Flames of Redemption

by Jamie A. Waters

  Viktor smirked. “Did you know Nikolai has taken other lovers, Valentina? None of your men have remained loyal to you. Sergei abandoned you. Nikolai will be next. I can offer you so much more.”

  He pressed himself against her, and she felt his hardness and unmistakable intent. Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her head in defiance. “Do you think I'm just looking for a quick fuck, Viktor?”

  “Not quick,” he murmured with a cocky grin. “I intend to take my time with you. And afterward, you can join me in Peter's camp, and I can take even more time with you.”

  “Not a fucking chance,” Sergei snarled and grabbed Viktor, yanking him away from her. Viktor whirled around, drawing a knife in one swift movement and lashing out. Sergei pulled his own weapon, and Valentina resisted the urge to swear as the two of them began swiping at each other in a masterful dance of blades. Someone was going to get hurt or killed, and she needed both of them to keep breathing.

  She dove away as their fight started getting more destructive. A chair flew across the room and into the wall, where it splintered apart in pieces. Pulling out her commlink, she hit the emergency button letting Yuri and Nikolai know she needed them now. Chances were, they were already on their way and had been from the moment they heard Viktor's accusation.

  Viktor hit the desk, Sergei's knife making a narrow slash along his arm, slicing through the tendon. A thin stream of blood began pouring down his arm. Dammit. She dodged to the side again as they moved in her direction. Brant ran into the room and gaped at the two men just as Viktor swiped out and sliced across Sergei's chest, creating a shallow wound. They were more than evenly matched, but she didn't trust either one of them not to kill the other.

  “Freeze!” Brant shouted, but they ignored him.

  Valentina glanced around the room, considering how best to incapacitate them. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Brant lifting his weapon and aiming in Viktor's direction. She started to shout at him to stop, but it was too late.

  Brant fired. The two men hit the wall and tumbled to the side. Sergei staggered, and horror filled her at the realization he'd been the one hit with the stunning device. She took a step forward as Viktor's blade rushed downward, and he buried it deeply in Sergei's chest.

  “No!” Valentina yelled, diving toward Sergei as he collapsed on the ground. His eyes were unfocused and his face slack while blood poured out of the wound. Brant's weapon had rendered him unconscious. She yanked her tank top over her head, twisting it tightly to help hold pressure on the wound. The knife had barely missed his heart, but it had still struck a potentially fatal blow. She didn't dare risk pulling it out.

  “Call Ariana,” she ordered Brant, still using her shirt as a makeshift tourniquet. If Ariana could get here in time, he might have a chance. Brant pulled out his commlink and began speaking into it rapidly, most likely to Alec or Ariana. She wasn't sure which, nor did she care as long as they healed him.

  “Valentina, leave him,” Viktor demanded, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet and away from Sergei. The blade in his hand flashed, making his intentions obvious. He was still determined to end Sergei's life. “He's a traitor and deserves nothing less.”

  In one swift movement, she withdrew a knife from her arm sheath and spun around, pressing the point of her blade against his neck. Very little pressure was needed to punch through Viktor's jugular vein and rip out his throat. It was a messy way to die, but she no longer cared who would clean the blood off the floor.

  “Move and you die,” she warned, a strange, cold detachment settling over her. “Although, if Sergei dies from your actions, I will see your end too.”

  Viktor froze, blood dripping down his throat from where her knife had pierced his skin, but he didn't move. Although she ached to check on Sergei, she wouldn't trust Brant to keep Viktor contained. He only needed seconds to finish the job. “Drop your knife, Viktor.”

  His jaw clenched, but the weapon in his hand clattered to the ground. Keeping her blade at his throat, she quickly disarmed the rest of his weapons and tossed them aside. She continued to hold Viktor's gaze, tempted to drive the blade in and watch the light extinguish from his eyes. She meant what she said: Sergei's last moment heralded Viktor's demise.

