by Carly Fall
Titus
(Book 10 in the Six Saviors Series)
By
Carly Fall
© 2016
Westward Publishing
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
Editing by: Divas at Work Editing
Cover Design by: PJ Friel
http://www.pjfriel.com
“Titus’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used FICTITIOUSLY. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.”
The Six Saviors Series - in reading order:
The Light Within Me
Finding My Faith
Reborn
Beverly’s Rebirth
Destiny’s Shift
Tangled Fates
The Dream Walker
Atonement
Justice (Rescue One)
Titus (Rescue One)
Prologue
If he’d had any tears left, he'd cry.
The sun beat down on him, heating his already raw, sunburned skin, his mouth parched from lack of water. With each step, excruciating pain traveled through his left leg, but that should be expected with a bullet lodged in his thigh.
He kept walking, although he didn't know why.
With his lover dead, nowhere to go, and no one to help him, he prayed for death to come.
The agony radiating from his soul overshadowed the misery brought on by his horrendous sunburn and his injured leg. The pain had burrowed in so deeply and profoundly, it seemed as if it crushed his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. His heart felt as if someone continually cut little pieces of it out, over and over again. At some point, it would stop thudding in his chest, but until then, he'd continue suffering.
But his heart beat, his lungs continued to pump air in and out, and he kept walking, his left leg slightly dragging behind him.
Stopping, he stared up at the expansive blue sky. Not a cloud in sight to offer him some relief from the scorching, spring sun of the desert.
Continuing his walk, he wondered when he would die. How long had he been out here? He’d lost track after the second night, his adrenaline finally ebbing from watching his lover being gunned down in cold blood.
He yearned to cry, but dehydration prevented the tears from falling. Instead, dry heaves wracked his body.
Simon.
What in the world would he do without the male? How would he survive in this world? Simon had been his friend, his protector ... and his lover.
He collapsed in the dirt at the thoughts, little pebbles cutting into his palms. Turning them over, he watched small beads of blood form, them wiped them on his pants. He didn't belong in this world, especially without Simon. With nowhere to go, no one to depend on, he felt lost.
Perhaps it was time to die.
His breath came in short spurts and the afternoon sun burned his eyes even through his lids. Crawling under a large Sagebrush, he longed for the assault of the sun's rays to stop. The skin on his arms, chest, and face felt as if it had been set on fire, while his short-sleeved shirt stuck to him from days of sweat.
As he hallucinated that he lay in a bed, he reached over and grabbed a blanket to pull over his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he’d tugged on a tumbleweed, but in his mental haze, he found it comforting.
As the pain tortured his physical body and his soul, he groaned. He hoped death would be a quick process.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but suddenly, the hot sun had been blocked, giving his burning retinas and his red, raw skin a bit of relief. He gazed up at a huge, black male standing above him, yet he couldn't make out his features with the sun at his back.
Despite his desire to die, he whispered, "Help me."
The male got down on his knees and pulled away the tumbleweed and some of the shrubbery he’d used to cover himself.
He rolled over to his back, wondering what the male would do. Would he help him or leave him to his death?
Did he actually want death? Apparently, he was conflicted given he'd just asked for help, yet his desire to end it all seemed so strong.
A hand slipped under his neck, and the male pressed a canteen to his lips. He drank greedily.
"Thank you," he murmured when finished.
“C’mon, son,” the male said, pulling him to a standing position as he tossed the canteen strap over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Titus. My name’s Titus.”
“Nice to meet you, Titus.”
Chapter 1
Ten Months Later
Titus woke in a cold sweat and sat up, setting his feet on the floor. The echo of the gunshot still rang from his dreams, the blood and brain matter flying through the air still a vivid image.
He glanced around the room making sure he resided in a safe place, thankful to see the black and grey furnishings he’d become so accustomed to. His left leg ached, and he absently rubbed it. After wiping the sweat from his brow, he placed his head in his hands and tried to calm his breathing.
It had been a couple of weeks since he’d dreamt of Simon's murder. The nightmares always left him in the same state: scared, raw with sadness, and wishing he would have died out in the desert.
However, something kept him from taking his own life.
He glanced over at the knife he'd kept from his dinner tray last night. Although not very sharp, surely, he could find some way to end it all with the instrument? He reached over and picked it up while pushing his hair back from his forehead.
Perhaps he could lodge it in his stomach, or throat?
As he considered the idea, a knock sounded on his door. Sighing, he put the knife under his pillow and pulled the blankets over his hips. Glancing at the clock, he realized it should be time for Macy's morning visit.
He said nothing, hoping she would simply go away, but she never did.
A moment later, she came through the door having used the silo master key, tray in hand, a small smile playing on her lips. The knock had served as notification that she stood at the door and would be entering. She didn’t bother waiting for an invitation, as she probably knew one would never come.
"Good morning, Titus."
