The Guardian: Paranormal Fantasy New Adult Young Adult Angel Romance (A Fight for Light Novel Book 1) (20 page)

Something about his eyes was familiar. I knew it the moment he diverted his gaze because he would not meet my stare. Where had I seen him before? Was he one of the militia soldiers we fought at the Luxem Industrial raid several months ago? I felt a prickle of recognition, the faintest hint of acknowledgement, but it eluded me and sank into the back of my skull before I could bring it forth.

The guard was instantly sorry for causing me pain, shaking his head slightly and then scowling as we approached a small group of militia officers. It was then that I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. I quickly scanned the tree line, my eyes darting back and forth, before finally coming to rest on the worried and frazzled expression of Darren. He looked ready to spring from the trees but I noticed several people holding him back.

Militia guards ran toward the tree line and I saw them disappear. Relief flooded through me. At least some of my comrades would make it. Not all, I saw more than one face I knew on the ground tonight, but most.

My focus returned to the guard who slowly led me toward the trucks. His remorse for hurting me had been a surprise. I saw the militia as only murderers and thieves. I did not want to entertain any ideas or thoughts of humanity towards him that entered my head and I quickly banished them. I would not let doubt creep in and make me weak. He pushed me roughly into the nearest group of refugees, but it lacked the venom he previously had.

He joined the other officers, talking quickly and gesturing in my direction, always keeping a sharp eye on my location. Curiosity made me stare. I could not look away. I wanted to remember where I had seen those steel grey eyes before. I
knew
him. I know I did. But nothing, no recollection, entered my mind.

The next hour dragged on with unbelievable frustration. As captives we were herded like branded cattle (a much better analogy than turkeys) into the trucks and driven to an undisclosed location. The chilly weather became even more miserable as the dense and heavy fog continued to descend on the ruined and lost night, replacing the mist with a brutal cold that nearly drained all life from your body. It brought a heaviness to the air that chilled you so deeply you could almost feel it in your core, chasing all memory of warmth from your mind. In the trucks it had become bearable with the added heat of many bodies sitting in close proximity, but as we entered the militia encampment and quickly disembarked from the trucks, it became clear we may actually freeze to death.

In an effort to drive the cold from my mind, I latched onto the first idea that entered my head. Failure. Negativity was apparently one of my strengths. Failure flashed like a neon light in my head. I had failed my mission. Worse than that I had done the one thing that Darren hated the most and preached constantly against. I let myself fall victim to the enemy. I was captured.

If he had taught me anything, it was vulnerability and lack of focus, and the inability to secure my position would lead to my demise. He always preached caution. In the event of capture he said to remain calm and be vigilant. Fight back. Run. Wait for the opportunity to present itself. Take advantage of any way to escape. Self-preservation at all costs.

Uncertainty and fear of the unknown crept their way into my brain. I knew this enemy. I knew what the militia was capable of. Past experience combined with utter despair and I suddenly fought against the tidal wave of tears that sprang to my eyes. I tried to blink them away quickly but the cold snatched them from my eyes and they dripped silently down my cheeks. Hurriedly I brushed them aside with hasty fingers, hoping upon hope that no one saw them. I felt rather than saw eyes were upon me. Someone watched.

I shivered and stamped my feet into the frozen ground, trying to circulate blood flow to my frozen extremities and restore the lost body heat. Even standing next to the other refugees, it was bitterly cold. Maybe it would snow next. Or icy rain would fall. A perfect ending to a perfect night. I almost smiled with my ability to conjure sarcasm as a safety mechanism. My mother always told me I excelled at that.

Thinking of my family opened a very raw and gaping wound that festered below the surface. It clamored and fought to clear the barrier erected in my brain but I smashed it down until I was able to breathe normally again. I shivered and fought for control over my raging emotions. Not here. Not now. I would not break down.