  From behind her, she heard Brant talking to someone on his commlink. It sounded as though they were giving him first aid instructions.

  “If you kill me, your life will be forfeit,” Viktor warned, his eyes holding a dangerous glint. “Consider carefully, Valentina. Sergei left you bleeding on the floor while he continued to focus on securing the last facility. I heard that once you were transferred to our hospital, he never even waited around until you woke up. Is Sergei's life worth your death?”

  Valentina's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond. If she could trade her life for Sergei's, she would willingly give it. He'd always held a place in her heart, even when he'd broken it. Having him back in her life over the past few days had shown her just how much she needed him. He was worth everything.

  Viktor's eyes widened. “Unbelievable. You do still care for him, even after everything he's done.” He frowned and added, “Sergei does not deserve your loyalty, Valentina. A rebellion is coming, and he's at the heart of it by supplying weapons to people within the towers. He was the target of the failed ambush, not you.”

  “You already knew about the meeting with OmniLab,” she murmured, only halfway listening. Her attention was on Sergei's labored breathing on the ground behind her. Brant was still talking to someone, and it sounded like Ariana and a medical team were on their way. She said a silent plea to Sergei for him to hold on just a little longer.

  “Yes, but I wanted to know if you would share that information with me. According to our intel, we suspect one of the chairmen authorized the ambush,” he admitted. “Supplies have gone missing from several camps, not just ours. Everything can be traced back to Sergei.”

  Valentina remained silent, the knife in her hand growing heavy as she continued pressing it against his throat. It would be so easy to silence Viktor and punish him for hurting the man she loved.

  “I would not continue talking, Viktor,” Nikolai warned from behind her. “Valentina has shown remarkable restraint already. I would not have had nearly as much.”

  Viktor's eyes narrowed at the figure over her shoulder. “Your presence in the towers is somewhat suspect, Nikolai.”

  Valentina pressed the knife harder against his neck in warning. Viktor inhaled sharply, his gaze darting back to hers. “I do not have any issues with you, Valentina. You can still walk away from this without consequences if you lower your weapon.”

  “Valya,” Nikolai spoke softly from behind her. “Ariana is on her way, but she may not get here in time. Sergei will not survive without assistance. If you are able to help him, you must do so now.”

  Her heart clenched as a crippling fear ripped through her, and she gripped the knife tighter. The thought of losing Sergei was too much to handle. Something creaked and groaned within the walls as though even the building became enraged by the possibility. “Don't you think I would have already helped him if it were possible?”

  Nikolai moved closer, his strong and comforting presence doing little to combat the cold chill within her. Only Sergei had ever been able to chase it away. “Perhaps, but you will not know unless you try. Love is a choice, Valya. You must choose whether to embrace the healer within you or hold on to death.”

  “I don't know how,” she whispered. Her whole life had been a study of death—how to avoid it for herself and how to give it to others. Her trainers had excelled in that regard. She'd become exactly what they intended, but Sergei had helped preserve parts of the girl she'd once been.

  He'd been the one who encouraged that playful streak within herself, always coming up with new games and appealing to her competitive nature. He'd shown her laughter, teasing, and passion were necessary components of life because the alternative was nothing but joyless duty. She'd never felt alive until
she'd met the three of them, and the thought of losing Sergei was more devastating than anything she could have ever imagined.

  Valentina loved him with everything within her. Her soul was tied to his, and without him, she'd lose one of the most precious parts of herself. It was that part their trainers had never been able to touch because she'd given it to Sergei, Nikolai, and Yuri almost from the moment they'd met. They owned her heart, her soul, her entire sense of self.

  “You do,” Nikolai urged. “You've always known, Valya. Your ability to take lives has never made us stronger. It was your love that did that. Your love draws us to you, and that's what kept us together. Sergei never left you. He only wanted to find a way to remain by your side.”

