Sabin, A Seven Novel

by A. M. Hargrove

  As I watch, my stomach knots because Sabin is taking quite a beating. He has two of those Shaurok things attacking him and it’s rough going. He jumps between those things and his men, trying to protect his men from harm.

  Edge yells out, “Verus, Helios, get to Sabin. Now!”

  This Verus guy—he’s one I haven’t met—does this incredible leap. It takes him over the heads of several Shaurok as they fight and he assists Sabin in taking down his opponents. How did he do that?

  “Wow. That was some move,” I say. Edge doesn’t comment.

  “Sabin, you okay?” Edge asks, his voice shrouded with concern.

  Sabin works both shoulders, like he may be in pain.

  “Sabin, I need an answer,” Edge prods.

  “Give me a minute.”

  “No. You need to return to base.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Return to base immediately. Rafe, take over for Sabin.”

  Rafe runs out of Tara’s apartment and yells, “Sabin, get back to base. Now.”

  Seconds later, Sabin stumbles through the door.

  Edge glances at me and says, “Serena, I can’t leave my post. I have to monitor the activity out there. Take Sabin into the kitchen. There’s a medical kit in there. He’ll tell you what needs to be done.”

  “Medical kit. I don’t know …”

  Edge cuts me off and clips, “You will. Now!” Then he yells out to Sabin, “Serena will take care of you. Tell her what to do.”

  Sabin’s response is hoarse. “Yeah, sure.”

  When I get to Sabin, he doesn’t look so good. His normally tawny face is ashen. “Are you okay?” Of course he’s not okay. He looks like death on a pancake and it scares me.

  “I will be. Can you give me a hand?” he asks, his voice a weakened shadow of what it was earlier.

  Really? He’s like helping a mighty oak. “Sure.” When he takes my hand, I feel him shaking. Air wheezes in and out of him as we walk. “Hey, you need to lie down.” His injuries must be really awful.

  “Humph.” This awful sound comes out of him. Then, “Kitchen. Fast.”

  When we get here, he tells me where the medical kit is as he tumbles backwards into a chair. I grab the kit and open it, but I don’t see bandages or any of the usual stuff, just an array of odd-looking silver gizmos. By now he’s gasping for air. He points to a little square thing and then tells me to plug this wire to it. I follow his wheezy instructions. The wire attaches to some kind of patch that adheres to his chest. When I press it on him, his eyes flutter shut. I watch his chest rise and fall and almost immediately, I see that it’s getting easier and easier for him to breathe.

  “You’re gonna have to cut off my shirt.” His voice sounds somewhat stronger yet still weary. “There should be a small cylinder in the kit.”

  After a brief search, I hold a silver tube up that looks like a lipstick. “This?”

  “Yes. Aim it at my shirt and press the end of it. It will cut through the fabric.”

  I inspect the tube and locate the end I’m supposed to press. Starting at his collar, I point it and the material just splits open. It’s something to watch. I go down both arms, and then in front of his chest. His shirt falls apart. Now it’s my turn to gasp for air. “Jesus. What in the … oh God.” My head starts to swim. I grab the table to keep from falling.

  His hand latches onto my arm. “Stay with me, Serena. I need you right now and if you faint on me, Edge will have to leave his station. Take a deep breath.”

  “But you need to go to the hospital. Your … is that bone and …? Oh my fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

  “If you follow my instructions, I’ll be fine momentarily.”

  “What do you mean? Your guts are hanging out and you’re bleeding. Look! And your bones are shooting through your skin!” I start to gag. “I’m gonna puke.” My hand covers my mouth.

  But I don’t. “Look into my eyes.” His voice comes to me in my head, convincing me I’m fine, and for whatever reason, I am.

  “Good girl.” He rests his arm on the table and leans his head on his hand. “Now you need to look for another gadget. It looks like the cylinder, but bigger, much like a small flashlight.”

  I know exactly which one he means because I recall seeing it earlier. I grab it and wait for my next set of instructions.

  “This is the tough part—for me, not you.” He grimaces and my skin pricks with needles. “This is where it hurts like hell. That thing you hold in your hand will mend all the shit you see. But it’s not fun.”

