Chaos (Guards of the Shadowlands Book 3)

by Sarah Fine

  “It’s not real, Captain,” he called after me. “Pretending will only get us all killed. Sometimes all you can do is face what’s in front of you and see it for what it is—and what it’s not.”

  The door slammed hard behind me, and I ran for my car. I drove past the turnoff for Diane’s and got on the highway as Henry’s words rang in my head. My head felt like a time bomb as I went over the bridges to Newport and drove all the way to the spot that always drew me at times like this. I followed the rocky trail of the Cliff Walk through the dark, listening to the ocean licking at the shore several yards below me.

  I sat down on the boulder where I’d stood months ago, demanding to know if Nadia was all right, shouting at the sky to tell me where she’d gone. One gust of wind was all it had taken to push me over the edge.

  One gust of wind was all it would take now.

  I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t strong enough, not anymore. Everything had been taken away, and Henry was right: my mistakes were not only going to get me killed—they were going to be the death of others as well. I was a liability.

  It was never real. That’s what Henry’s lover—his killer—had said to him. Shivering as the wind blew my hair around my face, I had to wonder if any of this was real. What made something real? I’d been in a city where people could grow whatever they wanted out of nothing—were those things real? I’d been in a hell world where existing meant endless horror, but love could heal with a touch. Was that real? Now that I was here, in the land of the living, what I’d always assumed was reality didn’t feel like it anymore. I didn’t feel connected to any of it.

  I put my hand out, looking for the edges of my reality, wondering if I could pierce it like a soap bubble. What would happen if I got up and started walking, right over the edge? Or what if I simply lay down and didn’t get up?

  “I’ve had enough,” I said to the sky, addressing the Judge, wherever she was. “I give up.”

  The quiet hiss of waves was the only reply.

  I rose to my feet and held out my arms. “I give up,” I shouted. “Do you hear me? I can’t do this!”

  I threw back my head, waiting for the wind to carry me over, not caring where it took me as long as I didn’t have to feel this miserable loneliness anymore. “Come on,” I screamed at the Judge. “What are you waiting for?” I swayed in place, the toes of my boots right at the edge of the rocks. “Please,” I whispered. “I’m done.”

  I’m in love with your strength, Malachi whispered back, an echo in my memory. I’m in love with your determination, the way you never ever give up.

  The sob forced its way from my throat before I knew I was crying. I stumbled over a rock, landing hard on the gravel trail. I rolled to my back and looked up at the moon. “You’d be so disappointed if you could see me now,” I mumbled, though I knew full well Malachi couldn’t hear me.

  These people need those things from you now.

  I let out another shuddering sob. He’d said that to me at the gates of the Mazikin city, trusting me to do everything I could to usher all those human souls to safety. I’d thought I had, but there were more people in danger right now. Right now.

  While I was here, wishing. Pretending. Doing exactly what all the people in the dark city did—instead of going in search of what I needed, instead of facing reality and dealing with it, no matter how painful, I’d grown myself a shabby imitation of what I most wanted, and then buried myself in false comfort. And in doing so, I’d turned away from everything I thought I was and everyone I cared about.

  Ian. Tegan. Diane. Henry. So many others who could still be saved—unless pretending was more important to me than their lives. Unless my desire for a few minutes of illusion was worth more than their safety. Unless my craving for escape outweighed my sense of duty.

  “I don’t abandon my friends,” I said, my voice cracking. I slowly stood up and dusted off my pants. I was the disposable abandoned girl . . . I had been, at least. But I didn’t abandon people. I didn’t turn away. And I didn’t give up. “I will never give up,” I whispered.

  I was still exhausted. Still grieving. Still feeling like all my insides had been smashed up and stomped on. But I wouldn’t stop until I had done the job I’d been sent here to do. It wasn’t about loyalty to the Judge. Not at all.

  It was about me choosing who I wanted to be.

  I took deep breaths of sea air and got into my car, drove back across the bridges, and headed for Diane’s. I needed to get a few hours of sleep before I faced tomorrow. I’d have to be a lot sharper and more focused if I was going to succeed. If I was going to look at Juri and face the reality. He was just a corrupted copy of Malachi, and he could only fool me if I let him. And by allowing him close to me, I wasn’t honoring the memory of what Malachi and I had together. I was spitting on it. Malachi deserved so much more from me than that.

  The only thing I could do was accept that he was gone, hold on to the memories of what we had together, and stop trying not to miss him—I would never stop missing him.

  I parked my car and tromped up the steps, then swung the front door open and tossed my keys in the basket in the entryway.

  Midtoss, it hit me. The door hadn’t been locked.

  I pressed myself against the door. He was leaning against the wall. Only ten feet away.

  “Diane keeps her spare key under the ladybug stone in the flower bed,” Juri said quietly. “It’s a bit of an obvious choice.”

  I drew my knife, rage flaring inside me. “If you’ve done anything to her—”

  “She’s at work, as far as I know.” He took a slow, cautious step toward me. “I couldn’t stay away, Lela.”

  My fingers tightened over the grip of my knife. “Your mistake.”

