Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) (13 page)

Wyatt kissed her cheek and walked into the apartment, leaving a stunned Sam standing at the door, touching the spot on her cheek his lips just brushed. Ignoring Sam’s shock at his display of affection, Wyatt shouted upstairs for his dad, knowing Josiah was in his personal library, pouring over some secret fairy hideout or a recently discovered coven of witches.

"Dad!"

"You know he's hunched over his laptop, studying the portals the hybrid could have used to escape to NY," Sam explained as she passed him on her way to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner, “are you hungry?"

Wyatt didn't answer, caught up on his mom's prior statement. He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table while she started opening cartons of Chinese food, setting them out for everyone.

“Has she been spotted?”

“Here and there, we get reports, like the wolf you and Ryker chased uptown, rumblings amongst the Magicals, but nothing confirmed. At least not yet.”

Sam sat down across from Wyatt and started piling her plate with food.

“Josiah!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, startling Wyatt, “sorry honey, but if I don’t yell for him, he’ll never come.”

“What are you going to do if you find her?” Wyatt asked cautiously.

“I’m supposed to kill her,” Sam stated with a twinkle in her eye, “but you know me. I’m not too fond of wanton death and mayhem. Or listening to anything Carter Breslin has to say.”

Wyatt stared at his mom, not sure what to make of her statement.

“Oh Wyatt, relax. Don’t look so serious. Like your sister says, that wrinkle between your eyes is going to become permanent pretty soon,” Sam laughed lightheartedly.

Wyatt made a conscious effort to appear calm, not wanting to attract any more of his mom’s attention.

“I’m relaxed,” he smiled and even laughed for good measure, “just wondering whether we’re going to be sent on more search and destroy missions, looking for this girl.”

“According to Breslin,” Wyatt’s dad, Josiah, entered the kitchen and joined them at the table, imitating Breslin’s voice, behaving positively Ryker-like, “this thing is not a girl but a veritable killing machine.”

Josiah rolled his eyes and hugged his son.

“Dammit Wyatt, when did you get so tall?” Josiah asked with a grin as he scruffed Wyatt’s hair.

“Dammit dad, when are you going to get a new joke?” Wyatt retorted with a laugh.

“Very good joke, son,” Josiah returned to his Carter Breslin imitation, “you will make a most profound and funny leader of The Sanctum one day.”

“Stop it, Jo,” Sam laughed, knowing she shouldn’t.

“You will be a most excellent improvement upon your antiestablishment parents,” Josiah continued, enjoying his own joke.

“I take it you didn’t score any brownie points at the European meeting,” Wyatt stated the obvious.

“Not this year,” Josiah replied, “but you wait, next year the Clayworths will make Breslin proud.”

Sam’s laugh came out short and sharp, causing her to almost spit her food across the table.

“Enough, mister,” she warned, “you are so bad.”

“No, you,” Josiah pointed at Sam with his chopsticks, “are bad. I just follow your lead.”

“You’re both evil,” Wyatt interjected.

“Hey, how was upstate? Or the Berkshires?” Josiah changed the subject, suddenly recalling his son’s schedule. “You know your mom was convinced you were hiding something from her.”

“Geez, Jo,” Sam admonished her husband.

“It was all right,” Wyatt lied, “we managed to get out of there a few days early, which was good. I didn’t feel like staying the entire three weeks.”

“I was surprised they asked you two,” Josiah stated, “that’s a pretty serious treat for those kids, training with you and Ryker.”

Wyatt laughed.

“Spare me, dad. I know you think all this training and killing and whatnot is ridiculous. So do I.”

Josiah looked up from his food and studied his son.

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” Wyatt replied, not wanting to elaborate.

“Well, keep it to yourself. Last thing you want is one of these Sanctum nuts to catch wind of your feelings and report it to Breslin,” Josiah warned.

Wyatt could not help but grin.

“Like father, like son, no?”

Josiah smiled and continued eating his dinner, studying his son from the corner of his eye, wondering about his change of heart. Since a young boy, Wyatt had loved the rigidity of The Sanctum. He thrived in The Academy and rose through the training ranks at lightning speed, quickly becoming one of The Sanctum’s premier Class A Warriors and distinguishing himself from the politics of his parents.