  “Is there something I can give you for pain? Please say yes. I don’t want you to hurt any more than you do.”

  “There is, but by the time it kicks in, this will be over. So it’s not worth it. I don’t have time to wait, either. The device works like the one used to cut off my shirt. But this time you’re going to wave it back and forth in a continuous motion wherever you see any wounds. Any questions?”

  “Do I go fast or slow?”

  “You’ll be able to tell by the rate of healing. And one thing, don’t let any sounds I make stop your motion. This needs to be done quickly so I can help the team. Are you with me?”

  Oh, God. I don’t know if I can do this. It’s like amputating someone’s leg. You know they need it but you also know it’s going to be excruciating for them.

  “Serena, the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be finished.”

  Grimacing, I say, “I know, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Sweetheart, look into my eyes.”

  “Swear to me you won’t do any of that mumbo jumbo crap.”

  Sabin groans. “I can’t because I don’t know what that is.”

  I look into his eyes, his unbelievable eyes, and he says, “Do it now, Serena.”

  His chest and abdomen are pulverized. Torn flesh hangs in places and pieces of bone jut out. Bone chips are embedded in the flesh and I wonder for one fleeting moment how any man could withstand what he did. Then I begin. Back and forth, up and down, I wave that small device over his body and watch in amazement as his flesh binds and meshes together right before my eyes. But then I hear what I wish I didn’t—the sound of his ribs growing back together, his sternum healing. It makes me want to vomit again. Sabin’s hand grips the side of the table until it crumbles. Sweat pours down his face. I stop for a minute and grab a towel to wipe his cheeks.

  “Keep going. I can deal with the sweat. Both of my shoulders are separated. I need to …” he stops for a breath. And I continue. When his chest appears mended, I move down to his abdomen, and then on to one shoulder and then the next. When I’m finished, he raises his arms, then flexes them.

  “All good?” I ask. My hands quiver as I hold that small life-saving gadget.

  “My back.”

  I didn’t see his back because he was facing me. When I do, I marvel that the man could even make it back here on his own two feet. He leans forward in the chair, so I can finish up. Finally, he’s as good as new.

  “You should be dead, you know.”

  He only stares at me.

  “A human would never have survived that.”

  “I am aware.”

  He leans back in silence.

  I’m sure he needs fluids and rest. “Can I get you some fluids or anything?”

  “Please. Water. Second panel on the left, third button on the right.”

  Following his instructions, a huge glass of water appears and I hand it to him. My hands tremble so much the water sloshes out of the top of the glass. He holds onto my hand for a moment, thanking me with his eyes. Then he guzzles it down. “Another, please.” And I get him another. After he downs that one, he grabs my wrist. “Thank you, Serena Callahan. You did a superb job of healing me.”

  I rub my hands together, trying to get them to stop shaking. “I only pointed and pressed the button.”

  “No. You didn’t think you could do it, yet you did. It was a test of strength.”

  He�
�s kidding, right? He’s the one who is strong and I tell him so. “You went there to save my friend. And almost ended up dying.”

  “Not dying. Just took it on the chin a bit. It takes a lot more than this to kill us.”

  Dropping to my knees in front of him, I touch the newly healed skin on his chest. My hand roams over him, inspecting the areas that were wounded only a few minutes ago. It’s incredible to me. Then I start to wonder.

  “Your skin. It feels like mine. Is it different?”

  He shrugs.

  And then it wallops me like a cannonball. What have I gotten myself involved in here? There is no yellow brick road or Toto, and I know if I click my heels three times and say, “There’s no place like home,” not a damn thing will change. So that leaves me with very few options, none of which I like.

  One, this dude sitting in front of me is some kind of super hero, which he’s not. There is no comic strip come to life thing happening here. No Spidey sense or Superman, and this isn’t the bat cave with Alfred getting ready to pop out. So we can just nix this option.

