerked my head up like a high-voltage shock.

  His brows were drawn together. “What are you doing here?”

  I blinked away tears of relief. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

  He took a breath and winced. “Like I haven’t moved in several days. And like I might not want to for several more.”

  “Do you need something? Water?”

  “No. I don’t drink that stuff.” He closed his eyes and put a hand to his neck, running his fingers along the swirling scar. “How long have I been out?”

  I watched his chest rise as he took another deep breath. “I have no idea how time passes here. It’s all shades of dim to me. You were out for a long time.” Too long.

  “Where’s Raphael
?”

  “He healed you and then left…a while ago.”

  Malachi didn’t open his eyes, but the subtle tension in his body told me his senses were now on full alert, silently collecting information. I squirmed, wondering if he’d feel me on his skin.

  “Did he heal you before he left?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes were still closed as he said, very slowly, “And you stayed here. With me.”

  I said nothing, horrified into muteness as I watched him touch his mouth and draw his tongue slowly along the edges of his lips. I almost blurted out an apology, but that would have meant admitting something I was desperate to hide. Guilt ran hot under my skin. I shut my eyes, unable to look at him anymore.

  He sighed. I expected to hear the accusation next. But all he said was “I didn’t think I would see you again.” I relaxed, my muscles twitching with the release of tension.

  That’s when I realized I was still clutching one of his hands.

  I let go abruptly, as if it had bitten me, and ventured a glance at his face as I gave my prepared explanation. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t just leave you alone here. And I wanted to thank you for coming after me, after what I did.”

  He looked down at his hand, now lying solitary at his side, and then at mine, now curled guiltily in my lap. “You did what you had to. If I’d been thinking, I would have expected you to do exactly what you did. It was a rash decision to put you back in that cell.”

  I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You don’t seem like the rash type.”

  He bowed his head to hide a small smile. “I’m not, usually.”

  “I thought you would kill me for what I’d done.”

  His expression turned pained. “No. Whatever you think of me, please don’t think that. I know it’s difficult to believe, but I never meant you harm.” He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, pulling the blanket across his lap.

  I scooted back a few inches, until my shoulders hit the wall. “I have to go,” I muttered. I leaned against the wall as I stood. He started to rise but fell down again quickly, clutching the edge of the cot. A frustrated growl rolled from his throat. I was quite sure he was accustomed to having full control over his body. “Thank you again for getting me away from the Mazikin. But I really need to be going now—”

  His hand shot out and closed around mine, but his grasp was gentle. “Tell me one thing before you go. I really want to know. Why would you give up your chance at happiness to come to what you knew was a horrible place? Why would you do that, knowing she chose to kill herself? To leave you and everyone else who loved her? Why would you come after her and trap yourself here when she made such a choice?”

  Maybe if I could make him understand, he would let me go without a fight. I pulled my hand from his and looked down at my arm. Nadia stared back at me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall.

  “I was at a normal school—instead of juvie. I knew from experience I was going to be a total reject. I always had been. And Nadia…she was, like, the most popular girl there. The day we met, I helped her out of a bad situation. I didn’t think she owed me anything, though. She could have ignored me afterward. That’s what anyone else would have done. But instead she walked me to class. Sat next to me. Talked to me. She did it again the next day, and the next day, and the next day. I thought I’d be a freak-of-the-week project for her, but she just kept coming back. She actually seemed to enjoy hanging out with me.”

  My throat constricted as the memories washed over me. “This one time, one of her other friends, Tegan, was making fun of me, like I was just a loser, clingy, wish-I-was-popular girl. And Nadia didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. She just gave Tegan this look that said everything, like if you mess with Lela I will crush your social life under my Jimmy Choos.” I chuckled. “Saved me from getting sent back to the RITS for kicking that girl’s ass.”

  I opened my eyes to find Malachi looking at me like I’d suddenly started speaking a strange, incomprehensible language. Which made sense, actually, because I kind of had. I tried again.

  “I’m here because of the way she looked at me, Malachi. She should have looked at me with fear. I did some pretty scary things. Most people would agree I’m a scary person. But that’s not how she looked at me. She looked at me as if she saw something else inside of me—something wonderful, something worth knowing—and she was the only person who could make it come out. She taught me things. She gave me things. Amazing things. A vision of myself, different from what I had been. Better, but still me, you know? Dreams of the future, of what I could become. I don’t think she really recognized how she was bringing me to life. It came so naturally to her.”