Where Sam and Josiah questioned every move Breslin and his family made in their single-minded pursuit of control of The Sanctum, Wyatt not only supported them but applauded their leadership. Josiah never criticized his son for his beliefs, feeling that children should be allowed to blaze their own trails, but now, hearing Wyatt’s apparent disillusion with the very institution he had grown up in and loved sparked Josiah’s interest. He could not quite decide if it was cause for concern.

“It’s about time you started listening to your dad,” Josiah joked.

“Smartest man I know,” Wyatt winked at his mom as he pushed back from the table, stuffed to the gills with Chinese food and wanting to do nothing more than curl up in his bed and sleep.

“Are you leaving already?” Sam asked.

“I’m beat, mom.”

Sam studied her son, picking up on things only a mother would, but knowing not to push Wyatt. He would talk to her when he was ready. If she came at him too early, he would only clam up and become more closed off than he already was.

“Stop studying me like that,” Wyatt grinned, knowing his mom was going over every inch of his body with a fine-toothed comb. He stood up and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m fine.”

“He looks fine to me,” Josiah agreed with a wink.

“Dad, mom said you think the hybrid entered New York by way of a portal?” Wyatt casually asked as he headed for the front door.

“I don’t think,” Josiah called, “I know. Now I’ve just got to find her.”

Wyatt climbed into
bed, staring up at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep, a million thoughts running through his head, replaying themselves in a sick cycle. Somewhere in the city or, for all he knew, the world, she was out there, running, hiding, fighting. His parents wanted to find her, but why? What did they want with her? His mind raced with endless thoughts, questions, concerns until he finally collapsed, falling into a deep sleep.

Dev fingered the blade at her hips, her thoughts returning to Wyatt, as they often did. She laid on her back, glamoured deeply and hidden from sight, so tired she could cry. She could not recall the last time she slept. Not catnapped with one eye open, but really slept. It had been days.

She thought she found the perfect hiding place, deep underground in the old, abandoned subway tunnels, amongst the forgotten and ignored Mole people, but her peace of mind was short-lived. Also amongst the Mole people were many Magicals and none of them was happy with her appearance. Thankfully they were not seeking to expose her, but they made it plenty clear she was not welcome.

Since then, she had roamed the city, constantly looking over her shoulder, forever fighting the urge to see Wyatt. Be close to him. Touch him.

Now, lying on the warm ground under a dense copse of shrubs in Riverside Park, the intense connection to Wyatt returned and threatened to overtake her senses. She wondered whether he was asleep or up late, chatting with his parents after returning to the watchful and loving embrace of his family. She also wondered if he had given up on her.

For reasons unknown to herself, the thought of Wyatt forgetting her stung, but she knew it was wrong to expect him to pine after her forever. Especially when she left him the way she did, hurrying towards a freedom and destiny that she believed didn’t involve him. And she did it without a thought.

Except that it hadn’t been without a thought. In fact, ever since leaving him, Dev found it difficult to do much else but stay alive and contemplate Wyatt.

She sat up and considered her options. Sick of fighting the desire to be close to him, tired of pushing every thought of him from her mind, lonely for a familiar face, Dev did the only sensible thing she could think to do: she geared up and headed downtown.

Wyatt kicked off the sheets in his sleep and rolled onto his back, snoring lightly. Dev sat in his windowsill, absolutely still, mesmerized. He was so perfectly beautiful and even more so now with the brutal scars painting a crazy, crisscrossed, Pollock-like picture on his body. His hair fell across his eyes, messy and unkempt and probably needing a haircut, just as he needed a shave. But it made no difference. In any state, he was perfect, she thought to herself as she moved quietly across the room, removing her holster and setting her blades down on his desk.

She slipped out of her light jacket and shoes, leaving them in a pile, unaware of what she was doing and yet, so completely focused.

Dev stood over Wyatt and watched him as he slept, feeling the pull towards him more intensely than ever. She gently pushed his hair out of his eyes and touched his cheek. And then admonished herself profusely, rushing back to her perch on the windowsill, telling herself she had absolutely no right to invade his bedroom and his privacy. But she could not help herself. Before she knew it, she was back, having tiptoed across the room again to find herself standing near his bed, longing to feel his skin against her own, his touch, his very essence.

