Malcolm (Book 1, The Redemption Series) (8 page)

I hear Amon grunt behind me and know instinctively that he's swinging his sword at me. I kneel down as his blade slices through the air with a whistling noise where my head would have been if I hadn't knelt with split second precision.

I immediately stand to my feet and thrust my sword at him only to have him block my blade with his own. As the edges of our blades meet, my sword bursts into red-orange flames, which seems to make Amon falter back in surprise.

It's all the advantage I need.

I swing my sword at him relentlessly, never letting up until I have him backed up to the railing of the verandah. He's strong, but I'm stronger, a fact he doesn't seem to realize until it's too late. I suddenly see my opening and slide the flaming blade of my sword straight into his gut. Amon falls to his knees before me yet doesn't seem ready to give up so easily. He lifts his sword and swings it at me desperately. I’m able to dodge his attack by teleporting behind him. He yanks my blade out of his torso just as my hands burst into blue flames. I wrap my fingers tightly around his neck.

I want him to die, not only to save my own life but to make him pay for what's happened to Auggie and my father. If I can't wreck my vengeance on Levi, Amon will do.

With one thought, I wish him dead, gone from this life forever.

Amon screams just before he disintegrates into what looks like black ash at my feet.

A pain, stronger than any I have ever felt, sears through the lower portion of my back, causing me to double over from the torture and fall to the ground. I scream as it lights every nerve in my body on fire with no end in sight.

I'm not sure how long I lay there writhing in agony. It's not until a cool, gentle hand cups one side of my burning, tear-stained face that I feel even a modicum of relief. The pain is so excruciating and debilitating, I can't even force my eyes open when I feel strong arms lift me up from the ground and cradle me against a bare, brawny chest. I lay my head against the man's shoulder welcoming the comfort I feel because I simply don't have the strength to do anything else.

“I've got you, Anna,” I hear the man say to me. The timber of his voice is deep and soothing to my soul. “I've got you.”

CHAPTER six

I hear the heels of the man's shoes click against the granite of the verandah and then move onto the softer sounding marble in my sitting room. He finally lays me down on what feels like my bed, but even the softness of it causes me unending agony when my back touches it. The man seems to understand where it is I'm hurt and turns me onto my side instead.

“Hold still,” he instructs gently, and it's only then that I realize I'm crying so hard that my whole body is shaking uncontrollably.

I feel him pull apart the magnetic closure on the back of my dress and hear him take in a sharp breath.

“What the hell...” I hear him say in a startled voice, obviously not understanding whatever it is he's found on my back.

I can't ask what's wrong because I can barely draw in a breath much less speak.

I feel the tips of his fingers glide down the center of my spine, bringing with them a much needed coolness to my flesh. His touch brings me relief, and I'm finally able to take in a deep, shuddering breath. His fingers circle something at the base of my back causing me to wince involuntarily because the skin there is so tender.

“Sorry,” he says, and I feel him pull his hand away.

“No,” I beg, “don't stop. Your touch is the only thing making the pain bearable.”

His fingers return and he gently strokes my back up and down, wiping away my hurt with each pass over my skin. Minutes pass and the pain finally becomes manageable enough for me to stop squeezing my eyes shut so I can open them again.

“Thank you,” I breathe, relishing in the feel of his skin against mine, a sensation I've never experienced before with a man.

“I'm not sure I'm really helping that much,” he says, sounding doubtful that his simple ministrations are doing anything to assist in the healing process.

“You're helping more than you know,” I tell him, closing my eyes once again but not because of the pain this time. I'm simply enjoying the feel of his touch and don't want him to stop.

A few more minutes pass and the pain completely ebbs away. Yet, I can't quite bring myself to ask the stranger to stop gliding his fingers up and down my back. I feel slightly ashamed, knowing that he's only doing it to bring me comfort, and I'm taking advantage of his generosity. But, I know if I tell him the pain is gone he'll take his hand away, and that isn't something I'm ready for just yet.

“Are you sure this is helping?” He asks again, sounding doubly uncertain that his actions are serving any real purpose.

I open my eyes and let out a resigned sigh because I know I'll need to tell him to stop. I wait just one more selfish minute before saying anything.

“You can stop now,” I tell him and feel him instantly pull his hand away like he was simply waiting for me to give him permission to stop touching me. “Could you close the back of my dress for me?” I ask, finding a small way to make him touch me again, however briefly.

He does as I ask, and I feel his fingers momentarily brush across my back as he brings the seams of my dress close enough together for them to grab hold of one another.

I immediately roll over onto my back and look up at the man sitting next to me.

The earth beneath me moves and my heart quakes.

I find it hard to breathe because the beauty of the man I'm looking at is beyond any I've ever seen before.

His long black hair is slightly wavy and hangs down just past his shoulders. His features are so perfectly symmetrical that they look like they were chiseled by the hand of God himself. He's shirtless, and I don't even bother to pretend to avert my eyes out of propriety as I look at the length of him, wondering how I could have not noticed a man like him in Cirrus before.

“Who are you?” I ask. “How did you know I was in trouble? Where did you come from?”

