Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  “We set up Linda’s office as a bedroom until you can climb the stairs,” Matthew said. “Katrina brought down some clothes for you. Go change your pants.” He pointed toward the makeshift bedroom.

  André nodded, rolling the wheelchair down the small hallway. He wheeled in and stopped in the middle of the room. The shakes began and with it came the sobs, the entire ordeal finally hitting home.

  André didn’t react when Katrina came into the room and closed the door. The sobs kept coming, ripping through his chest with a force that clamped his lungs, leaving him gasping and shaking enough to rattle the wheelchair. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek, whispering, “Shhh” he reached up, wrapping his hands around her wrists and holding her close, like a drowning man clutching his only life jacket.

  Katrina kissed his temple. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.

  He opened his mind to her for the first time since he got home and gave her the playback of the entire ordeal.

  Katrina laid her head on his shoulder as the assault of his memories swarmed in her mind. “Oh, babe.”

  “They put his blood in me,” he said when the sobs subsided.

  “Think of how much that would have pissed him off,” Katrina answered, putting a spin he hadn’t thought of.

  André turned toward her, wiping his face. He let out a small laugh. “It would have royally pissed him off to know he saved my life.”

  Katrina smiled. She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and ran some warm water on a washcloth. She walked back to André, handing it to him.

  He wiped his face and hands and handed the cloth to her. “Can you help me out of these?” he asked, waving to his stained sweatpants.

  “Sure,” Katrina said and helped him stand on his good foot.

  “I’m going to need underwear and another pair of sweats,” he said, standing on his good leg, looking at the seat of the wheelchair. “And something to clean that up with.”

  Katrina leaned over and wiped up the seat. She disappeared again. This time she came back with both the wet washcloth and a dry towel. She dried off the seat and looked at him. “Are you going to drop the pants or what?”

  He smiled. “I figured you’d give me a hand with that.”

  She returned the smile. “I suppose you want me to clean the blood off your ass too.”

  André nodded, the heat crawling into his cheeks. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Katrina turned the chair and locked the wheels so he could steady himself on the handles. She pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles, taking them completely off his hurt leg and leaving them bunched around the ankle of his good leg. She ran the wet washcloth over the back of his thighs, and despite the situation, he felt the flood of heat flare, his libido taking over at the smooth strokes of the cloth.

  “Next time I’m gonna rinse this with cold water,” she muttered from behind him.

  “Sorry,” he said and sent an innocent grin over his shoulders.

  She finished cleaning the blood off his buttocks and wiped around the front of his good thigh. “You can sit now.” She pointed him to the dry towel sitting over the chair.

  He slid into the seat. She pulled the dirty garments off his good foot, disappearing into the bathroom with the soiled clothing and the dirty cloth. She came back with a clean cloth and cleaned up the front of André. Her touch excited him now that the drugs silenced the pain.

  “André,” she said, the sharpness in her voice relaying her less than thrilled response.

  “Katrina,” he replied in the same tone, a smile spreading on his lips. He ran his hand into her hair. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling her toward his now clean lap.

  Katrina pulled her head out of his grasp and sent a glare his way, tossing him a pair of clean underwear.

  “Come on, Kat,” he said, smiling up at her as the full effect of the pain pills settled into his muscles, relaxing and leaving him languid in the chair with the exception of the stiff member standing at attention in his lap. “You know what I want,” he slurred.

  “Cut the shit, André,” Katrina snapped and tossed him a clean pair of shorts.

  André pouted and shimmied into his underwear, before glancing up at Katrina, trying to send her that “come-hither” look that always got her going.

  She rolled her eyes and the edges of her lips stretched into a grin. “You need your rest and don’t you dare give me that look.”

  “What look?” he said, shrugging and widening his eyes with mock innocence.

  “You’re high as a kite right now, aren’t you?” She chuckled and pecked him on the cheek as she left the room.

  André slid the shorts on and rolled himself out into the living room, his cheeks aching from the silly grin plastered on his lips. “Sorry for yellin’,” he said, his words forming slowly under the influence of the medicine.

  Matthew nodded. “You want to watch the ball game?” He pointed to the television.

  “Nah, I’m hungry,” André said and rolled into the kitchen. He looked at the kitchen cabinets and they all opened, making him giggle. Surveying the food, his gaze stopped on a box of chocolate chip cookies and with a tilt of his head, the box landed in his lap. He closed the cabinets and rolled out into the living room with the full box of cookies. Pulling the wheelchair next to the couch, he transferred himself to the soft cushions, lounging and facing the television. “Want some?” he asked with his mouth full of cookies, offering the box to his father.

  “No thanks,” Matthew said. “Don’t get crumbs all over the place.”

  “’K,” André replied. Each cookie just fueled his hunger until he reached into the bottom of the box and found nothing but crumbs. He sighed and closed his eyes.

