Sanctum (Guards of the Shadowlands, Book 1)

by Sarah Fine

  “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I’ll be faster without you, so stop arguing. Are there empty units in this building?”

  “In every building,” he breathed, giving up.

  “All right, let’s go find one.” I practically had to drag him through the doors. He tried to help, but his feet kept getting away from him. His arms were limp around me, as if they were now numb as well.

  The hallway was dimly lit by those omnipresent gas lanterns, but there was enough light to allow me to step around the huge, furry spots of mold growing on the carpet. It was dead quiet, and if it hadn’t been for the strips of greenish light shining from beneath the doors of every apartment, I’d have been sure the building was abandoned. It took forever, but I got him down the hallway and through the first open door we came to.

  I was filled with relief to see that the apartment’s threadbare carpet was free of mold, and the walls were just a dull tan—no streaks of mildew. Paired with the laminate wood furniture and cracked countertops, it felt a lot like some of the housing projects I’d lived in. But there was one major difference. “Hey, there’s no lock on this door. Should I push some furniture in front of it or something?”

  Malachi shook his head. “No one can come in now that we’re here,” he said hoarsely.

  “Why, because you’re a Guard?”

  He shook his head again. Such a small movement, but it looked like it exhausted him. “Once an apartment is occupied, no one else can enter.”

  I nearly fell to the floor with relief. We were safe. But more importantly—Nadia was. She got into that apartment, and apparently whoever had been behind her couldn’t follow her in. I hoped she’d stayed there.

  I maneuvered Malachi through a door, into a bedroom that contained a single narrow cot. “Down, boy,” I said as I lowered him carefully onto it. My hip was screaming, and the rest of me wasn’t far behind. He was incredibly heavy. I couldn’t rest, though. Not if I was going to help him survive.

  His hand flopped onto his chest over one of the buckles. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Right,” I said, newly determined. “Let’s get you comfortable, and then I’m going to go.”

  “No,” he groaned, but I ignored him and went to work. I pushed his hands away and unfastened each buckle on his breastplate, awkwardly pulling it off him, trying not to brush his neck. When I failed, he made a sound so wrenching that I cried out with him.

  I finished removing the breastplate and moved to his belt. “Don’t,” he begged as his arms twitched helplessly at his sides. Again I ignored him. I stayed focused on what I needed to do. If I hadn’t, I think I might have collapsed on the grimy carpet in a useless puddle of panic and despair and guilt. He was hurt because of me. He might die because of me.

  “You can’t use your arms. These are not going to do you any good right now.” I tugged his belt from his waist and set it next to the cot. I placed my palm on his chest and felt the shallowness of his breath. Blood saturated the front of his shirt. I had no idea he’d been bleeding so badly. “You have to tell me how to get to the Station.”

  “I thought I might not get to you in time,” he said. “I’m so sorry you got hurt. I should have been faster.”

  I couldn’t believe he was trying to apologize to me, especially because, by all rights, he should want to kill me. The gentleness and sorrow in his voice told me he thought these might be the last words he said to me. It got to me. “You are wasting breath and wasting my time,” I said harshly. “Now give me directions or I will kill you myself.”

  He coughed out a laugh. “You are such an amazing creature.”

  Damn. “Come on. Snap out of it. Directions. Now.”

  “It was my mistake, putting you back in that cell. But if I hadn’t, I would have—”

  Desperate to jar some sense into him, I slapped him across the face. It wasn’t the most therapeutic of moves, but he was really out of it, and I had no idea how to find the Station and get him help. He barely reacted, which made me nearly frantic. I leaned over and took his face in my hands, planning to shake him until he gave me the directions I needed.

  He looked up at me, dark brown eyes shining. “You’re so beautiful,” he slurred, making me sure his lips were growing numb and his brain wasn’t far behind.

  Figures. The first time a guy tells me I’m beautiful, I’m in hell and he’s delirious.

  “Please give me directions. I’m going to feel pretty awful if you die.”

  “Say my name.”

