Forging the Guild (The Protector Guild Book 2)

by Gray Holborn

  Luckily, Atlas didn’t say anything and he didn’t seem to rat us out to anyone with the power to punish us. His dark eyes trailed over us, his head shaking almost imperceptibly before he followed the rest of the group. If I didn’t know better, it almost seemed like he was warning us to stay back, to stay hidden.

  Izzy, Ro, and I waited silently for a solid half hour, discussing the possibilities of what happened and hoping like hell that Atlas kept our spying to himself. I wouldn’t hold my breath though, he didn’t seem like the type to offer an unrequited favor. We made our way quietly back to the dorms, each of us lost in our own thoughts about what we’d just witnessed. Izzy left us for her rooms with a promise that she’d get in touch with Sharla to see if she could find out about what had happened. Ro and I were determined to wait for Cyrus. He wasn’t answering his phone and hadn’t shown up at his room.

  After an hour of wearing a path through my rug pacing around, Ro convinced me to try and sleep, promising that we’d find out what happened in the morning. Wherever Cyrus was, it was clear that he was busy and that filling us in on the happenings of the night was low on his to-do list.

  For once, I actually listened. Or at least I tried to. I focused all of my energy on willing my eyes shut and switching my brain off for several hours. But at two in the morning, I gave up. I threw on a pair of leggings and a dark tank, dragging the nurse’s keycard I’d swiped from inside my pillow case. In the days since my recovery, she hadn’t come looking for it, nor had she asked for it back, so I assumed it was as good as mine now. And if not, it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission in this instance.

  And then, with as much stealth as I could muster, I left my room and then our apartment suite, determined to find Wade or at the very least, one of the members of his team. For a moment, I was tempted to wake Ro so that I’d have company, but the soft snores echoing through his door convinced me to leave him be. He’d been sleeping so little since I returned from the infirmary, constantly worrying about my own health at the expensive of his own.

  I could wait until morning, sure, but the thought of Wade lying hurt in the hospital wing, or something unspeakably worse than simply hurt, was plaguing my mind. I couldn’t wait a second more to make sure that he was okay. It was like a weird, invisible string was pulling behind my ribs, insisting that I check up on him tonight.

  The halls were largely empty, and I only passed one of the professors, I think her name was Margie, patrolling in the east wing. I hid quickly in an empty classroom, counting the seconds until the click-clack of her footsteps turned down another hall and then, eventually, disappeared altogether. Students didn’t really have a strict curfew or anything, but I had a feeling that roaming the halls alone in the middle of the night was at the very least deeply frowned upon.

  I’d only ever snuck out once before while living with Cyrus, and he had been waiting for me in the kitchen, a silent look of disappointment coloring his face, when I eventually returned. I was grounded for two weeks, unable to watch movies or read any books—and seeing as we lived on our own, with very little to keep ourselves occupied, the punishment was heavy enough that I swore never to repeat the crime.

  Until now.

  Banking on the hope that the rest of The Guild didn’t keep tabs on the protectors with quite as much vigilance as Cyrus had, I made my way to the infirmary doors in less than fifteen minutes. The doors were unlocked. I pressed my fingers around the cool handles, pulling the heavy frame open. I moved the door carefully, trying to be as silent and slow as possible. With a deep breath, I gave one final tug, hoping that I wouldn’t meet any angry faces when the door swung fully open.

  A single, buzzing light lit the main hall, a guard snoring softly at the front desk. His ankles were crossed, feet rising above the table. A car magazine had slipped slightly, revealing a beaten up book resting open on his chest. A beautiful girl with disproportionate features was pictured on the front, her shirt pulled seductively low. A tall, lumberjack-looking man was standing behind her, his large palm resting possessively on her hip. I bit back a grin, picturing the muscular guard secretly perusing romance novels in the library before his shift. People could be so unpredictable sometimes.