  His brow furrowed. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

  “Oh, I’m happy. You picked the perfect time to show up.”

  I lunged for him, my knife hand darting out like a viper. He raised his arms and jumped back, his eyes wide as he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly serious.” And even more determined because he didn’t think I’d actually do it. He thought I was weak. And he was wrong. I struck again, nearly slicing one of his fingers as he skipped to one side and put a chair between us. As I moved forward again, he tossed it at my feet, forcing me to jump to avoid getting tripped up by its legs. He caught my wrist as I flailed, but I slammed my knee into his gut.

  He groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth as my fingers dug into his neck. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his other hand clamped over my wrist to keep me from slamming my blade between his ribs.

  “I do want to hurt you,” I huffed, then slammed my forehead against his cheekbone. He dropped me abruptly, and I rolled away, getting to my feet immediately.

  He let out a hoarse laugh as he touched his fingertips to his already-swollen cheek. “That was very good.”

  “Shut up.” He was trying to sound like Malachi again. It wouldn’t work this time. “You’ve got balls, coming here like this. You really must have thought you had me.” I circled to the left, trying to get him into the open space of the living room, where he couldn’t toss furniture at me.

  I was wary; Malachi had been a master at improvising, and Juri would know all his tricks. Which of Diane’s possessions would he use as a weapon against me? The vase on the coffee table? The metal lamp next to the couch? Juri smiled as he saw me assessing the possibilities. “Fighting here isn’t a good idea,” he said. “Diane has such a lovely home.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have broken in again.”

  He frowned, and I took that moment to go for his legs. It had worked once before, on the practice mat in the basement of the old Guard house. Malachi hadn’t been expecting that kind of attack, and it was the only time I’d ever beaten him.

&nbs
p; He let out a startled grunt and bent his knees as I plowed into him, knocking him backward over the coffee table, which collapsed with a rending crunch under our weight. He gasped with pain as I drew the knife up his calf, but the fabric of his jeans was too thick to allow me to cut deep. In an instant, his fingers were around my wrist again, squeezing so hard that I cried out. He threw himself forward, grabbing my other wrist as I put my hand out to stop him.

  Then he was on top of me, the relentless weight of his body pinning me to the floor. I jerked my head up to smash it into his, but he ducked to the side and used his shoulder to hold me down.

  Until I bit that shoulder, sinking my teeth into his muscle.

  He roared in pain, then pressed his body so hard onto mine that my jaws were forced open. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

  “Stop it now, Lela,” he said sharply. “This is getting ridiculous.”

  Having him mock me was like pouring acid over the wounds. With a wrenching cry, I struggled, trying desperately to get out from under him. But he held both my wrists in one hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair, using it to hold me down. “Stop, Lela. Stop.”

  “Fuck you,” I yelled, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. It couldn’t be over so soon. This couldn’t be how it happened. I felt so stupid. I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone anyone else. But I still wouldn’t give up. “You’re going to have to kill me, Juri. I won’t stop.”

  He gently kissed my forehead. “You’ve got it all wrong, and I should have thought of this. Look at me.”

  His weight on me lessened, just a bit, and my mind started to work, waiting for the exact moment to throw him off or knee him hard. To keep him from getting suspicious, I looked into his eyes like he’d asked.

  “It’s me,” he said softly.

  “You’ve fooled me with that line before. I’m not playing this game again.”

  Fury flashed in his eyes. “You shouldn’t ever have had to play it.”

  “Stop. No more pretending.”

  He nodded. “No more pretending. Look at my neck, Lela. Really look.”

  I did. At the smooth olive skin of his throat. He had none of the terrible scarring Malachi had been left with after his time in the Mazikin city. My gaze moved automatically to the scar where Juri had bitten Malachi’s neck.

  It wasn’t there. “What the—”

  Keeping my wrists imprisoned in his iron grip, he reached down with his other hand to untuck his shirt and pull it up. Terror streaked through me.

  “Shhh. Lela, I’m just showing you. Look.”

  I glanced down to see his abs, unscarred and perfect, not marred by the huge hollow spot where the Queen had rammed her claws into Malachi’s chest. But of course this body wouldn’t have any of that. It would only have the scars Malachi had brought with him to the land of the living. This was the body Malachi had been forced to leave behind when Juri possessed him. Slowly, he took one of my hands in his, still keeping the other secure. His eyes lingered on mine as he guided my palm to the place where four deep claw marks had scarred Malachi’s back.

  They were gone, too. All that lay beneath my hand was warm skin.

  “Say my name,” he said quietly.

  “You’re not him,” I said in a choked whimper. “He’s gone. I don’t know what you’ve done, but you can’t fool me. He was nothing but scars after the Mazikin realm. He would have those—”

  “All of them had disappeared by the time I reached the Countryside.” Cautiously, like he was trying not to spook me, he released my hand and left it on his back. I couldn’t have moved it even if I wanted to. I was paralyzed with shock.

  “You know me. Say my name,” he said again, bowing his head so his nose grazed along my cheek, making me shiver. “Please, say my name. I fought my way out of heaven just so I could hear it again.”

  “Malachi?” I said, my voice trembling.

