Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) (6 page)

"What time is
it?" Ryker's voice broke the silence as the boys walked into The Academy, hopeful no one noticed their late arrival. Not that anyone cared about their comings and goings, but tonight both boys were pleased their absence went undetected.

The massive doors to The Academy creaked closed behind them, replacing the sounds of Fifth Avenue with the silence of the historic building. The Academy was made up of four wings, housing staff, students, a vast library, ultra-modern training center and high-tech laboratory. Each wing contained its own dining facilities but the formal kitchen and dining hall were in the East wing where Wyatt’s parents lived with Jools. Wyatt’s quarters were on the opposite side of the Academy in the West wing, across the hall from Ryker and close to the training center.

Wyatt glanced at his wrist, "Three fifteen."

"Jesus," Ryker rubbed his eyes and stretched his impossibly long arms, "this has been the kind of day that makes me glad it’s over. Darby, Jools, the hybrid. I think someone’s trying to kill us, Clayworth."

"Tell me about it."

Wyatt ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and stared at the vaulted ceilings above, uncertain what to do next. He considered saying something but realized he didn’t know how to properly put his thoughts into words. He was at a complete loss.

"Forget about her, man. She'll be fine,” Ryker did his best to reassure Wyatt, “that ridiculous body of hers is going to spring back to life, she's going to portal her ass out of here and go back to messing with Breslin."

Wyatt remained motionless for a second, then smiled his usual smile, turned and walked towards his room, saluting Ryker with a tired wave of his hand.

He entered his room, quietly closed his door, walked down the long hallway to his bedroom, sat on his bed and began counting.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," he continued until he reached five hundred. Then he stood up, opened the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a Raven blade to replace the missing weapon at his hip. Wyatt stood in his mirror and strapped on the blade, noting its wider girth and heavier weight. He changed his T-shirt for a more fitted, darker one before strapping an extra blade across his back. He then opened his bedroom window and leapt four stories into the night.

Wyatt landed silently in the middle of the Academy courtyard, just shy of the Fifth Avenue gates. He scaled them with ease and headed into the night, never once looking over his shoulder, confident no one had witnessed his escape. At this hour, the streets were quiet, but Wyatt glamoured himself anyway, not wanting to catch anyone’s attention. Wandering the city streets alone, late at night was one of his favorite things to do but tonight he had a mission and wasted no time getting to where he needed to be.

Without making a sound, Wyatt quickly found the exact place he was seeking. Ducking under some low-hanging tree branches, he ventured into the dark, partially hidden lair only to be met with a less-than-welcoming blade at his throat. Dev had moved slightly from the hiding place Wyatt left her and although the lower half of her body remained immobile, her arms were functioning just fine, as evidenced by the blade drawing a thin trickle of blood from Wyatt’s neck. One wrong move and she would certainly kill him.

Wyatt slowly brought his hands up to Dev’s, wrapped his fingers around hers and painstakingly maneuvered the blade away from his neck. Only then did he dare make eye contact with her.

“You didn’t really think I was just going to leave you here, did you?” Wyatt asked as he moved to retrieve his blade from Dev.

She wasn’t quite ready to give it up and slashed at Wyatt’s outstretched hand, managing to nick his wrist.

“Whoa!” Wyatt sat back on his heels, holding his wrist, and laughed.

“Fair enough. I deserved that. I should have told you I was coming back, but I couldn’t risk Ryker overhearing or suspecting anything. Trust me, if he thought I was coming back for you he would have spent all night watching me like a hawk. So I left you and walked away and it worked. Now get over it and give me back my blade.”

Despite the laughter in his voice, Wyatt wasn’t playing. He wanted his blade.
Her name was Odara
and she had been handed down the Clayworth line since the witnessing of The Code of Ten. She was sharper than any Raven blade and fit his hand like a glove. Many had fought and died at his hand thanks to Odara. She was his protector and he wanted her back where she belonged, safely strapped to his hip.

"Kill me," Dev
offered the blade at a price.

Wyatt stood up tall and glared down at Dev, clenching his jaw in irritation.

"Kill me," Dev challenged him again, taunting him with her
smug
stare and grim request.

With blinding speed, Wyatt landed on Dev,
knocking her to the ground. Before she even realized what was happening, he
locked down her arms and liberated his blade from her grasp.
Wyatt
hovered above
Dev
,
inches from her face,
momentarily tempted to slice her throat and end all of this drama.
She could not move a muscle.

"You are in no position to bargain with me," Wyatt angrily whispered, never taking his eyes off hers. "
I am faster and stronger than you. So don’t even think about toying with me like that again.”

Wyatt pushed himself off of her, replaced Odara at his hip and grinned mischievously. “For the record, m
y blade
isn’t
worth your life. I just want it back.
And
I asked nicely the first tim
e.”