  I slowly peeled off my sneakers, hoping to muffle my steps slightly, before walking along the hall. The first two rooms were empty, the third filled with a girl around my age, maybe a few years older, sleeping soundly. When I got to the fourth door, I bit back my surprise, finding Wade passed out, looking beaten and worn against the harsh white of the hospital sheets. Something about him seemed to be missing, like his body was absent of the deep glow I’d come to admire. I waited one long, painstaking moment to see if he was breathing, and exhaled harshly in relief when the sheets surrounding him lifted up and back down with his lungs.

  Throwing caution aside, I opened the door and shuffled quickly to his side. My eyes catalogued him head-to-toe, recognizing his dark, cropped hair and features that were somehow both soft and sharp. His usually tawny skin was significantly paler than I remembered, and covered with several fresh wounds. My heartbeat quickened when I realized that he was shirtless, and I blushed, suddenly feeling guilty for trespassing during his sleep. Something seemed so intimate about standing here above him, studying him as he slumbered.

  Trying desperately to ignore the lean muscles covering his torso, I studied a large bandage covering both his neck and his side. It was unusual for a protector to have so many unhealed wounds. It had been several hours since Six arrived back from their mission and I half expected to find Wade bouncing up and down, rearing to get back to his own room like I had been.

  To see him so frail and beaten up, so long after his return…

  My fingers itched, like they wanted nothing more than to smooth the small crease between his brows, to peel back the bandages and check the wounds myself. Of all the members of Six, Wade had been the sweetest, the most accommodating and welcoming in his own quiet way. The night before the mission, he’d spent so much time, given so much patience, answering my questions about the culture and rules at The Guild. Whereas Atlas, and although to a lesser extent, even the rest of his team, made me feel like a nuisance, an obligation, Wade was genuinely warm and welcoming. There was a weird electricity between us, like we were drawn together in some inexplicable way.

  I needed to know what had happened to him. Forcing myself to look away from his prone form, I searched the machines plugged into him for clues. One of them was beeping with a steady, slow pulse, but I didn’t know enough about the tools being used here, or protector physiology, to have any idea what it meant. The machines surrounding him looked completely different from the ones I was used to seeing in human medical dramas and I wondered, briefly, how different the technology here was from the sort that humans used.

  My hands reached towards the side table, noticing a bag of his things. Just as my fingers were about to make contact, eager to see if there were any clues on his personal items about what he’d been through, I jumped back, barely swallowing the squeal that tried desperately to leave my mouth.

  Atlas.

  He was sitting in a chair a few feet away from Wade’s bed, fast asleep. His left foot was crossed at his right knee, his hands folded around a large, imposing knife, like he was stationed as protection over his brother. What sort of threat did he anticipate meeting here? Or did he always rest like this, perpetually prepared for doom and gloom?

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized he was asleep. Unable to pass up the opportunity to see him without his characteristic scowl, I studied him. His dark hair, which was usually stylishly tossed around, was even messier now, sticking up in various directions like he’d been running his fingers through it. Small lines marred his forehead, his face intense and commanding even in sleep.

  Glancing down his face, I noticed dried blood splotches on one cheek, and then more on each arm. I wasn’t sure whether or not the blood belonged to him—if it did, the wounds were long closed now—but it wa
s clear he hadn’t bothered cleaning up after the mission. My chest constricted, warmed by the realization that he must have been worried sick about Wade.

  I could empathize. If Ro were the one in here, I’d be absolutely beside myself. Maybe Atlas wasn’t quite as heartless as he let on.

  I wondered how many people he’d threatened in order to be allowed to stay for the night. When I was down here, my nurse Greta had forcefully kicked everyone out, not allowing even Ro to stay by my side. My lips pulled up at the thought of her trying to boss Atlas around.

  Satisfied that Wade was at the very least alive, I started walking backwards towards the door. There wasn’t any more information to learn tonight, no evidence that I could quietly gather to try and piece together what happened. And truthfully, I’d rather be caught down here by even a scowling Greta—anyone really—than Atlas. Something told me that if he was willing to let my spying slide once tonight, he absolutely would not be willing to extend the same favor again. Especially not when he was in such a vulnerable state as he was now, resting at his brother’s side.

  My socks slid smoothly across the floor, and I studied Atlas’s almost-but-not-quite-relaxed face as I migrated towards the door.