  His eyes shone with relief and love. “Yes.”

  THIRTY

  I BLINKED UP AT him, taking in every inch of his beautiful face. “What did you do?”

  He looked a little sheepish. “The same thing I’ve done on two other occasions.”

  “You stormed the Sanctum.” When he nodded, I said, “How is that even possible? You were in the Countryside!”

  He let go of the arm he’d been holding above my head and propped himself on an elbow so he could look down at me. “When you were in the Countryside, how did you see the dark city?”

  I thought back. “I saw Nadia’s face on my arm and started thinking about her, and it sort of . . . appeared.” Other remembered conversations struck me. “And Jim was in the Countryside, too, and he saw the Blinding City. He said he’d been feeling restless and wanting more, and then it became visible to him. And Ana told me that the moment she understood that Takeshi wasn’t in the Countryside, the Wasteland appeared to her, and the Mazikin city is at the very edge of it, in the desert.”

  Malachi nodded. “Then you know how it happened.”

  I tentatively touched his face. “But didn’t you find your family?”

  He closed his eyes. “I did.” He smiled. “It was good to see them. To know how happy they were. And they hadn’t forgotten me. My mother cried.”

  “How could you leave all that?” I asked as his head dropped into the space between my shoulder and neck. I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers in his inky-black hair. “You’d wanted it for so long.”

  “Because I wanted something else even more.” His breath was hot against my collarbone. “And when the Sanctum appeared in front of me, it was not a hard decision. Or, it was one I’d already made, at least. The Judge was rather exasperated when I showed up again.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. “You are too much,” I whispered, holding him tight. “I can’t believe you did this. Why would you let yourself get sentenced to be a Guard again? I mean—”

  “I think we should clean up a bit before Diane comes home,” he said abruptly, raising his head. He stood up, leaving me flat on my back, still reeling. After a few seconds, I sat up to find him gathering pieces of the splintered coffee table. “I’ll take these to the garbage.”

  He walked out to the front, and when he came back, I was running the vacuum, trying to get bits of shattered glass up from the carpet. We cleaned silently. It didn’t take long. When we were done, her living room looked a bit emptier and I knew I’d have a lot of explaining to do. Malachi tied off a garbage bag and set it by the door, then came over to me. His cheek was red and puffy where I’d head-butted him, and his jeans had a bloody slash across the calf, but he wasn’t limping.

  “You could get Raphael to heal that when you get back to the Guard house,” I said.

  He shrugged and took one of my hands, then placed it on his chest. Just like Juri had done last night—and I stiffened. Malachi let go of me, frowning. “What did he do to you, Lela?” he asked, his voice quiet and deadly.

  “The worst thing he could have done. He pretended to be you.” Worse, I pretended, too.

  He looked down at his hands. “And now you don’t want me to touch you.”

  I shook my head. “I . . . I just feel like . . .” I didn’t know how to say it. I felt like I’d cheated on him somehow. It didn’t seem fair for him not to know. “I let him touch me,” I explained. “I knew it wasn’t real, but I let him put his hands on me.”

  His eyes were so dark. Fathomless. I couldn’t read them as he said, “Why?”

  “Because I missed you. And I was so tired. I just wanted a few minutes of comfort.” I swallowed back the memory of it, the defeat. “I wanted it so badly,” I said in a choked voice.

  “Did it help?”

  “No,” I said, grimacing. “It was confusing and awful.”

  “And if I touch you now?” He was still, waiting for my answer.

  “It mi
ght still be confusing.”

  “I’m going to make it unconfusing, then.” Again, he reached for my hand, and I let him take it and lay it on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed my palm. “No matter what he did, or what he said, he could never pretend well enough.” He tipped my chin up. “Because he hasn’t felt himself grow stronger simply because you were touching him. He hasn’t healed your body with his hands on your skin. He will never understand the power of that. And that means he could never make you feel what I can.”

  Then his lips were on mine, warm and delicious, as his fingertips trailed down my cheek to my throat. He traced them along my collarbone as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth and making me moan at the taste of him. I coiled my arms around his neck, our connection stealing my breath, his hard body up against mine, his arm around my waist, crushing me to his chest. My hands skimmed over his shoulders, down his back, all the way to his waist. Everything was smooth, no bumpy scars beneath his shirt, and suddenly, I wanted to see what this kind of miracle looked like. I pushed up his shirt, and he pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor.

  My heart beat like a jackhammer as I touched the spot where the terrible scar had been, right in the center of his chest. Now it was perfect, muscles knitted together beneath skin that goose-bumped wherever I touched. He shivered, then laughed to himself. “I was surprised, too.”

  “I love you, no matter what you look like.”

  “I know.” He drew in a sharp breath when I stroked my fingers down the center of his stomach. “Lela—”

  I didn’t know how to explain. Mostly because this was the biggest feeling I’d ever had. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him again, my fingers curling into the lean muscles of his back, trying to translate the powerful, shaky need twisting inside of me. After a few minutes, with that need drawing tighter with every second, Malachi groaned and lifted me off my feet. My legs wrapped around his waist. “Where?” he said against my mouth.