  I rolled my eyes to fend off all the possible meanings in that simple request. “You’re not making any sense.”

  He moaned as his chest shook with bemused laughter. “Have mercy and give me my dying wish. I want to hear you say it, just once. Please say my name, Lela.” He was very still for a moment, like saying my name had sapped the last of his strength. I moved even closer. I truly thought he’d died, and it made my chest hurt in ways I didn’t understand.

  But then he opened his eyes again. They pulled me right in, and I didn’t have any words left but one. I dipped my head until we were nose-to-nose, until my chest was pressed to his, until I could feel his heartbeat, unsteady and racing, through my shirt.

  I took a deep breath. “Malachi.”

  His lips curled into a wistful smile. Then he started to whisper directions.

  ELEVEN

  I BURST INTO THE Guard Station like Lucifer himself was on my tail. The thick-walled building was low and square, like a fort, with a high, narrow tower jutting from its center. It looked deserted from the outside, but no fewer than four Guards met me in the entryway, barring my path.

  I held up Malachi’s scimitar and rattled it at them. “Malachi’s been bitten by a Mazikin. He needs Raphael,” I panted, grasping my hip, which had started bleeding again.

  One of the Guards laughed. “It’s obviously too late, love. If you’ve got his blade, it means he’s dead. That’s the only way you’d be able to get it from him.”

  I shook my head as I tried to catch my breath. “He’s in an apartment building about twenty blocks from here, but he’s in bad shape. I can take you to him. Is Raphael here?”

  The Guard I recognized as Hani stepped forward, looking at me closely. “You left with a Mazikin. How do we know you’re not one of them?”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was probably why Malachi hadn’t wanted me to come without him. But he wouldn’t have given me directions if he’d thought it was a hopeless mission. I stood my ground and chose my words carefully, though I felt like running for my afterlife. “If you know Malachi, you know someone like me wouldn’t have his sword unless he gave it to me,” I ventured. “Please. He’s weak. He needs help.”

  “Maybe you should come in,” said Hani in a friendly voice, but I saw right through him. Bad acting was kind of an epidemic in hell.

  “There’s not much time. Malachi is going to die. He was barely conscious when I left him. If you just get Raphael, we can go now.”

  He advanced and curled his thick fingers around my arm. “I said, maybe you should come in.”

  I tried to wrench my arm free. “What is wrong with you people? Why aren’t you mobilizing, or whatever you folks do around here?”

  Some of the Guards had the grace to look a little ashamed, but a few laughed nastily. Why weren’t they rushing to help him? Why weren’t they calling Raphael? Hani started to drag me down the hall toward the holding cells as another Guard yanked Malachi’s scimitar from my clenched fist. I remembered enough about my last visit to know I didn’t want to go farther. But as I looked behind me, I could see that the Guards had the exit covered. No going back—which left only one option: causing a scene.

  I kicked Hani in the shins, and as he flinched in surprise I shot a hard punch to his groin. I wouldn’t have thought such a large man could make such a high-pitched noise, but it did the trick: he let me go.

  I sprinted past him down the hall, shouting for Raphael and banging on every door I passed. Heavy h
uffs of breath and pounding footsteps filled my ears as at least one of the Guards pursued me. Ah, crap. This was going to hurt. In the next second, I ran into the barrier of my own enormous tent shirt as it pulled tight. A Guard had grabbed my collar. Then the asshole got a handful of my hair.

  I struggled frantically as his meaty arms wrapped around me. One coiled across my body, one pressed over my face, blinding me, suffocating me. All I could see were the muddled images in my head. I tried to remember why I had come here and what I was supposed to be doing, but it just slipped through my fingers as I screamed.

  A calm voice cut through the chaos. “Let her go.”

  The Guard obeyed immediately. I fell to the floor on my hands and knees. It felt like my right leg was about to fall off. My pants were soaked with blood. I couldn’t stop shaking. I pressed my forehead to the stone floor, my thoughts churning.

  “What have you done to her now?” chided the voice gently. “I just fixed her up last night.”