  And I reached it successfully too.

  The problem was that as my fingers gripped the smooth handle, a door in the close distance slammed shut, bringing unfamiliar voices into the hallway.

  “Do they think he’ll survive?” one voice asked, squeaky with a failed attempt at whispering.

  “I don’t know,” the second responded, clipped and far more successful at keeping the volume down.

  “Medical staff seems torn.”

  “I have a feeling that Tarren will pull Atlas out of here if he doesn’t make it,” replied the second speaker.

  I strained, pressing my ear greedily against the cool metal door, trying desperately to hear the rest of the conversation as the two protectors made their way down the far end of the hall. Who was Tarren? What did they mean by pull Atlas out of here? Out of The Guild? And, more importantly, was the staff really torn on whether or not Wade would make it? I couldn’t imagine anyone else mattering so much to Atlas’s future, so it must’ve been him they were discussing.

  My stomach dropped suddenly, and I forced myself to ignore them. Wade would survive this. He had to.

  Resisting the urge to look back once more at Atlas and Wade, I twisted the doorknob as slowly as possible, a breath of relief parting my lips when the door cracked open without a sound.

  Carefully, I pulled it open, a few inches at a time until, all at once, it was forced closed again with a dull, resounding snap.

  Heart pounding, I turned around, finding myself caged against the door by a very awake, very angry Atlas.

  For a few moments, he was silent, studying me with dark eyes that were ringed with an almost gold color. The gold seemed to practically glow as he studied me. His skin was drawn, paler than usual, made more noticeable by the dark, scratchy stubble lining his cheeks and chin. Even in exhaustion, coated by worry for his brother, he still looked beautiful. It was infuriating. I watched the way the muscles in his jaw clenched, and could almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding together.

  Reminding myself to breathe, I pressed back against the door, desperate to put some space between us. Only thing was that the doors were, well, super solid, and there was nowhere for me to go.

  Panic rang through my ears as I waited desperately for Atlas to say something, or at the very least for my own mouth to gain enough courage to open. Something seemed so fragile in the moment, so feral about his stare; like if I didn’t say the right thing, he would pounce and tear me limb from limb, enjoying every second of it.

  “I—um,” I started, before snapping my jaw closed again. Speechless was a new experience for me.

  The gold threading through his dark irises was mesmerizing up close, and I felt a weird compulsion to reach out and cup his cheek, to feel the press of his stubble against my palm. Atlas tilted his head slightly, slanting his eyes, not unlike a cat closing in on its prey.

  He wouldn’t actually kill me right? They had to have rules against that sort of thing here.

  I hoped so anyway. If not, they needed to make some and quick.

  With one more desperate breath and silent pep talk, I met his eyes. I was the intruder here, he had every right to an explanation.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I wasn’t sure whether or not he’d heard the two protectors speaking; it was unclear how long he’d been awake. “I just, I needed to check on Wade. I had to know he was okay and Cyrus hadn’t come to alert us. And we couldn’t track him down, which is unusual enough for a guy like Cyrus. I’m used to him being around when I need him.” I looked around at the violently white room that seemed to almost glow, even in the cold darkness. “I know I’m new here, but Wade has been really welcoming and helpful, especially my first few days with getting me on track with Guild history and trying to come to terms with the culture shock. I tried sleeping, really I did, but I couldn’t shut my eyes for more than two seconds without worrying about—”

  One long, thin finger pressed harshly to my lips, setting a pulse of electricity down my spine.

  “I, er, uh—” I started again, mumbling awkwardly against his pointer finger. At a low growl that rumbled low in his throat, I stopped.

  As soon as I was no longer stuttering and stumbling over my words, I heard the soft click of heavy shoes coming down the hall again.

  Had he heard them so far off in the distance before I did? I knew protectors came into their senses more fully after turning nineteen, but still.

  “Eighth one this month.” It was voice two again. They must’ve been making rounds, or dropping something off; they were heading back towards the direction they’d originally come from.

