Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum)

by Blaylock, Madhuri

  “Well, aren’t you the picture of health?” Jools commented sarcastically.

  Darby sauntered past Jools and poured herself a drink before taking a seat on the couch next to Wyatt.

  “Don’t you sass me, Jools Clayworth. I haven’t forgotten that nonsense you pulled with Ryker the other night. He might have,” Darby shot Ryker a disgusted look, “but I didn’t. And the plain ol’ fact of the matter is I don’t like you, I tolerate you. So behave.”

  Jools held up her hands in surrender, knowing better than to test Darby’s temper. The vampire was already on edge, the last thing Jools needed to do was add to her testy mood.

  “Your house, your rules.”

  Darby eyed the younger Clayworth, sensing something different about the girl but unable to put her finger on it just yet. She would figure it out later. Right now, she had more pressing concerns.

  “Wyatt,” Darby began.

  Wyatt grabbed the tiny vampire and pulled her close to him, taking comfort in her familiar chill, wanting to ease her mind.

  “Don’t do it, Darby.”

  Darby had been so annoyed with Jools’ presence in her home that she failed to notice the change in Jools’ brother. Wyatt was the picture of calm, so unlike the boy she left this morning. Gone was the stress wrinkle between his eyes and the sense of frenzy he carried with him earlier in the day. Before her was the cool and calculated Class A Warrior, The Sanctum's crown prince returned.

  "Welcome back,” she smiled up at him.

  "Thanks," Wyatt shot her a quick grin, one that was gone so fast, had she blinked, Darby would have missed it.

  "I just want to tell you," Darby began again, sitting up and untangling herself from Wyatt’s embrace, "and please do not interrupt me. As much as I love you, Wyatt, there is nothing this Southern girl hates more than being interrupted, so whatever that pretty mouth of yours is about to say, hush it up.

  "Because I have got to say that I am so sorry but there was no way I was going to keep your secret. Well, actually that's not true. I could have kept it from Jools. Easily,” Darby shot Jools a less-than-friendly glance, “but Ryker is a whole other story. He saved me at the lowest point of my never-ending life, in ways you can never imagine, and I will always love him madly for that. So as much as I love you, and trust me, I do, I would never dream of lying to him. Ever. About anything.

  "When he found me this afternoon and asked if I knew where you were, I told him. I even gave him my key because the fact of the matter is you need Ryker. Maybe not the same way you needed him when you were younger but he is an intrinsic part of you. He is part of your essence. Your soul. And as much as I hate to say it, Ryker's a better fighter than you are and honey, if you're planning on dealing with that girl upstairs, which I have an inkling is exactly what you're planning, you're going to need all the help you can get."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dev stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan circle around and around and around. She told herself that it would be a good sign if, by the thousandth rotation, she could wiggle her toes. So she waited and counted. And hoped.

  Her body's slow recovery was beginning to scare her. What would she do if she never fully recovered? She rubbed her right leg, hoping to massage her limb back to life, wondering when she would be able to walk unassisted and get out of this blasted house.

  After waking up to find Darby standing over her, smelling her, of all things, Dev hadn’t been able to sleep. She read Darby’s mind several times since then and knew the vampire had no intention of feeding on her, but that didn’t set her at ease. What would set her at ease was finding her sword, Daya.

  Hurtling through the portal had been intensely violent and along with destroying her physically, Dev had lost every weapon strapped to her body that day. The last blade she had held in her hand had been Wyatt’s, but he had since so rudely reclaimed it; the fact remained she needed some weapons if she planned to escape. And escape was Dev’s goal. As soon as her body would allow it, she was out of here and headed for London to hunt down the Breslins and make them pay for their crimes against her family.

  Lost in her revenge fantasies, Dev failed to hear the light footsteps on the stairs, but she heard the click of the lock and the distinct turn of the doorknob. From her vantage point on the floor, she had a perfect view of the entrance but Dev didn’t bother waiting to see who was coming into the room. She used her telepathic skills, stretched her mind and worked to feel a presence. With her eyes closed and her mind open, slowly Dev touched a girl, one full of curiosity and anticipation. Concentrating harder, Dev became one with the girl’s essence, feeling her power and vitality, her determination.