  I threw my head back and caught sight of…the most ordinary man I’d ever seen. Huh. For some reason, I’d expected someone a little more impressive looking. He appeared to be only a few inches taller than I was, with curly brown hair, gray eyes, and freckles. He had a blindingly beautiful smile, though my perception of it in that moment might have had something to do with the fact that I was sure this was Raphael.

  It all rushed out of me in a breathless flow. “Malachi is sick. He’s nearby in an apartment building, and he’s been bitten. He was having trouble breathing. He said you could heal him. I can take you there.”

  One of the Guards grunted with contempt. “She brought his blade. The Captain would never give it up. How do we know she’s not leading you into a trap, Raphael?”

  Without looking in the Guard’s direction, I shot him the finger. Why were we wasting so much freaking time?

  Raphael looked down at me speculatively. “You’re hurt.” He held out his hand. “Why don’t you come to my quarters so I can heal you?”

  Shrieking rage boiled up inside me, and I gulped in one long breath to stop it, to try one more time. If I lost it and gave up now, Malachi would die for sure. I hadn’t gotten to thank him for saving me. I hadn’t gotten to apologize for making it necessary in the first place. I blew out the breath in a long stream.

  “I. Am. Fine. This is nothing,” I said very calmly and slowly, gesturing at my torn hip, “and I am going to say this one more time: Malachi is only a few blocks away, and he needs help. Do whatever you want to me. Put me in a cell, muzzle me, whatever. Go in force if you’re afraid of an ambush, or sneak in the back for all I care. But for God’s sake, go!” I roared the last word with all the air in my lungs.

  Raphael took a step back.

  He looked at the Guards. “She’s not a Mazikin, and it’s not a trap.”

  Whoa. I guess I’d said the magic words.

  In unison, the Guards stepped back and cleared the way. Raphael reached down and pulled me to my feet, and I didn’t fight him as he put his arm around me.

  “He was right. You are tough,” he murmured as he briskly led me back down the hall and out of the Station.

  Within a few minutes we were outside the door to the apartment.

  “How are we going to get in?” I asked as Raphael came up behind me. “Malachi said that once an apartment was occupied, no one else could enter.”

  Raphael reached around me and opened the door. “You originally entered under escort by a Guard member, so it won’t be a problem for you.” He stepped over the threshold. “And I have special privileges.”

  I flew past him, terrified we’d taken too long. Raphael followed as I scrambled through the living room and bolted through the bedroom door. Malachi was lying right where I’d left him. He was sickly pale, which made the awful wound on his neck stand out all the more. He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

  Raphael sighed as he looked down at Malachi. “Well, Lela, you weren’t kidding. Can you take off his bracers and greaves?”

  “His what?”

  “His armor. Can you take off the rest of his armor?”

  “Oh, sure,” I mumbled. I knelt beside Malachi’s feet while Raphael leaned over to inspect the wound. For a few minutes I focused on unfastening the buckles that held the thick, molded leather to Malachi’s shins. I took off his boots, placing them next to the foot of the cot. I moved up to his arms, trying to ignore the fact that I hadn’t seen him take a breath since I’d returned.

  Raphael hunched over Malachi’s head and neck, chanting to himself. It occurred to me to ask why he didn’t have any medical equipment with him, but at this point, the strangeness stretched to the horizon, and one more mile of random hellish weirdness wasn’t going to make a difference. As long as Raphael made Malachi better, that worked for me. I slipped the leather sleeve from Malachi’s arm and reached down impulsively to take his hand. It was calloused and rough. And cold. I squeezed it, and my chest ached when it did not squeeze back.

  I reached over to Malachi’s other arm, not wanting to disturb Raphael, who seemed deeply focused on his task. I pulled the final piece of armor free and lined it up neatly with the rest. I smoothed his shirt, dark and damp with blood and sweat, cool in the chilled air of the apartment. I limped into the bathroom and rooted through the linen closet, finding a prize in the very back: an old green blanket that looked and smelled like it had been there for half a century.