  Two, he’s not a vampire. I’ve seen his teeth and they aren’t pointed. He could’ve sucked my blood several times and he’s not all sparkly. Plus, the man is hot. And by that, I’m not talking about his looks; I’m simply talking about his body temperature. Ok, so maybe, just maybe, he’s a werewolf. But whatever night it was that I met him (because frankly, I’m confused as to what day it is anymore) it was a full moon as I recall, and he was no furry beast. So that blows that option.

  That leaves me with option three. It’s time to face the real facts here. He’s not human. From Earth. Granted, that totally freaks the fuck out of me. But what other option is there? He’s not fae. They don’t leave their faerie world much. And they don’t have stuff like this Paradox and Judgment Day. They have old books and artifacts. Well … now that I’m thinking about it, maybe he is fae. No, huh uh. The fae wouldn’t have all this fancy technology. They don’t need it. Their world depends solely on magic. So I’m back to him not being human.

  “Hand me that device.”

  I do as he says.

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  At first, I’m confused. Then his hand reaches out and lifts it for me. He waves the device over my bruises and I watch them fade away.

  “Why …?”

  “We’re not allowed to share our technology. We knew you weren’t in any danger from your bruising, so,” he shrugs, “I figure since you know about this now, it’s the right thing to do.”

  Then it hits me what just happened. I take six very large steps away from him, then I do a U-turn, run back, and drop back down so I’m crouching between his legs. “You’re not human, are you? And don’t you dare insult me by lying to me.”

  His head swivels back and forth one time.

  “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.” I’m caught in a litany of fucks and can’t seem to stop.

  It goes on until his voice cuts through my thoughts. “Serena, stop it. You’re smart; you can deal with it.”

  I lift my head and look into his amazing eyes. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “And I wanted you to fuck my brains out. I wanted to sleep with you, see you naked— an alien! Oh my god!”

  “Bloody hell! What does not being human have to do with it? You all are so damned arrogant. If you only knew how low on the survival chain Earth is and how many times we’ve had to intervene to prevent this planet from being overtaken by … oh never mind. And I prefer the term ‘otherworldly’ or ‘non-hominid’ if you don’t mind.”

  “You … me …” my arm swings back and forth between us.

  “There is no difference, anatomically.”

  “No difference, huh? Yes, there is! You’re from another planet. Which, by the way, I don’t even know the name of or where it is!”

  “Does that matter?”

  Well, the question stumps me. It didn’t matter to Lois Lane. Oh, shut up, Serena. Lois and Clark were comic strip characters, for heaven’s sake. This is just my luck. I find a necklace, one that’s kick ass cool I might add, and it turns out to be part of some weapon of mass destruction. Oh wait. Let me rephrase that. It can blow away the entire universe. This is a cata-fucking-clysm. My mother was right. I should never have learned to dive. Look where it’s gotten me. Surrounded by a bunch of aliens— or non-humanoids— and one very fuckable one at that. Crikes!

  In that low super sexy voice of his, he says, “Serena, look at me.”

  Why can’t I disobey him? I look up. He knows I’m wary. Why shouldn’t I be? He’s fucking ET on steroids! I pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming. Does he truly look like this or is he using one of his super duper techie devices that make him look overly attractive to me? He rests his hands, his very large hands, on my shoulders. Please don’t crush me.

  “Serena, you’re awake, not dreaming, and I look like this all the time. I’m not using anything to alter my appearance. This is the real me. And I promise I won’t crush you. Or hurt you. My men, along with myself, are protectors. We only hurt and destroy when the times call for it, such as what you saw on the screen a little bit ago. The Shaurok, the beings who tried to kill you, are also after Judgment Day. They will stop at nothing to get it. You saw their eyes. They are conscienceless beings. They have one thing on their minds, and that is following orders. They will do it to the death. I swear to you that no harm will come to you while you are under our guard.”

  What he says is supposed to offer me comfort, but it doesn’t. The fact remains that I’m not sure if I can trust the man.

  “I will have to earn your trust then, won’t I?”

  “You’re a mind reader. Can you just quit with that? It’s rude and it makes me even more uncomfortable than I already am.” It’s bad enough that I have to deal with the alien thing, but the fact he knows everything going on in my head is beyond awful.