Dev remained in her prone position, staring up at Wyatt, uncertain of her next move. She didn’t have the strength necessary to pull herself into a seated position and she definitely was not going to ask for help.

“What?” Wyatt stared down at Dev, knowing she needed help to get up but determined to make her ask for it.

Even in the darkness, Dev could see Wyatt’s eyes sparkling with amusement. He was thoroughly enjoying this little moment between the two of them. His pleasure made her wish she had slit his throat when she had the chance. Rather than requesting his assistance, Dev focused every ounce of her energy on rolling over onto her stomach. If she could do that, she could easily pull herself into a sitting position, Wyatt be damned.
She closed her eyes and focused every fiber of her being on the task at hand but nothing happened. Her body failed to react. It didn't even twitch. The body that had so beautifully saved her from certain death at the hands of those Sanctum fools just hours earlier now could not even roll over. She shook with frustration, wanting to scream to the heavens in rage, knowing such action was futile and beneath her. So she took a calming breath, opened her eyes and glared at Wyatt.

"Ahhhh, you're back. I was starting to miss your charming scowl," Wyatt bent low and absentmindedly pushed some of Dev’s hair out of her eyes, “was getting worried there for a second."

Dev grabbed his hand in her vice-like grip. She hated him and his snarky comments.

"I realize you don’t like me," Wyatt pulled his hand out of her grasp and gently placed his arms around Dev, helping her to sit, unable to look at her lying helplessly on the ground for another second, "but I'm all you've got so by all means, continue simmering in your hatred for me but do so with the understanding that I'm on your side.

"All this stabbing and cutting nonsense has got to end. If you want to hurt me, just imagine it, okay? Pretend. Don't actually do it. I heal quickly but it still hurts like hell."

"Now we've got to get out of here fast," Wyatt checked his watch, alarmed at how much time had passed since he jumped out of his window, "and you still can’t walk, which means I’m going to have to pick you up again. Whether you’re okay with it or not.”

He leaned back on his heels and waited, for some reason hoping Dev would respond, all the while knowing she would not. Dev listened with keen interest to every word coming out of Wyatt’s mouth. She most certainly didn’t like him, but she had to respect his determination. He fully intended to get her out of this park and to somewhere safe and against her better judgment, a tiny part of her was relieved. It was the same, small part of her that was fiercely drawn to him, like a sickness almost. And it was the part of her she most wanted to destroy.

Dev hardened her resolve, focused on her immense hatred for all things Sanctum and shut down.

For an instant, Wyatt thought he saw a spark in Dev’s eyes and just as quickly, it was gone. At that moment, for reasons unknown to himself, Wyatt resigned himself to a one-sided relationship with her, one completely based upon his will to help her. He stood up and reached for her, praying she didn’t have a blade hidden somewhere, knowing that if she did, this time she would definitely kill him. To his surprise, Dev wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed Wyatt to scoop her up and into his arms, but he thought nothing more of it, knowing full well she was merely using him to further her agenda.

And that was all right.

Wyatt remained quiet
as he headed downtown for the second time in one night. He knew exactly where he was going and without Ryker’s constant chattering, was able to calm some of the thoughts racing through his head.

Dev studied him for a moment, aware of a change in his body language. Wyatt held her and walked with confidence and purpose, almost as if he knew what he was doing, she chuckled to herself. It was the first time she found something amusing in quite a while and the pleasant sensation caused her to pause. What right did she have to laugh after the pain and brutality her family endured? She was belittling their passing and had no right to smile about anything. Happiness was for the life she had led; this new life was only about revenge.

But first she would have to get past the sadness. She could not erase the memories of those last moments: her brother’s body, her mother’s scream, her father’s murder. She should have died with them. She wanted to die now. She did not want to face another day in this life without them. She did not believe she could, which was why she had begged Wyatt over and over again to kill her. His repeated refusals to do so annoyed and exasperated her.

Wasn’t that his duty as a soldier of The Sanctum? Hadn’t her parents warned her that there would come a day when every member of The Sanctum sought her death? Wasn’t she trained to avoid all Sanctum at any cost? And here she lands in the lap of one such being, a Class A Sanctum warrior no less, offers herself without a fight and he repeatedly refuses to perform the very task he has been training for his entire life: to kill her. The sheer lunacy of her situation exhausted Dev.

Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes, intending to do so for mere seconds, no more than that. Instead, she fell into a deep sleep, her head thumping into Wyatt’s chest and her arms relaxing their hold around his neck. He looked down at her closed eyes and thought to himself, it’s about damn time. He had been wondering when she would pass out, hoping she would do so before they reached their destination. Wyatt adjusted his hold on her, pulled Dev closer to his body and continued towards the Lower East Side, unsure of whether he would be welcome, but certain it wouldn’t matter.