  Matthew glanced over at André as a light snore interrupted his concentration. The empty box of cookies lay on André’s chest, teetering each time André inhaled. Matthew got up and retrieved the empty box, tossing it onto the coffee table before sitting down again. He wondered how long the medicine would last this time. In the hospital, it only lasted a couple of hours with intravenous injections, and by the time his next dose came around, he was an irritable mess. The instructions on the bottle said one every six hours, but Matthew doubted one pill would do the trick, so he had slipped André two in the hopes it would quiet him down after the interview trauma.

  Katrina came down, holding Sam. “He’s asleep?”

  Matthew nodded. “I gave him a double dose of the medication and it knocked him out.” He smiled. “I have a feeling this is going to be a rough two weeks.”

  Katrina laughed. “It’s going to be a rough couple of months. He’s going to hate not playing football,” she said, lifting Sam up in the air. “Your daddy’s not going to be the star quarterback this year.” She smiled at her son.

  “Bullshit,” André’s groggy voice interrupted. He smiled a little and shifted to get more comfortable. “I’ll be playing in a month.” His breathing drifted back into the even rhythm of sleep.

  Matthew and Katrina exchanged a skeptical look.

  “How are you feeling?” Katrina asked as she plopped down on the small couch opposite André.

  “I’m fine,” Matthew answered. He wasn’t one to complain even though his ribs still sent sharp twinges of pain any time he moved.

  “Who are you kidding, Dad?” Katrina said, glancing at him. “Every time you move, you get this horrible grimace on your face.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Complaining isn’t going to make it heal any faster.”

  “How long are you out of work?”

  “The doctor said at least two weeks.”

  “Ah,” Katrina said. That ought to make for a fun house the next couple weeks.

  Matthew sent a disapproving glare in her direction.

  “You and André laid up in the same house. Duh.” Katrina rolled her eyes.

  Matthew laughed. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said under h
er breath.

  “We will,” Matthew said, trying to convince her.

  “Whatever,” Katrina said, focusing on Sam.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Matthew asked.

  “Not with those vultures out there,” Katrina answered.

  A knock at the front door interrupted the conversation.

  Katrina looked at Matthew expectantly as she played with Sam.

  Just like a teenager. Matthew sighed and closed the recliner, getting up slowly. He opened the door and raised his eyebrows. “Mr. President.” He glanced at the media frenzy on the street and stepped aside, allowing the president to enter.

  “Commander.” President Foster nodded as Matthew closed the door. He glanced around the living room, nodding at Katrina.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” Matthew asked.

  President Foster focused back on Matthew. “I came by to say thank you to your son.”

  Matthew nodded. “He’s resting right now. He had a rough morning.”

  “I saw the footage,” President Foster remarked.

  “I know, but it took a lot out of him,” Matthew said, glancing at his son.

  “I also saw the footage from inside the ship,” President Foster said.

  “He almost died, Mitch,” Matthew said, looking back at the president, showing his guilt and regret to one of his oldest friends. “My son almost died because I let him get near that alien bastard.”

  The president put an understanding hand on Matthew’s shoulder.

  André opened his eyes. “No, Dad. I almost died because I wanted to pummel that son of a bitch with my own hands. Stop beating yourself up for my immaturity.” He slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Good afternoon, Mr. President,” André added.

  “Good afternoon, André,” the president said, crossing the room and extending his hand.

  “Pardon me for not standing, sir,” André said as he took the president’s outstretched hand. He smiled a little. The discomfort had returned and he knew in a little while it would be back full throttle to gut-wrenching pain.

  “I understand,” he said and reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet jewelry box. “I have the distinct honor to present you with the Congressional Medal of Honor,” he said, flipping it open.

  Awe filled his sleepy mind and he glanced from the ornate medal to the president and back. A Maltese cross surrounded by a laurel wreath hung below a bar reading VALOR. The medal featured the American eagle in the center, its open wings spanning the length of the cross arms. André reached out and traced the decoration with his finger. He raised his eyes, meeting his father’s gaze.

  “There’s an inscription on the back,” the president said.

  André turned the medal over and inscribed in formal script were the words:

  Medal of Honor Recipient: André Robbins.

  July 4, 2240

  André didn’t quite know what to say. He knew this was an unprecedented honor. This award hadn’t been given out to a citizen in over a hundred years, if he recalled his history correctly. The magnitude of the gesture rendered him speechless.

  Matthew crossed the room and looked at the medal. “You earned it, son,” he said, blinking back tears of pride.

  “I’d like to formally present it to you in front of the press.”

  “You mind if I change into something else?” André asked after surveying his shorts and t-shirt.

  “By all means,” President Foster said.

  André looked at Katrina. “Do I have anything other than sweats and shorts down here?”

  Katrina shook her head. “No, but I’ll go get your gray suit.” She stood with Sam on her hip and looked at President Foster. “Do you mind holding Sammy for me?”

  “Not at all.” President Foster smiled and took the little boy in his arms while Matthew retrieved the wheelchair for André. “Your son is adorable,” President Foster said.