  “My apologies. I’ll stay out of your head. Sometimes your thoughts are quite loud so they’re difficult to ignore.”

  “Do you have a space ship?”

  He laughs at me. “No. We haven’t had them in years. I’m not exactly sure for how many. Hundreds most likely.”

  “Oh. That’s disappointing. Do you use a transporter like on Star Trek? Beam me up, Scotty, and all.”

  He laughs again. “I’ve seen that Star Trek show. And no, we use what we call a Transcender. It’s similar I suppose, but it’s much more convenient than a ship.”

  “So, not human.”

  His lids drop shut, closing me out, but only for a few seconds. Then he opens his eyes and says, “We are much the same, you and I. There are a few differences.”

  “You won’t tell me, will you?” I ask.

  “Is it important? And what purpose will it serve?”

  The reason I want to know is to satisfy my curiosity. Nothing more. And it will serve no purpose at all.

  “May I?” I ask.

  He doesn’t know what I want, so he nods. I take his hand in mine, feeling the bones in it, then I move to his wrist.

  “You will find you and I are anatomically the same, as I said before.”

  “Everywhere?”

  He grins. “Everywhere. Minor differences here and there.”

  “But yet, you came back here with such serious injuries and survived. It baffles me.”

  “I am strong.”

  “Your skin doesn’t feel different, more dense, perhaps?”

  “Would it matter?” he asks.

  “It may explain some things.”

  “Yes. It is denser. The molecules are more tightly woven, for lack of a better explanation.”

  “You breathe oxygen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what was that wire I attached to you?”

  “My lungs were both punctured. They collapsed and I couldn’t breathe. It healed them.”

  It sounds reasonable.

  “It’s the truth, Serena.”

  “The damned mind reading.”

 
“I’m afraid so.”

  “So, how do you feel?”

  “Good as new.” To prove it, he stands and stretches. The remnants of his shirt are on the floor, and his muscles flex and move beneath his skin that is wrapped tightly around them. Before I know what I’m doing, I touch the places he was wounded. They are wide, pink lines in his flesh, left behind as a reminder. I imagine they will fade into thin scars eventually. Then I notice how perfect he is. What is it with these men?

  “They don’t hurt?”

  “Not a bit.”

  It comes to me then, how he risked his life for my friend. And that’s what they did for me, while I was diving. Is this what they always do? Is this what he meant by protectors? My fingers seek out all his scars, and there are dozens. As I examine the skin on his torso, I wonder how many times he has risked death. I lift my eyes to find him staring at me. Now it’s my turn to find it difficult to breathe. But there’s more. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to know his taste.

  My hand reaches out to touch the scar on his face, the one that runs from his eye to his mouth, but before I get the chance, he murmurs, “Bloody hell,” and his lips find mine as his arms pull me roughly against his body. If I thought I felt a zing when his hands touched mine, it was nothing compared to this. A current races along my spine and heat settles into my core, fanning out across my body. One of my arms coils around his neck as I stretch against him while the other hand presses into the muscles of his back. His tongue is like satin as it plays with mine, dancing, and teasing me. He tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before. Spicy and exotic. And then his scent wafts over me, looping around my brain, and I know I want more of him. My body throbs with need like it never has. I find myself spreading my legs and grinding myself against him, trying to get closer.

  All of a sudden he pushes me away. “Christ, woman. What are you doing to me?”

  Did I just hear him correctly? What am I doing to him? I’m breathing so hard my brain has difficulty processing. I touch my lips because they’re scorched from his kisses and my heart thrums with such force I can hear it pounding in my ears. I rub my face, trying to make sense out of this. It has become painfully awkward. But oddly enough, I can’t stop staring at him. He’s so irresistible. And I want more of his kisses. He tilts his head and scrapes his lower lip with his teeth. His right front tooth has the slightest chip in it; I suppose it happened when he was fighting. It makes him look sexier than he already is. I want to lick it, along with his lip. And that scar. Hell, I want to lick every inch of him. And he smells so damn good.