Wyatt turned the corner at Avenue C and 4th street, heading for the familiar building with Dev in his arms, completely wrapped in his own thoughts.

“Well, well. Aren’t you a hot mess?”

He could not see Darby, but he could sense her presence right away.

“Don’t start with me, Darby. It’s been a long night.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Darby stepped from the shadows, “especially when you’ve got something so freakin’ pretty wrapped up in those arms of yours.”

Wyatt smiled, relaxing into the rhythm of Darby’s easy, flirtatious banter, relieved she seemed to have moved past the evening’s earlier scuffle with Jools.

“She’s not for you.”

“Trust me, honey, I can see that clearly enough. I wouldn’t dream of touching something you hold so precious.”

Wyatt ignored Darby’s comment.

Darby stepped closer to her beloved warrior, her head cocked to the side in wonder. She reached up and caressed his cheek, grinning all the while.

“What?” he asked, hating Darby’s mysterious inspections. They always elicited some bizarre truth.

“I know, honey.”

“You know what, Darby?”

“I know.”

And she left it at that.

Darby turned on her heel, headed for her house, assuming Wyatt would follow.

“Darby!” Wyatt called after the tiny, retreating vampire.

Darby walked up her townhouse steps, opened her door and turned around, wondering what Wyatt was waiting for, a personal invitation?

“I don’t have all night, sweetie. Let’s move it. Clocks a tickin’ on this gal.”

Wyatt walked to the bottom of Darby’s stoop and eyed her cautiously.

“There’s no clock ticking on you.”

“Mr. Clayworth, not all of us are as aesthetically perfect as you. I need my beauty sleep, thank you very much. Now come on already.”

Wyatt didn’t move.

“How do you know...,” he started to ask.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Wyatt. How do I know what?” Darby cut him off, losing her patience, making Wyatt wonder if he made the right decision seeking her out in the dead of night. “How do I know that you need my help? Well duh, genius. It’s not every night I find you wandering the streets of the Lower East Side, carrying what appears to be a stunningly beautiful girl, but is in fact not a girl at all, but some kind of hybrid creature, the likes of which I have never encountered, but good lord, I would not mind running into some time.

“And you, look at you,” Darby ran her eyes up and down him, “all hot and bothered but as usual, in complete denial. Which is fine with me, sweetie, I understand that’s your way and I respect it, but don’t you dare look me in the eyes, wanting my help and then tell me one word of what I’m saying is wrong.”

Wyatt wouldn’t dare do that. For one, he wanted to see the next sunrise and the fact of the matter was he needed Darby’s help.

“For the record,” Wyatt walked up the steps and into the house, “you’ve seen me wandering the streets late at night quite a bit. I’ve felt you watching me.”

Darby smacked him in the back of the head as he passed, closing and locking the door safely behind them. He laughed as he headed into her parlour and gently laid Dev on a chaise lounge, finally able to relax his arms. Darby came and stood next to him, looking down on Dev as she slept.

“You certainly know how to pick them.”

Wyatt half-heartedly smiled.

“I had nothing to do with it. I promise.”

Darby raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Sweetheart, if I saw you headed my way, I would fall out in a second if it meant you’d come to my rescue.”

“If I’m not mistaken, the first time we met, you did see me headed your way and tried your very best to drain me. There was no falling-out-waiting-to-be-rescued scenario going down. There was only kill or be killed.”

“Ah yes, one of my lower moments and one I’m not proud of,” Darby walked into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of scotch, “but that was deranged-throat-ripping Darby. I’m a new woman these days and trust me, you, honey, can rescue me any time you want.”

Dev stirred slightly on the chaise but continued sleeping.

“Did you slip her something? She is sleepin’ the sleep of the dead.”

Darby leaned in close to Dev and inhaled deeply, taking in her very essence.

“Do not even think about it, Darby.”

Wyatt’s voice behind her was devoid of any humor.

“I already told you I wouldn’t dream of it, loverboy,” Darby turned and grinned at Wyatt, all the while still leaning close to Dev, “she’s not my type, anyway. I like them human, not some magical mish-mash. But hot damn if she isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And she smells like heaven. How do you control yourself around her?”

Wyatt leaned back into his chair and took a sip of his drink.

“When have you ever known me not to be in complete control?” he asked with a smirk.

“How about right now, mister?”

“Who says I’m not in control?”

Darby sauntered over to him and took a seat on his lap, draped a cold arm around him and lightly tickled the skin up and down his neck.

“Honey, you just walked into my house, carrying in your arms the cause célèbre of your beloved Sanctum. Enemy number one. The Hybrid,” she whispered into his ear, so low and sultry he had to lean into her to catch her words, “if that’s not being a little out of control, then I don’t know what is.”