  Dev could not put her finger on it, but something about the girl rang so familiar; she felt strangely intimate, as if Dev already knew her. The ferocity of her spirit was akin to Dev’s own heart, one with Dev’s will, so much so that Dev found herself getting lost in the comfort of the girl’s nearness, enjoying her zest and élan when suddenly, out of nowhere, Dev inhaled sharply and sat up on her elbows with a start.

  She knew it without really knowing it.

  The girl outside was Wyatt’s sister. No mistaking it.

  It frustrated her that something so closely related to Wyatt would seem a part of her, would feel so naturally bound to her.

  “Holy crap.”

  Jools inched into the room, pulling out her blade, all the while never taking her eyes off Dev as she lay on the floor, propped up on her elbows. Jools had never seen anyone so blindingly beautiful or steeped in such powerful magic.

  “What are you?” Jools could not stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

  Dev studied the younger Clayworth, noting the blade in her hand and the another strapped to her thigh. She wondered whether the girl also had one underneath her pant leg, strapped to her calf and whether Dev could get close enough to her to steal one of her weapons. And maybe, if Dev got lucky, even use it on her.

  “I can see the wheels spinning in your head,” Jools stated as she walked a wide circle around Dev, “and just so you know, I’m not stupid enough to let you take one of my blades. For one, I can see it written all over your face: you’d love to use them on me. And another, these blades all belong to my brother, the most self-righteous, perfect, annoying guy I know and he would kill me if I lost them.”

  Jools sat on the sofa, opposite Dev, chuckling to herself.

  “Come to think of it, Wyatt’s going to kill me anyway when he realizes I opened his precious chest of weapons and stole his blades. God, what I wouldn’t give to be there when he realizes I have his stuff,” Jools said aloud, although she was clearly talking to herself.

  Dev listened to the girl’s amusing stream of consciousness, smiling at the complete lack of concern Jools had for her brother and his possible wrath.

  “Your smile is gorgeous,” Jools stated the obvious, unable to stop herself despite knowing she would hate to hear the same, “I’m sure people tell you that all the time.”

  Dev immediately frowned, hating the compliment but even worse, annoyed she had let down her guard for a second around Wyatt’s sister.

  If Jools noticed Dev’s sudden change of mood, she didn’t let on. She leaned back on the couch, stretched her long legs in front of her and continued studying Dev, so intently that Dev could feel Jools’ eyes moving over every inch of her body, examining and analyzing her like a scientist.

  “What’s the story with your legs?”

  Jools shuddered at the thought of not being able to use her legs, incapable of fighting for The Sanctum, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Ryker or walking about of her own free will.

  Pushing herself into a seated position, Dev pulled herself back until she was able to lean against the couch opposite Jools, wishing the girl would stop staring at her with such pity. She glared down at her dead legs, massaging both of them, willing them to spring to life. Her fingers worked the muscles, desperately trying to create a reaction. A sensation. Anything.

/>   At that moment, more than any in her life, Dev wished she had spent more time with her mother, learning the ways of magic, rather than the endless days with her father and Qi, learning the way of the warrior. Had she paid more attention to the wisdom her mother wished to impart, Dev might know numerous ways to help herself right now. Instead, here she was, rescued by a warrior for The Sanctum, stuck in the home of a vampire, being pitied by a girl she wished she had never met.

  Jools watched Dev working her limbs and felt sorry for the strange beauty with no legs. She wished she could help her or knew someone who could, anything to make her stop the desperate exercise in futility. Jools felt herself becoming increasingly upset as she sat and watched the act: long fingers kneading unresponsive muscles, repeated again and again, all to no avail.

  And then suddenly, without rhyme or reason, Jools could take no more. She flew from her perch on the couch with tremendous speed and agility and landed on Dev, grabbing the girl’s hands in her own and pinning them to her sides. Anything to halt their frantic movements.