He wouldn’t describe her as pretty. Her straight, mousy brown hair hung limply to her chin and her dark eyes seemed to be a little bit too close together. She stood around five-foot-two and as thin as anyone he'd ever seen. He considered her physically weak. As a Healer on SR44, her kindness overshadowed everything, and nothing but compassion shone from her eyes when she looked at him.
He hated it.
She annoyed him to no end with her smiles and good-natured chit-chat when he just wanted to be left alone to rot away in his own private hell.
He nodded. "Good morning."
She set the tray on the nightstand next to his bed, just as she had done every morning since he’d woken up after Justice had found him in the desert.
"Did you sleep well?"
She sat down next to him on the bed, the mattress barely dipping under her thin frame.
"Yes," he lied.
Frankly, although kind, Macy made him crazy. He envied her calm, quiet demeanor and the goodness that oozed from her while his life seemed like an out of control roller coaster of emotions, horrible thoughts, and terrible dreams.
She narrowed her gaze at him. "I think you're lying to me, Titus."
He sighed. Her ability to look beyond words also bothered him, and he’d wondered more than once if she possessed the gift of clairvoyance.
"Tell me about the dreams."
Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers through his hair again. He should probably get it cut, but on a list of things that needed to be done, th
e chore ranked very, very far down in priority. He could barely make it through the day—mundane tasks like eating and showering felt like work to him. He didn't have the energy to worry about his out of control hair.
"It was about Simon again."
He hated that he wanted to confess to her, to open up to her, but he couldn't help it. Macy had been his rock and confidant since he’d regained consciousness when Justice had brought him back to their bunker, and he loathed that she had the ability to draw him out, to make him want to talk.
In fact, his feelings about her changed without warning. He disliked everything about her, especially the fact that she wouldn’t just let him be. Yet, he still relied on her to help him hold on to the thread of sanity in his grasp, and he tried to remain polite. Sometimes he did; other times he heard the vitriol in his voice, but he never regretted speaking to her badly.
Never in a million years had he expected to meet up with another SR44ian, except a Savior who wanted to end his life. When he’d woken for the first time in the bunker, he’d gasped as Macy's light yellow gaze had met his—as if someone had taken a yellow tulip and hit it with just a splash of bleach.
Unwittingly, he'd found more of his own kind, and a small sliver of hope had grown within him.
"Was it the same one? The same dream?"
He nodded.
He'd had the dream what seemed like a million times, and each time, it felt as real as the day it had happened.
The temperature had been somewhat cool that day, the sky dusted with thin, wispy clouds.
Micah, the leader of the Platoon, had summoned him and Simon to Sophia's home. Titus remembered the feeling of unease that had come over him as they drove up to the small abode, but his gut always clenched and he broke out into a sweat whenever he had to deal directly with Micah. He found the male to be barbaric in his practices to further their race, and frankly, Titus had thought of him as unstable and crazy. His actions, such as his obsession of wanting the Saviors dead, and working with a Colonist, of all people, to make it happen, had only solidified his feelings about the male.
"This doesn’t seem right," he had murmured to Simon, his head aching from the bottle of wine he'd consumed the night before.
Simon had gazed over at him lovingly and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, Titus. He'll just yell and scream for a while, then we'll figure out what he wants us to do. We'll be fine, just as we always are."
After parking the car, they’d walked to the house and knocked on the door. Micah had answered, seeming more agitated and upset than normal.
“What took you so long?” he’d snapped.
Simon had shrugged. "We came as fast as we could, Micah."
Micah had glared at both of them, his eyes dilating and his breath coming in short bursts. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.
It all happened so quickly, yet Titus remembered every detail with such clarity, as if he'd been watching a slow-motion movie.
Micah had reached behind him and pulled a gun from his waistband. He’d leveled it at Simon’s head and wrapped his finger around the trigger.
After the shot had sounded, Titus had heard nothing but the beating of his own heart as it slammed in his chest. The bullet had come out the back of Simon's head and his body fell to the ground. Titus' flight or fight response had kicked in, and he’d taken off running.
The roar of his blood rushing through his ears had dulled the sound of the gunshots, but he had felt the burn as the bullet hit his thigh. He’d run until he couldn't run anymore, and then walked until he’d collapsed, the fear and the weight of his loss his only companions.
He glanced over at Macy. "It was the same as always. I've told you about it before."
She nodded and placed her hand on his leg. "How is your leg feeling today?"
"It's sore."
"Did you exercise yesterday?"
"Yes."
His relationship with the Saviors had improved. Blake had forced him to start working out, and he had to admit, after the first few weeks of excruciating pain, he’d begun to somewhat enjoy their two-hour sessions together. Slowly but surely, he was getting back into shape, and yet, he detested their efforts almost as much as he hated Macy.