  Nikolai squeezed her arm gently, and she blinked, trying to stop the tears that threatened to escape. Maybe Nikolai had been right all along. Maybe the lessons their trainers tried to instill weren't her strengths. Sergei had helped nurture her softer side, and she'd done the same for each of them, allowing them to keep those parts of themselves untouched and whole. As she held Viktor's gaze, there was no trace of that compassion and gentleness she saw so frequently in Nikolai. There was no sign of the teasing and wicked humor Yuri possessed. Even Sergei's passion, protectiveness, and strong moral sense of righteousness were missing from Viktor's gaze. If Viktor had ever held such traits, they were now buried too deeply for her to even catch a glimpse.

  As she studied Viktor, it had never been more apparent that the four of them were markedly different. Even when Yuri and Nikolai took other lovers, they held part of themselves back, not willing to trust anyone too deeply. It was too dangerous for them, and survival depended upon a type of cold detachment. For over ten years, the only ones they'd been able to count on were each other. It was only with each other that they relaxed their guard, embracing their softer sides.

  A loud clang reverberated from somewhere overhead and water began dripping down the walls. Viktor's eyes widened, and his body tensed.

  “I can't cut her off,” Brant's voice said from behind her. “One of you needs to talk her down. Now. The pipes are bursting.”

  Nikolai cursed and wrapped his arm around her waist but didn't pull her away from Viktor. It was as though he knew this had to be her choice. “Calm yourself and focus, Valya. Sergei needs you. Only you have a chance of helping him. Do not let him die without trying.”

  “Release the knife, Valya,” Yuri added, moving to stand beside her. “I will take care of Viktor for you. But I cannot do what you can for Sergei.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Valentina nodded, trying to get control of her emotions. Yuri took the knife from her and shoved Viktor toward the door. She turned away, her attention once again drawn to the motionless man on the ground beside her. Sergei was unconscious, the blood stain on his chest growing with every heartbeat. Brant was still holding her shirt as a compress around the knife, but it was doing little to staunch the blood flow. Dropping to her knees, she stroked Sergei's face and whispered, “I don't know what to do.”

  Brant lifted his gaze to meet hers, a small frown on his face. “I'm not a healer, but I've seen it done. I can try to walk you through it.”

  “Please,” she begged, looking down on Sergei's unconscious form. She was willing to try anything if it would keep him by her side.

  “It will probably work better with skin contact,” Brant said, instructing her to use a knife to cut open Sergei's shirt. She did, peeling it away from where the weapon had entered his chest. Her heart thudded, inwardly calculating the depth of the knife and cataloguing what she knew of anatomy to determine the scope of damage it had caused. That he was still alive at all was miraculous. It would take another miracle for him to survive the next few minutes.

  In a strained voice, she managed, “Tell me what to do.”

  “Close your eyes and place your hands on Sergei's skin near the knife. We can't risk pulling it out yet or he'll bleed out.”

  She nodded and did as he instructed.

  “You know Sergei better than anyone,” Brant said, his voice strangely calm and soothing. “Draw upon your memory of him. Imagine him healthy and whole. You can use your energy to feed it into him. From there, use it to repair him until he appears the same in your mind's eye.”

  Valentina cleared her mind, ignoring the surrounding noises with the exception of Brant's voice. She imagined Sergei, his gray eyes with the small flame around his iris, his strong jaw, his teasing smile, the strength of his body, and the steady beat of his heart she had listened to only a few short hours ago.

  She opened her eyes and looked down at his unconscious form. The reality was all wrong, but at least she knew where to begin. Closing her eyes once again, she focused on the biggest element out of alignment—the wound in his chest. Grasping her energy, she channeled it toward him, trying to force him back together. But healing wasn't the type of gift that could be forced. It was fluid, like water, and like her. She paused for a moment, realizing it needed gentle encouragement, a type of coaxing.