  “Stop! Please, just stop,” Jools implored, all the while sitting atop the stunned girl, “I’m sorry, but I cannot watch your silent desperation for a second longer.”

  Dev stared at Jools in utter amazement, grinning in spite of herself, wondering what it was about her that made Clayworths want to straddle her every chance they got. And even though she told herself the days of laughter were behind her, Dev felt the beginnings of a laugh somewhere deep inside her, threatening to reach the surface and burst forth.

  “You’re allowed to laugh, you know?” Jools stated as a matter-of-fact, incapable of understanding why anyone would try so hard to fight the urge, “especially since I’m sitting on your lap, acting like it’s no big deal. Go for it, hot stuff. Laugh.”

  Hearing those words, however, had the opposite effect on Dev, only working to remind her that Jools was wrong and, in fact, she was not allowed to laugh anymore. Instantly Dev was back in her home, reliving the scene of her family’s murder, succumbing to the sadness of their brutal demise. The slight smile on Dev’s face disappeared and against her will, tears welled in her eyes. Jools still had her arms pinned so it was impossible for Dev to wipe them away, forcing her to suffer the indignity of crying in front of the girl. She closed her eyes, hoping the tears would stop, wishing Jools would leave her alone.

  Jools sat back and watched Dev silently weep, the depth of her sadness engulfing and overwhelming Jools. Without thinking, she let go of Dev’s arms and wiped away her tears. It was all the opportunity Dev needed.

  In a flash, Dev had Jools’ neck in a viselike grip and with her other free hand, she held the blade that had previously been strapped to Jools’ thigh. Jools’ cried out in alarm as she fought to escape Dev’s grasp, but it was futile. Jools silently chastised herself for letting down her guard, for thinking she was in control of the situation, for feeling sad for the girl with no legs.

  As she gasped for air, Jools found the situation almost comical. Wyatt had specifically told her to wait for him to return before coming upstairs, but as always, she found listening to anything her brother had to say virtually impossible. She was convinced he was always trying to lord it over her, boss her around because she was younger. And this time was no different except for the fact that it actually was: Wyatt was truly just protecting her. Jools silently cursed her stupidity as she breathed her last, painful breath.

  Dev heard each and every thought running through Jools’ mind as she tightened her grip on the girl’s neck, fully intending to add another Sanctum warrior to her death tally. The girl’s final thoughts were all of her brother and how much she loved him; Dev exhaled in disgust and released Jools from certain death. The girl crumpled to the floor, a heap on Dev’s lap. Dev pushed her away, gave her chest a hard punch to get Jools breathing again and then closed her eyes in disgusted frustration.

  As much as she hated herself for not ending Jools’ life, Dev also knew to do so would make her no better than The Sanctum scum who killed her parents. And out of respect for Maya and Philip, Dev refused to engage in such behavior. At least this is what she told herself as she seethed while Jools coughed and started breathing again, clutching her neck and gasping in pain. However, there was another truth to Dev’s act of leniency and it had nothing to do with her parents and everything to do with Wyatt. And that fact infuriated her like no other.

  “What the hell?” Jools asked as she rolled towards Dev and sat up.

  Dev raised the blade she stole from Jools and held it to her neck, letting her know that although she spared Jools’ life once, she might not be so quick to do it again.

  “Back up, girlfriend,” Jools gasped tiredly, inching away from Dev and towards the couch, just needing something to hold her up for a minute, “I am not going to mess with you. I promise. Keep the blade, just don’t touch me again.”

  Dev retracted her arm and slipped the blade against her body, feeling better with a weapon at her side.

  Jools wiped away the tears that had rolled down her face, unaware she had been crying, but not surprised by the fact. She had come inches away from death, all at the hands of some freak of nature with no legs.

  “I cannot believe you are what my brother is so ferociously protecting,” Jools shook her head in amazement at Dev, wondering the secret to the strange girl’s strength, “the last thing you need is protecting.”