Hudson had talked to him about losing his mate and offered suggestions for coping, which basically boiled down to finding things he liked to do. Kade had shown him the Internet, and he enjoyed looking at YouTube and watching the humans. Some of their antics made him smile, and he definitely had a new appreciation for cats. That had led to a great bond between him and Neptune, Abby's feline, who came to visit him every couple of days.
Liberty had suggested he read some books, and that had become his favorite thing to do. When he read a good book, he was able to get lost in the story and forget his life and his pain for a bit. He found the humans’ behaviors on YouTube funny but strange; yet, some of them could certainly create amazing stories that took him to different worlds and made him experience new situations through the written word.
Macy gave his leg another squeeze. "Let me do a healing on you, okay?"
Sighing, he nodded and lay back down, knowing that arguing with her would be futile. The more he agreed with what she said, the faster she’d leave him alone.
She knelt on the floor next to him, placing one hand on his leg, the other on his chest. Bowing her head, she shut her eyes, and he did the same.
While living on SR44, he'd never had the need for a healing, even while fighting the war that ravaged his planet and ultimately destroyed it. He considered himself very fortunate.
With a slight jolt, he felt Macy's energy within him. He focused his own soul on hers as she floated about his body repairing muscle damage in his legs and pectoral muscles. A few minutes later, he felt her hovering above his heart. What did it look like? Were the physical aspects congruent with his feelings—cracked, broken, and black with sadness?
She could never tell him, as she never actually saw within him. Her energy simply traveled through him, mending what needed to be fixed.
She left his body and he opened his eyes.
Macy sat back on her heels and rubbed her forehead. He'd heard that giving a healing to someone exhausted the Healer, but he'd never heard her complain or even comment on it.
She gazed up at him and smiled. "You worked out hard yesterday. Those muscle tears were somewhat significant."
He nodded as she stood.
"Make sure you eat, Titus. It's important to keep your strength up."
She left the room, her blue cotton sundress hanging on her thin frame like a bulky curtain.
He glanced over at the food, not particularly hungry. Macy had been right—he should eat, but he didn't even know if he wanted to live.
His thoughts once again turned to Simon. He wouldn't be happy with Titus, and he would certainly want him to go on.
Sighing, he rolled over and closed his eyes. The depression weighed over him like a wet blanket. He just couldn’t get out of bed yet, and he certainly didn’t want any food.
However, he promised himself that he would eat something for lunch, but deep in his heart he had a feeling he’d break that vow.
Chapter 2
Macy stood at the kitchen counter chopping a head of lettuce for lunch. For those wanting to eat, there would be shrimp and or grilled chicken to put on the salad, as well as other goodies like onions, peppers, different seeds, freshly made garlic croutons, and a whole host of salad dressings.
Abby and Alaina talked with each other as they prepared the meal, but Macy couldn't seem to concentrate on the conversation. She worried about Titus, and she had from the first time Justice brought him into the bunker where they resided since they’d first landed on Earth.
She'd never forget that day as long as she lived. She'd been terrified that Justice had brought an outsider into their home where they’d been waiting for the Six Saviors, as if being on a strange planet hadn't been scary enough.
Yet, he’d come through the door wit
h Titus slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"What the heck is that, Justice?" Kade had asked.
Justice had wiped the sweat from his brow, his shirt drenched. "I found him in the desert. I couldn't let him die."
"You brought a human into our home?" Chance had asked incredulously. "What were you thinking?"
"You're going to get us killed!" Roman had yelled.
Justice had closed his eyes. "I've walked at least fifteen miles with him on my back. I'm exhausted. I'm going to put him down in one of the rooms, and then we can discuss things."
He’d turned and headed to the last room on the right. Macy had followed at a distance, curiosity getting the best of her despite her fears. Although she resided in a human body, she'd never actually seen a real human up close.
The rooms were carved out of rock, as were the beds. A thin mattress sat on the bed, and Justice had lain him down. She’d stepped into the room behind Justice and studied the new arrival. His hair had hung in long, greasy strands, his handsome face filthy and red from sunburn.
Despite her fear of being discovered by the humans, she’d appreciated that Justice hadn't left him out in the desert to die. It went against every fiber in her being as a Healer, and the need to help him had overwhelmed her.
"I should try to heal him," she’d said to Justice.
He’d shaken his head. "We don't know what that will do to a human body. You could kill him."
As she’d looked over their visitor, felt his forehead and noticed his dry, cracked lips and drawn skin, she’d known he lay close to death, anyway.
"I think I should try, Justice. At least go in and see if I can find any internal damage."
"I think he's been shot," Justice had said, pointing to his left leg.
She’d gently pulled on the pant leg and found a tear. The wound had been oozing puss.
She’d shaken her head. "He's not going to make it. Not with the infection in his leg and his dehydration. I need to try to heal him, Justice."
He’d stared at her for a long while, and then had nodded. "I defer this decision to you, Macy. You're the Healer."