  “I know, and that’s only in the western half of the country. I’ve heard it’s been just as bad on the east coast as well,” voice one whisper-yelled. “Will be interesting to hear about Alleva’s trip and if things are as bad there as they are here. I hope for all of our sakes that they aren’t.”

  The owner of voice two said something else, but it was garbled and I couldn’t make out the words, not with my heart pounding heavily at the close proximity of Atlas.

  His dark eyes stared straight through mine, like he was off tracing his own winding thoughts and not really looking at me. I watched the pools of brown glistening with intelligence. Something was running through his head, I just didn’t understand what. I had a feeling that Atlas was the type of person I’d never be able to fully read, the type of person no one could ever fully read.

  I did, however, suddenly realize that his finger was still pressed against my lips—a realization that brought a deep warmth to my cheeks. I prayed that he couldn’t feel the heat, that he didn’t realize the effect his proximity was having on me. It was suddenly impossible to look him in the eye, every part of my body tingling with awareness of how very, very close we were together. My lips parted briefly, my tongue a centimeter away from making contact with his finger before I swallowed, unsure of how to have a conversation with him like this. There was nowhere for me to go, no way for me to create space between us. Suddenly I desperately needed breathing room.

  As if realizing the same thing, he brought his hand roughly down to his side and took several steps back.

  “Do you think the rules of The Guild don’t apply to you, Bentley?” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, an edge that wasn’t typically there. Was it sleep or anger changing it?

  “It’s not that, I just needed to know that Wade was okay,” I said, straightening my spine slightly. I didn’t regret coming down to check on him, no matter how angry Atlas was or how much trouble I was going to get into. I couldn’t explain it, not really, not even to myself. I just knew that I couldn’t sleep until I knew that he was alive.

  “And earlier,” he said, opening and closing his right fist like he had to restrain from atta
cking, “what’s your excuse for then?”

  Curiosity? There really wasn’t an excuse. I just wanted to know what had Cyrus all panicky. I bit softly at my bottom lip, stalling. I was unsure of what to say, fully aware that no answer would be a reason good enough for Atlas. He was angry, and I could tell from his expression that he was determined to direct it at me no matter what.

  Ultimately, I decided to just ignore Atlas’s question and focus on my own. “Wade, what happened to him?”

  “That’s not your concern.” His words were clipped, eyes like ice. “Students aren’t cleared for learning the details of private missions, especially not students who have been involved in our world for a grand total of one week.”

  It had been slightly more than a week, but I didn’t think this was the time to argue on that point. I met his eyes, unwilling to be bullied on this. “Fine. I don’t need to know the details of the mission. Just tell me—is Wade going to be alright? I need—I need to know, okay?”

  I wasn’t sure whether or not I was imaging it, but the corners of Atlas’s eyes seemed to soften, ever so slightly. He looked over at Wade, and my stomach dropped a bit. Atlas was worried. For some reason that, more than anything, had fear gripping at my insides with a vengeance. He wasn’t the type to get worried. When he was worried, that meant that everyone needed to be worried.

  “I don’t—I don’t know,” he said on a heavy exhale. There was a dejection about him all of a sudden, and I could practically hear the concern dripping from his words. I felt chilled more than anything, to the bone. Atlas looked scared, vulnerable even, in a way that was completely antithetical to who he was. I’d only known him for a short while, I knew that. But still, even I knew that this was bad.

  We both stood silently for what felt like an hour, but for what was probably just a few minutes, neither of us able to look away from Wade’s sleeping form. We both silently watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breath beating an atypical cadence.

  Life as a protector was difficult and short-lived—Cyrus had never been shy about making sure we knew that. In fact, I was fairly certain that was half the reason he wanted to keep us away from this world for as long as he could. Until, that is, the supernatural world started coming after us and we lost the luxury of hiding from it. Ro and I had talked many times about the odds of us both surviving past our fifties. Like most protectors, we’d come to terms with the idea that we’d go down fighting while we were still in our prime—it was a point of honor for most of our kind. Still, I wasn’t ready to accept that fate for Wade, not for any of the people that I cared about or had collected as friends recently.