  FROM:

  CARTER BRESLIN

  Head of The Sanctum, Leader of The Circle of Ten

  Distinctive Member of the Founding Families

  TO:

  ALL ACADEMY HEADS

  Sanctum Members

  RE: ROGUE WEREWOLF

  It has come to our attention that a rogue werewolf, in frequent contact with the Hybrid, is within the vicinity of New York City.

  It is to be captured and brought in for questioning.

  Do not kill the werewolf.

  In Good Health,

  Carter Breslin

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wyatt and Ryker scaled a building on one hundred and seventieth street and then worked their way across town by way of the rooftops. Earlier in the afternoon, The Sanctum reported sightings of a lone werewolf behaving erratically, believed to be banished from her pack and linked up with the hybrid. New York Sanctum hunters and warriors were sent uptown to find and eliminate the wolf but failed in their mission so Wyatt and Ryker were called in to finish what others could not. Both boys knew the trip uptown was a dead-end but they went through the motions anyway, each privately thankful to escape Darby’s house and have some time alone.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” Ryker asked Wyatt as he watched his friend scope the rooftops for anything out of place.

  Wyatt stopped and rested his hand on his blade, staring downtown, watching the street life below him.

  “I was.”

  “So why’d you lie to me?”

  Something in Ryker’s voice caught Wyatt’s attention and he turned towards his friend, the slightest of grins crossing his lips.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would say your feelings were hurt.”

  “Don’t blow me off, jerk,” Ryker stated as he passed Wyatt and crossed onto the next roof, headed west, looking totally serious but with a hint of laughter in his voice, “you know my feelings are hurt.”

  Wyatt watched Ryker walk away, his departing figure silhouetted against the setting sun, looking every bit the super hero, minus the cape. He started to call to him, but before the words escaped his lips something slammed hard into Wyatt’s back and sent him flying across the roof, sliding into the high ledge with a sickening thud. The impact shook him up badly and it took him a second to get his bearings to scan the area for his attacker.

  “Ryker,” was all Wyatt was able to say before being pounded into the wall again. Much to his surprise, a woman had him around the neck and proceeded to repeatedly slam his head into the concrete. Her eyes glowed yellow with the rage of a wolf, her cla
ws raked the skin of his neck, his chest, his arms, cutting him deeply, drawing long streams of blood and strings of flesh; she fully intended to end his life. Wyatt desperately reached around for his blade, for any weapon nearby, all the while fighting to hold onto consciousness. For the life of him, he could not recall someone getting the better of him in battle. But now, not only was this wolf bettering him, she was killing him.

  Then as quickly as the attack began, it ended. As he slipped from consciousness, Wyatt wondered whether the werewolf was moving on to attack Ryker. He tried to call a warning to his friend but his voice was gone. Wyatt’s last thought was to grab Odara, in case the wolf came back for him, hopeful whatever magic his blade held would protect him once again. And then everything went black and Wyatt was gone.

  Ryker cleaned his long-sword as he stood over the body of the wolf. He had no idea what could have enraged her so, but she was dead now and that was all that mattered. As he put away his weapon, he watched the intricate tattoo on his left arm extend itself slightly onto his hand. It was one of the mystical inkings of The Sanctum warrior and Ryker was supposed to be proud to wear them, but he often felt conflicted about the artwork covering his chest and arms. He didn’t want to wear the brutality of his life on his body, there as a constant reminder of the countless lives he had ended. And although he knew he had no choice, Ryker wished he could scrub most of the detailing off forever.

  He also knew this would never happen. He was a Morrison and as his father had repeated so often, Morrisons were warriors, so Ryker stopped wishing for the impossible and turned his attention to his best friend. He knelt beside Wyatt’s body, checking the long cuts running down his neck, torso and arms. They were deep and brutal, but Ryker felt he could heal them. He inhaled deeply, a relief like no other washing over him, apprising him of the fact he had been holding his breath the whole time, worried about Wyatt.