  I wrapped my arms around my chest. Making the final admission—it hurt to say out loud. “I don’t know if I did the same for her. Since we’re here right now, my guess would be that I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I never had a friend before Nadia, and I would do anything for her.”

  He got to his feet, holding the blanket closed at his waist. Even nearly naked and unarmed, he seemed dangerous. And too distracting for me to stay focused. I braced, wondering if he was about to try to stop me. I eyed the door.

  “Wait.” His voice was quiet, and it sounded more like a request than a command. He swayed unsteadily. I put my hands around his waist to catch him, unwilling to let him fall.

  As soon as I touched him, I knew it was a mistake.

  His skin burned against mine. My fingers pressed in hungrily, like they had a mind of their own. I watched, amazed, as his skin rippled with goose bumps and he shivered. He steadied himself with a hand on my shoulder, and his fingers brushed the bare skin at my neck. His touch blew a few fuses in my brain. I wanted to rear back and run away. I wanted to put my hand over his and hold it there forever.

  I turned to go, completely torn. Nadia was my reason for being here. The only reason. And yet I also wanted to stay. Not in that hellish city, and not to go to the Sanctum, whatever it held for me. I wanted to stay with Malachi. I didn’t feel safe with him, and yet I knew he would keep me safe. I had no idea who he was or where he came from, but in some crazy way it seemed like we understood each other. And although I was frightened by the idea of him touching me, I desperately wanted to touch him just one more time.

  Out of control. It all felt out of control. With him awake and getting stronger by the minute, there was no more reason to stay and every reason to go. My hand was on the door of the apartment before he spoke again.

  “Lela, wait. I’ll help you. I’ll help you find her.” I didn’t turn around, but tensed as I felt the heat of his body and realized how close he was. “I know this city better than anyone. I understand its dangers. I could protect you. I’ll help you find her. I’ll help you get out.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled. “Because it’s obviously the only way to get you out of my beautiful city. Will you let me help you?”

  I turned back to him. Usually, I could tell when someone was lying or when they were hiding something. His expression was open and serious and, as far as I could tell, completely sincere. I couldn’t help it—I got hopeful. With him on my side, I might actually have a chance.

  “Really?”

  “Really. But you have to do as I say. If we’re together in this, you must follow my instructions or you’ll put us both in danger. You’ll have to trust me. Can you do that?”

  There was always a catch. If only he knew what he was asking. I smiled sadly as I shook my head. “Every time I’ve trusted someone, it’s come back to bite me.”

  His brows lifted and his jaw tensed. “Lela, who did this to you?” The question seemed to burst from him involuntarily; he took a step back and looked down at the floor, waving the words away. “Never mind. You don’t have to promise. Just tell me you’ll try.”

  I could live with that. “I’ll try.”

  THIRTEEN

  I HIKED ALONG THE road carrying Malachi’s arm and shin
guards. He walked next to me, carrying his leather vest and wearing the most ridiculous outfit I’d ever seen. The striped pants he’d found in the apartment sagged on his narrow hips, held up only by his belt, but the pant legs still didn’t make it all the way to his ankles. His shirt was too tight on his shoulders but ballooned over his belly. It had been the only one with sleeves long enough to reach to his wrists, and that had seemed important to him.

  A shaggy-haired young man walked by, clutching what appeared to be a full key of coke to his chest. His nose was bleeding.

  “Holy crap. Is that what I think it is?”

  Malachi watched the guy absently wipe his dripping nose with a spotty sleeve and scramble up the steps of an apartment building with his prize. “If you think that is a man who has acquired a kilogram of cocaine for his personal use, then yes.”

  “Aren’t you the cops around here? Shouldn’t you bust him?”

  “For what? He’s not committing a crime. Or, more accurately, he already has, and now he’s serving his sentence.”

  “He’s going to kill himself with that stuff.”

  Malachi gave me a sidelong glance. “It’s possible. It won’t help him get out of here, though. And I wouldn’t worry about him too much, because I suspect those drugs aren’t very potent. It won’t give him much relief. Nothing will.”

  I thought of Nadia and those pills she couldn’t wait to take. I wondered if there were

  DRUG stores here, like the

  Food stores, where you could just walk in and take as much as you wanted. “Then how come it’s all so available?”

  “People can have whatever they want here. As much food. As much pornography.” He nodded toward the building the young man had just disappeared into. “As many drugs. As many apartments. Whatever they want, whatever they imagine. None of it will help, though. You can’t get out until you let all that go. Until you go in search of what you need rather than what you want.”

  “That’s all you have to do?”