And then, as if it was the most natural thing to do, she climbed into bed with him, all the while so scared he would wake up, so thrilled when he didn’t. Dev listened to Wyatt’s steady, deep breathing, safe in the knowledge that he was blissfully unaware of her presence. She carefully curled against his chest and felt the rhythm of his heartbeat, lulled by its steady thump-thump, thump-thump. She told herself she just needed these few moments of being near Wyatt, touching him, feeling him next to her and then she would leave. That if she could periodically have these types of moments with him, she would be happy. She then proceeded to fall into the deep sleep of the exhausted. And the protected. She didn’t stir again all night.

There was a certain awareness before he awoke. The impression of another.

Of her.

Wyatt believed he was dreaming.

Of her.

Wyatt felt her.

Literally.

Lying on his chest, her soft skin against his, her breathing calm and deep. He refused to rise, convinced his mind was playing some insanely perverse trick on him. She shifted slightly and he slowly opened his eyes, grasping the reality of her in small pieces. Her black, curly hair tied in a thick knot on top of her head. The brown skin of her arm, draped across his body, covered in intricate designs from her shoulder to her elbow. Her face, absolute perfection.

He closed his eyes and slid out from under her, hoping not to disturb her. She sighed, but did not wake, instead curling into herself, resting her head on her hands, completely at peace. He watched her in hushed awe, still unsure what to make of her appearance. Everything about her attracted and frustrated him, on so many levels, in so many ways. Wyatt wanted to help her.

Protect her.

Banish her.

Know her.

Fight her.

Touch her.

It confused and confounded him. She made it impossible to think straight. She made it necessary to always be ready.

Dev felt the morning sun on her back and the soft, cotton sheets under her body. She relished the comfort of the bed, so different from the endless nights spent seeking refuge in parks, subways and abandoned buildings.

She paused mid-thought. There was that moment of realization and then her eyes flew open, filled with horror.

Wyatt didn’t move a muscle, knowing if he said or did anything, she would flee. He simply watched her, calmly and quietly, and waited.

Dev was at a loss. She never intended to fall asleep, she simply wanted some comfort, a little contact with the one person left with whom she felt connected. She knew she had no right to steal into Wyatt’s room in the middle of the night, like a common thief. She also knew he had every right to damn her to hell and tell her to get lost. She expected as much.

They lay facing each other in stunned silence, each wondering what the other was thinking. The tension between them palpable, a mixture of fear, excitement and wonder. Neither knew what to do or say, so they simply watched one another, each quietly pleased to be in the other’s presence.

“Good morning,” Wyatt cautiously broke the silence, speaking in a hushed whisper, so as not to startle her.

As soon as the words escaped his lips, Dev started speaking, a torrent of words erupting forth.

“I am so sorry. I had no right to come into your room the way I did, uninvited, unexpected and…”

Wyatt gently placed a finger on her lips, shushing her. Dev’s eyes widened with the gesture and she stopped speaking.

“I just want to know your name. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Dev digested his words and then slowly reached up, wrapped her hands around his and lowered his quieting finger so she was free to speak.

“The rest doesn’t matter?” she asked, a slight smile curving her lips.

Wyatt shot her a look, a mixture of annoyance and humor.

“Your name, thank you very much.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands, still holding his in both of hers.

“Dev,” she whispered.

Her name washed over and through him, filling a void, crossing a threshold. He closed his eyes with the knowledge and let it sink in, suddenly unsure of his footing, completely unsteady, unmoored. Her name was that tiny piece of information that until this very moment, had maintained a vast distance between them. Now, in a matter of moments, in a breath, with one syllable, that distance was breached and they were together.

“Dev,” he repeated, listening to it roll off his tongue.

She watched him lying there, with his eyes closed, saying her name and she smiled. This boy, this annoying, determined boy. This nosy, bothersome boy. This tall, lanky boy. This beautiful, intelligent boy. This warrior. This leader. Wyatt.

He was hers.

And she his.

Dev reached out and lightly touched his neck, tracing the trail of scars her magic had worked on his body. She felt him tense immediately, but that didn’t stop her from running her finger down his neck, along his shoulder and his arm, following scar tissue until she reached his unmarked hand. She interlaced her fingers with his, admiring the play of their skin tones against each other.

“I see I didn’t do a very good job in the healing department,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes and searched hers, wondering why she would ever think such a thing.

She gently pulled her hand out of his and touched a scar on his chest, following its trail to his waist, listening to his breath catch, never looking away from him.

“Your perfect body is now covered in scars,” she added, as she traced another cutting across his washboard stomach, “your markings are destroyed.”

Wyatt caught her hand in his and held her steady, preventing her from touching him again and creating further paths of fire along his body.