His soulful blue eyes stare at me for what seems like forever. He looks confused by me, like there’s something about me that he wasn’t expecting see. Before I can ask another question, he stands and turns his back to me, walking a few feet away while running his fingers through his hair as though he's thinking about something that troubles him.

I sit up and watch him as he stands completely still. I can't help but admire his well-formed, muscular back and again wonder how I could have missed meeting a man like him in Cirrus.

Finally, as if making up his mind about whether or not he intends to give me answers to my questions, he turns around. The look on his face isn't one of confusion anymore but grim determination.

“My name is Malcolm Devereaux. I'm not completely sure how I knew you were in trouble, and I come from a city known in the down-world as New Orleans.”

“I know you. Well, I know of you,” I amend. “You're one of the overlords on the surface. Did you actually come to the Tribute Ball this year? Was I already in prison when you arrived there?”

It was the only thing that made sense to me. Why else would he have been here in Cirrus this evening?

“No,” Malcolm says to me, looking uncertain he wants to explain things further, “I did not attend the Tribute Ball.”

“Then, why were you in Cirrus tonight?”

“I wasn't.”

I sit there and just stare at him waiting for a better explanation, but he doesn't seem to want to elaborate any further on what he just said.

I need an explanation. I need answers, and I need them now.

“Then how did you get here?” I ask again, pressing for an answer.

He stands there silently as if he's carefully weighing his next words.

“I can do something called phasing,” he finally admits.

“Phasing?” I ask, never having heard the term before. “Is that a special type of teleportation?”

“In a way,” he says, “but I do it on my own without needing to use a teleportation device.”

I sit there and think about the events of the night. When Levi suddenly appeared in my sitting room, I noticed then how he teleported in without the flash of light usually associated with teleportation. Then, when I was fighting Amon, he was able to do the same thing.

I was too...

“Can I phase?” I ask, watching Malcolm's expression because if there is one thing that I will know is if he tries to lie to me.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “You can phase, Anna.”

“How?” I ask. “How does it work?”

“We're able to fold space and travel between two points that we've been to before,” he says. His brow furrows like this fact worries him for some reason.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“It's just that,” Malcolm says, his eyes drifting around my room as he looks at things. “I've never been to Cirrus before, but somehow I was able to come to you when you needed me.”

“How did you even know I was in trouble?” I ask again, wanting to understand just what our connection is to one another.

Malcolm is silent as he looks back at me. I'm not sure he's going to answer until I see his lips part and he whispers, “I felt your pain.”

This time I'm the one who is silent because I'm not sure what that means.

“You felt my pain?” I ask, just to clarify.

Malcolm doesn't move or say anything else. He simply stands there wordlessly, either unable or unwilling to tell me more. My guess is the latter.

“Are you the one my father told me about in his last message to me? Were the two of you best friends at one time?”

“We have been friends for a very long time,” Malcolm tells me.

I reach behind my right ear and pull off the neural memo patch there. I swing my legs off the bed and walk over to Malcolm. I hold out one of the last gifts from my papa to him.

“He would probably want you to see his last message to me then,” I tell him.

Malcolm looks hesitant to take the patch from me. Finally, he holds his a hand out, and I tilt mine to drop it into his palm. He places it behind his right ear and plays the message. Once it's over, he dislodges the patch and hands it back to me.

“Can you tell me what happened here tonight?” Malcolm asks. “I need to know exactly what occurred and how you were injured.”

“I was sitting in the front room with....”

It's only then I remember Vala.

I quickly dash out of the room without explanation and run to where her little body is still lying motionless by the door to my chambers. I kneel down beside her small form and pick her up. I rush into a room off of the sitting room and on the opposite side of my bedroom.

“Lights!” I call out franticly, illuminating my study as I walk over to my desk.

I sit down behind it and say, “Tools.”

The silver tools I've used to repair Vala over the years suddenly materialize on the surface of my black desk. I lay Vala down in front of me and pull apart the seam on the underside of her belly, praying whatever Amon damaged when he threw her against the door is easily repairable.

I'm faintly aware of Malcolm leaning up against the entrance of the room watching me intently. I look up briefly from my task and feel my heart race when our eyes meet.

“You look like you've done that before,” he comments, sounding somewhat impressed with my mechanical skills.

“I have,” I say, returning my attention to Vala, determine to fix her quickly. “I just hope it doesn't take me long to figure out what's wrong. Vala has an organic brain. Like anything living, the longer her brain is starved of nutrients the more damage it'll receive.”

Malcolm pushes his shoulder off the door frame and saunters over to me. I notice a slight catch in his gate, like he's favoring his right leg for some reason, but don't make mention of it.

He comes up behind me and props his hands on the desk on either side of me. I feel his warm breath against the crook of my neck as he leans in to study the inner workings of Vala's design.

“Impressive,” he says, sounding in awe of my little friend. “Andre must have spent a great deal of money to give you such a gift.”

“Papa has always been generous to me,” I reply, trying to keep my mind focused on the task at hand and not the man standing unnervingly close behind me, studying my every move.

“There it is,” he tells me. “That tube was just dislodged from its connector.”

I see what he's talking about and quickly reconnect the tube.

“Thank you,” I tell him, feeling relief that the solution was a simple one.