Almost all of the refugees were unloaded from the trucks now, only a small group of us remained. Most of the prisoners had been separated into groups and entered into one of several large brick buildings that billowed thick smoke from tall stacked chimneys. Most of the buildings seemed to be in use, as evidenced by rows of faintly glowing windowpanes, whose yellow light cast an uneasy glow upon the freezing earth.

Noises clamored for top billing in the night. I heard the roar of a motor, the chug of a train, and the whistle of the wind as it blew across the rooftops. In the distance a consistent metal clang followed by a rusty banging hinted at the mechanics of an internal metal works. It was obviously some kind of factory.

I was just about to join the other refugees, being led by a much larger and more intimidating group of militia soldiers when a shout broke out from the same man who had become my captor. He ran toward me with lightning speed, a thunderous frown upon his face. Before I had a chance to run his gun was raised and leveled at my temple. He primed the trigger and I froze in place as I heard the bullet click into the barrel.

“Hey, I know who she is! Stop her!” He shouted.

The guard closest to him raised his pistol too and shoved me away from the truck, sending me sprawling, rather ungracefully, onto the frozen concrete. I smacked my hands and knees roughly upon impact, in an effort not to injure myself anywhere important. Pain radiated simultaneously up my arms and shooting down my legs. It hurt terribly and I tried not to cry, visibly shaken, and watching the blood run down my left leg.

Stupidly I stared at my palms that now resembled a bloody mangled mess. The impact had jarred my right knee and I cradled it, rolling to my side, while tears burned my eyes behind the lids from the excruciating pain. It throbbed and pulsed along my body as it nearly stole the rapid breaths I tried to take. Oh God, that hurt. Hurt like hell.

The guard yanked me roughly by the collar and hauled me to my feet. I nearly choked as my airway was temporarily cut off. Frantically I clutched at the material just as he pushed me toward the other guard, the one who was apologetic earlier. I landed with a thud against his chest, almost winded and trying to catch my breath, as my eyes locked with his. Steel grey held my gaze. He trembled slightly as he caught me, and I felt, rather than knew, that he was controlling a terrible rage under the surface. Concern was etched into his brow.

One strong arm grasped my elbow as he held me close to his side. In relief I sagged against him, unable to bear the weight of my body on my right knee. Any movement sent red hot sparks of pain shooting into my knee and down my leg. I had to breathe rapidly just to keep myself from passing out. I could feel the pain sapping the strength from my body. I had to fight against the urge to close my eyes.

“I want to take her in for questioning. I’ve seen this one before. I believe she is responsible for one of the raids last month. This time we are getting answers. I want to know their next plan of attack,” he told them, speaking in a rush.

“Good idea. Do what you need to do. She looks like she could use a lesson anyway.” The guard who threw me to the ground answered.

His fingers closed cruelly around my chin and he lifted my face toward his. “She’s pretty.”

Another officer was looking at me, his eyes lingering rather lewdly up and down my body. “Need any help?”

Fear filled me and I started to tremble again, frantic at the thought of being accosted. I swallowed in disgust and averted my eyes.

The tall guard who held me smirked. “I think I can handle her on my own.”

Several of the guards joined in laughter this time. I repressed a shudder.

“Let us know if you change your mind,” the first one offered, his twisted smile sending a jolt of fear into my spine.

Tears still lingered in my eyes as I looked at my captor. He frowned slightly and turned toward the brick buildings. Would I find compassion or terror in his possession?

“I wouldn’t bother me for a few hours,” he admitted, winking at them and smiling.

A round of guffaws erupted again. He hauled me away, amid the continued laughter of the guards. Limping, I tried to keep up, but only ended up slipping and falling into him. More laughing drifted to us. My cheeks burned crimson. I did not dare to meet his gaze but quickly hopped with his help into the building, and managed to stay on my feet. Alone with him, I would have run if able.