“I never liked them much anyway.”

“And now?” she quietly asked.

“Now,” he responded in kind, never taking his eyes off her, “they are beautiful.”

Dev had no idea the sound of someone’s voice, the words they spoke could have such a profound effect on her. Listening to Wyatt and the things he said roused her senses like nothing else could. She was acutely aware of everything about him, from the beating of his heart to the wrinkle between his eyes to the hairs standing on end up and down his arms. He was preventing her from touching him and she understood why, but she could not stop herself.

Dev pulled free from Wyatt and touched his face, his eyes, his eyebrows, his cheeks, his lips. She wanted to imprint him on her memory, touch every inch of him, learn him. And she wanted him to do the same, to know her just as intimately, to learn every inch of her body and soul.

“Dev,” he breathed her name, so filled with need and wanting.

“Wyatt,” she replied, taking his hand and placing it on her face, so he could no longer fight the urge to touch her.

His fingers slowly, lightly, traced her eyebrows, touched her closed eyes and her slightly parted lips. He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and then ran his fingers lightly down her neck, teasing her sensitive spots, knowing them instinctively. He touched her collarbone and hesitated, but Dev begged him not to stop and his hands continued exploring her body, learning every curve, every ridge. He slipped her shirt over her head and admired her in all her fierce beauty.

“You are truly the most beautiful girl in the world,” he whispered.

Dev lay back, naked and exposed, looking up at Wyatt with wonder. He loved her. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he touched her, how he spoke to her. He loved her. The realization sparked something within her, a piece of her she wanted to bury. That memory bank she shut away when her family was murdered.

They had loved her as well. Undeniably.

Dev’s eyes welled with tears and she cursed her weakness. She could not allow her sadness to consume her. She would not allow it. And yet, try as she might, the tears seemed determined to spill forth and ruin a beautiful moment.

“Hey, hey,” Wyatt whispered as he wiped away her tears, “okay, you’re not that pretty.”

She smiled as her lips trembled, desperately fighting the sadness that threatened to eat her alive. This was the breakdown she had been pushing away, avoiding, denying. This was the breakdown she could not afford because she wasn’t sure she could survive it. This was the breakdown that would chew her up and spit her back out. And it would be denied no longer.

Wyatt watched Dev transform back into the sad, scared girl he met in the woods. Her body was healed but her soul was not. She closed her eyes but her tears continued to fall. He could tell she was fighting the pain, wanting to deny it, not allow it a voice. Her body trembled with her efforts but she was losing the battle.

He cupped her face and she opened her eyes, her tears spilling faster, her lips still trembling, but she wouldn’t give in.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt reassured Dev.

She shook her head in disagreement, wanting to speak, knowing she could not.

“I promise you, it’s okay. Nothing bad will happen. I won’t allow it,” Wyatt stated firmly.

“You…don’t…know,” Dev struggled to get the words out, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re right,” Wyatt agreed, “I don’t. I don’t know what happened to you before we met but I do know this: nothing will hurt you again. I will lay down my life before I let that happen. That much I know. So don’t be scared to be sad because I promise you will never feel like this again. I will make certain of that.”

“I don’t need you to do that,” Dev cried irately, “I can take care of myself.”

Wyatt smiled down at her.

“I never said you did. I said I want to.”

Then he gently kissed away her tears and the floodgates opened.

Dev cried for her brother and the fact that he would never get to be her age, travel the world or fall in love. She cried for her mother and the fact that she would never heal another sick soul, watch her children grow up or become a grandmother. And she cried for her father and the fact that he would never play another game of dominos, tell a bad joke or wrap his kids in his big, bear hug. She cried for her loss and prayed that her family had moved on to a more loving and peaceful world, one where they were safe and happy.

Wyatt wrapped her in his arms and held her as she cried, her body wracked with anguish and loss. Her tears seemed endless; he could not fathom such pain and despaired for her. She eventually quieted, but wanted to remain wrapped in his embrace so he held her until they both fell asleep, wrapped around one another, affectionately tangled together.

The afternoon sun woke Wyatt, its fingers of warmth sneaking through his curtains and creeping into his room. He turned his face away from the light and looked down at Dev, asleep on his chest. Her face was a composite of angles and dips, shadows and light coming together in an explosion of beauty. He could get lost in her and if someone told him she would be his final vision, he truly believed he would die a happy man.