  “Thanks.” André hauled himself into the wheelchair.

  “Your wife and son should join us for the presentation,” President Foster stated. It was not posed as a question.

  “No, sir,” André answered as if it was an option.

  President Foster looked down at him. “That wasn’t a question.”

  “I’m sorry, but I would rather not have Katrina and Sam subjected to the media,” André answered.

  “I agree with my son,” Matthew said. “I don’t think it is prudent to flaunt his child to the world. There are some crazy people out there, Mitch, and André is already at risk. I don’t want to put his wife and son in the same situation.”

  “Why would Katrina and Sam be at risk?”

  “André, you are not from Earth. That makes you a curiosity to most of the population and puts you into instant fame status, along with your family,” Matthew explained. “That’s a potent cocktail for crazy people and they’re the ones I’m worried about.”

  “Don’t I have a say in the matter?” Katrina asked. She was holding André’s gray suit along with a pretty summer sundress.

  “No,” André answered.

  “I agree that Sam should not be out there, but I’ll be damned if I’m not standing by your side when the president gives you that medal.” She marched into the first floor bedroom without another word.

  The three men looked in the direction that Katrina disappeared. President Foster glanced at André. “She’s a pistol.”

  André sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it.” He rolled to the bedroom, gauging Katrina’s mood as he went. He pushed open the door and caught her as she slipped the dress over her head, covering her smooth bare skin. “You can’t be mad at me for wanting to protect you,” he said as he shut the door behind him.

  “André, I can protect myself now. Remember?”

  “I seem to remember you weren’t the one to stop Anna’s craft,” André pointed out as he slipped his shorts off and reached for his suit trousers.

  “I could have stopped her,” Katrina said.

  André let out a laugh. “Not.” He shuffled the pants up and stood on his good leg to pull them the rest of the way. He stripped his shirt while still standing and put the white oxford on, buttoning the bottom and tucking it in. He sat down after he buckled himself up, exhausted from the exertion. He reached onto the bed and grabbed his jacket, slipping it on. “How do I look?”

  Katrina smiled and waltzed up to him, the hem of the skirt swaying gently with her sultry hip movement. She leaned down and kissed him. “You look hot.” She moved around and took the handles of the wheelchair, pushing him out into the living room.

  President Foster nodded as the two entered the living room.

  Katrina took Sam from his arms and set him in a portable crib in the corner of the room, popping a pacifier in his mouth. “Ready?” she asked, turning.

  Everyone nodded. The president was the first to step out of the house. Matthew pushed André out, carefully maneuvering the wheelchair over the small step and moving him to the side of the door, facing the president. Katrina took her place by his side taking his hand as they looked out on the sea of reporters on the front lawn.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to be here today.” President Foster surveyed the crowd. “As you already know, the threat of the meteor has been extinguished, thanks to the young man in the wheelchair behind me. What you may not be aware of is there was also an alien presence in space, using the meteor as a shield against us. When André destroyed the meteor, the alien attacked their ship with harmful intent.” He glanced back at Matthew. “This young man defended his adopted father and an Armed Forces medic, saving their lives from the alien invader, but he was seriously wounded in the process.” He turned toward André. “The United States of America owes you a debt of gratitude,” he said. “On behalf of the citizens of the United States of America, I am proud to present you with the Congressional Medal of Honor.” He made a great show of presenting the medal to André.
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  André took the medal. “Thank you,” he said, maintaining eye contact with the president.

  The president smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a legal certificate and addressing the crowd. “Before the nuclear holocaust and the meteor strike in the Arctic Circle, the United States had a tradition for welcoming those from other cultures and countries across the world into her fold. Many strived to become citizens of this great nation.” He paused and glanced over at André. “In the tradition of our ancestors, I am officially granting you citizenship to our great nation.” He turned and handed the paper to André. “You are now one of our own.”

  André looked at the certificate, more touched by this gesture than receiving the medal. The certificate said he belonged; he was a part of a society, not shunned for being different. He looked up at the president and tried to smile, blinking the tears back, but he didn’t succeed at either. “Thank you,” he whispered, grateful beyond words.

  Katrina squatted next to him. “You okay?”

  André nodded, glancing at her and then beyond at the crowd of reporters, cameramen, and photographers. He slowly stood and reached to shake the president’s hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said, holding both the medal case and certificate in his left hand. “It is my fortune and honor to have found such a wonderful place.”

  The president shook André’s hand.

  André lowered himself back into the wheelchair.

  The press had been waiting silently until the moment André sat back in the chair. The flurry of questions engulfed the porch.

  André looked up at Katrina. Get me out of here.

  She nodded and turned the wheelchair toward the front door, rolling him into the house and away from the chaos. André put the medal down on the coffee table and stared at the piece of paper blinking back the red sheen covering his vision. He kept his back to the door when both Matthew and the president entered the house until he got a handle on his emotions and then turned, meeting the president’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” President Foster said and turned to Matthew. “When will you be back to work?”