  With renewed determination, she teased his energy threads together with hers, laying them to rights with subtle suggestion. She paused in surprise at the ease in which they returned to their origins. His body was perfect and whole on its own, but the damage caused by the knife was unnatural. His energy wanted to reject the foreign invasion. He lacked the tools to repair it on his own, but she could help guide his energy in the right direction.

  “It's working,” Brant urged. “Keep doing what you're doing, and I'll start removing the knife.”

  Valentina nodded, recognizing the weapon was impeding her efforts to heal Sergei's injury. As Brant slowly began pulling it out, she fused more energy into Sergei, encouraging his body to correct the damage left behind. Brant would pull it out a fraction, pause to let her weave Sergei back together, and then pull the knife out a little more. It was a slow and tedious process, but healing was a gentle art that required patience—something that frequently escaped her. But she'd learn the lesson gladly, provided Sergei opened his eyes once again.

  The minutes crept by and sweat trickled down her face from the intense concentration it required to heal Sergei. Even with her lack of experience, some unknown instinct within her warned that the man she loved beyond all reason would die if she didn't give everything she had to save him. He'd weakened so much from the injury.

  Finally, the weapon was out. Sergei was still weak from blood loss, but she could only offer suggestions to his body to replenish his blood. Apparently, there were limits to this healing ability. It would simply take time for his body to recover and bring itself back into alignment, but she'd given him a good start by repairing the worst of his injuries.

  As she ran her hands over his body, she found other damaged areas, where the years and battles they'd fought had taken their toll. She felt each of his ailments as her own, and her love for him demanded she chase away all his pain. Moving to each injury, she healed his hurts before moving on to the next.

  “You need to stop, Valentina,” Brant urged. “You're doing too much.”

  Valentina shook her head. There was more that needed to be done, but it was getting harder to focus. She had to do at least a little more. The more she healed, the easier his recovery would become. If someone was targeting him, he couldn't afford any lingering weaknesses.

  Ariana's voice sounded from somewhere far away. “Brant's right, Valentina. You can do more later, but you must rest.”

  “I have to do this,” she managed, finding another injury he must have acquired while they were separated. She knew his scars as intimately as her own, each one a roadmap to a painful memory. This new scar had healed a great deal, but it was still raw. She wanted to chase away all his pain, just as he'd tried to erase her own.

  “Please, Valya,” Nikolai spoke from beside her. “You're pulling energy from all of us.”

  She hesitated, turning to look at Nikolai and sensing the strain from him and Yuri. He nodded at her. “We're all conn
ected. You must stop. The worst has been healed.”

  Valentina immediately released the energy threads she'd been using, unwilling to hurt the other people she loved. She started to stand but nearly collapsed from the effort. Nikolai wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She laid her head against his chest and whispered, “I'm sorry. I only wanted to help him.”

  “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her hair. “I can feel how tired you are. You should rest, Valya. We'll take care of both of you.”

  “I cannot lose him again, Kolya.”

  Ariana's voice was gentle as she said, “He'll live, Valentina. You saved him.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes, trusting Nikolai and Yuri to watch over her. But what Ariana didn't understand was that Sergei had saved her just as much as she'd saved him. All four of them had saved each other, and she wouldn't trade their bond for anything in the world. They were her heart and her salvation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Valentina was hot. A burning flame surrounded her, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, her natural coolness made the warmth more than a little pleasant and soothing. She curled up against the heat source, snuggling against the familiarity of it. Caught between a dream state and wakefulness, she whispered Sergei's name on a sigh.

  An arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer. Sergei murmured softly, “I'm here, little dove.”

  The sound of his voice was enough to make her open her eyes. Sergei smiled at her and brushed the hair away from her face.

  Pushing herself upright, she searched for any trace of injuries on him. He remained lying down, watching as she trailed her fingers over every inch of his bare chest. A thin line marked where the blade had entered, and she ran her fingertips along it. If she hadn't seen it for herself, she would have sworn the injury was over a year old.

  “You healed me, Valechka.”