The tall guard led me through a set of double doors, down a long hallway, and outside again. We quickly crossed a large expanse of frozen ground and then entered another building. This one was smaller, less clean, and lights flickered from inter mitten use. We turned down another narrow hallway, and then into a small medical lab. He pulled me into it quickly and shut the door, locking it, and turned on a small yellow light above our heads. It dangled from the ceiling and started swinging precariously as the light bounced off the walls around us, bathing everything in the flickering glow.

I shrank away from him, fearful of his intentions. My knee buckled and I started to fall. He was instantly by my side, catching me before I landed on the hard concrete floor.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered quietly.

I dare not answer him but continued to eye him warily.

He sighed, but it was more a huff of agitation. “Huh.”

I wobbled but managed to stay upright. “Yeah.” There might have been a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

He stood there for a moment, assessing me with those cold gray eyes, and then suddenly picked me up by my waist and sat me down in the center of the only table in the room, taking me by surprise as he bent down to look at my knee. For a brief second I considered kicking him in the head and making a run for it, but something held me back. Curiosity? Maybe. I winced as he pulled my pant leg out of my boot top and pushed it easily up my thigh. His fingers were gentle but strong, confident in their ability.

The guard said nothing as he set to work, cleaning the gash and applying antibiotic ointment, and then bandaging it up. He wrapped a strong thick gauze around my right knee and pinned it in place. When he finished my right leg, he then pulled the pant leg back into place and examined my left leg. It was certainly in worse condition.

“You need stitches. It’s going to hurt like hell.” He warned.

I was unprepared for the pain. There was no anesthetic and I am unsure it would have helped much. He tried to be gentle but I just shook my head and bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Almost done now.” He whispered again.

Even so, it hurt like someone was ripping my skin apart with their bare hands. I grit my teeth together from the pain, my chest rising and falling quickly from the exertion, and I collapsed all the way back against the table. My eyes sealed shut of their own volition.

Minutes ticked by. I drifted in and out of consciousness. The pain and constant emotional turmoil of the night was taking a toll. Slowly, he took my hands and held them, palm up, and with the same methodical care he cleaned and wrapped them in bandages. He only released my fingers once he was satisfied they would heal.

At last he was finished. He stood slowly and put away the supplies. Something in his demeanor prevented me from being frightened. I believed him when he said he would not hurt me. If he was going to torture me, why patch me up? I hid my surprise when he handed me a couple of pain relievers and a cup of water. I accepted them gratefully and gulped it down.

The next few minutes ticked by slowly. The guard stood in front of me and stared, looking into my eyes for a long time. I was confused by his kindness. By his generosity. Why would he care? What agenda did he have if not to bring me here to torture for information? I was the enemy. Hated. Despised. Worthless. It did not make any sense. I frowned in frustration. What were his motives?

Curious, and unable to stop myself, I gazed back at him. Through the whole unending night he never removed his bandana. It covered most of his face, entirely obscuring his looks from my view. As I watched, his eyes softened momentarily, like he had a distant memory, some recollection of long ago, some good and happy vision that existed before there was nothing but death and war. I could see the change as it happened and I understood.

We all had memories. Some haunted us. Some gave us hope. Others lingered on nothing but pain and death and loss. And war. War was always a prominent memory. What existed before, what made us who we were, none of that mattered now. War was all that existed for most of us in this world. It was all that existed for both of us in this room. He seemed to think of it too because his eyes quickly became more guarded.

“How is your leg? Do you think you can walk on it?” He asked, his voice husky with emotion.

I did not pretend to understand his thoughts or the rush of emotion he tried to hold back. I simply nodded. He walked over to the door, gesturing me to follow him. Silently he put his finger to his lips and led the way, exiting into the narrow hall once more.

Dirty and peeling wallpaper lined the corridors. Layers of dust blew around in the air as we passed, settling on abandoned furniture. This was not a place in regular use. The guard knew where we would be unobserved and able to tend to my wounds. He seemed to know every nook and cranny, and every spot to duck and hide. Nervously I tried to keep up.