  When I made it back to the room, Raphael was sitting on his heels, a freckled hand on Malachi’s chest. “His heart still beats, but he’s weak. Tell me, was he in pain when you left him?”

  Something in the way he worded the question made me cringe. “Uh, not much…. Actually, I think he was pretty numb. And maybe delirious.”

  “Delirious?” he asked in this detached, clinical tone of voice. “Fascinating.”

  “Fascinating? You make him sound like a science project,” I snapped. “Haven’t you seen this sort of injury before?”

  “Of course. Countless times. Delirium is not usually one of the symptoms. So it makes me wonder what he said to make you think he was.”

  My cheeks got very hot. He smiled and looked back at Malachi. “I’m glad he found you.”

  I crept forward and spread the blanket over Malachi’s body, folding it across his chest. “I feel terrible. He got hurt because he tried to protect me,” I whispered. Nadia and Diane were the only people who had ever tried to protect me. No one but Malachi had ever actually risked anything for me. And he had risked everything.

  “Don’t feel bad. I have no doubt he thought it was worth it. As young as he appears, Malachi knows how to make his own decisions.”

  “Was it just me, or did the Guards at the Station seem less than eager to help him?” I wondered if it was because he’d come to rescue me after what I’d done.

  Raphael somehow read my mind. “Don’t worry, it’s not you. Malachi is a controversial character among the Guard. He is their Captain, but he is not one of them. They were created to function as a unit, but he often operates alone or with Ana, who is human like him. He is the most merciless of them all but also the most principled. He has changed some policies for dealing with Mazikin in recent years, and the other Guards do not like it. He comes from a different place than they do, and his future is different from theirs. As it has been with all their human leaders, it is hard for the other Guards to understand him, and some of them don’t try.”

  I took Malachi’s hand again, feeling an odd sort of kinship with him. I folded his long fingers over mine. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know yet. His wound is severe, and the venom has taken a firm grip on him.”

  I flinched and looked away, absently stroking the blanket over Malachi’s chest. Raphael laid his warm hand over mine. “Let me heal you, Lela. If your clothes are anything to go by, whatever lies beneath has been torn pretty badly.” Again, his word choice made me cringe.

  “How long will it take?”
>
  “An hour or two.”

  “Malachi needs you more. Make him better, and then you can work on me.”

  Raphael didn’t argue. He bent over Malachi again. I leaned my head against the side of the cot, closed my eyes, and listened to Raphael’s hushed and ceaseless chanting until I drifted into darkness.

  I jerked awake as Raphael lifted me. Before I could protest, he said, “You’re running a fever. I’m going to heal you before it gets worse. I’ve done as much as I can for Malachi right now. And I know him well. He would be very angry with me if he woke up and found you still injured.”

  Unable to argue, barely able to keep my eyes open, I slumped against him. He carried me to the couch in the living room, then knelt by my hip and closed his eyes, recommencing his rapid muttering. It was rhythmic, like a cadence, and had an eerie, unrecognizable melody. My hip got warm, like he was bathing it in heated water. It felt good. I relaxed and floated, thoughts drifting. The water got hotter and then started to boil. Something was shrieking, maybe a teapot…. Nope, that was me.

  Through my screams I heard Raphael say, “Sorry, should have put you to sleep first.”

  Everything went black again.

  I awoke in silence. As always, it was still dim and there was little indication of how much time had passed.

  I lifted my leg experimentally, surprised and relieved to find that it felt fine. I stood up and examined my hip. A thin, white scar crossed its crest, the only indication I’d even been hurt. I shifted my weight from foot to foot and walked into the bedroom.

  Raphael sat on the floor. Like before, his hand rested on Malachi’s chest. Malachi’s bloody shirt and pants were heaped in the corner, and his body was covered up to his waist with the blanket I’d found last night. I focused my eyes on the floor. “I need to get some clothes. How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Not long,” said Raphael as he nodded to a dresser. “Try to find something that fits.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Absolutely. My last outfit was seriously plus-sized.”