Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  André looked up at him. “They know that I’m not from Earth, right?”

  Matthew snorted. “Yes.”

  “Let’s give them something to write about. Let go.”

  Matthew let go of the chair, smiling a little as it rose in the air and rolled onto the porch. The crowd went silent. He climbed the steps and resumed pushing the chair into the house. “You are such a troublemaker.” He grinned, slamming the door behind him.

  André turned the chair around. “If you had planned it right...”

  Matthew chuckled. “I can roll you back out on the porch.” He went to open the door.

  “No, don’t,” André said, believing his father’s bluff. “How long has it been like that?”

  “Since the news got out that we were back,” Matthew answered. “I chose St. Vincent’s because I knew the media wouldn’t get past the guards.”

  “How long do you think they’ll camp out?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope once you grant an interview, they’ll lose interest but I’m not even sure that will do.” He moved the curtain and looked out at the group of reporters. “Think you’re up to an interview?”

  Katrina came out of the kitchen with Sam in her arms.

  André raised a questioning eyebrow. “Should I?”

  Katrina thought for a moment. “If we want any peace and quiet, I think so.”

  “You think I’m presentable enough?”

  Katrina pressed her lips together, trying to stifle a laugh, and shook her head.

  “I love you too,” André said, adopting the same slight grin that now graced her face.

  Katrina smiled. “The clothes aren’t too bad, but the hair leaves a lot to be desired.”

  He rolled into the bathroom and propped himself in front of the sink, laughing at his reflection. “I look like shit.” His hair had the distinct quality of a mad scientist and his face was pale and blotchy. His eyes stared back, bluer than usual due to the contrast of the red veins slicing through the whites of his eyeballs. Turning on the water, he threw some in his face and hair, grabbing the towel before the water dripped on his blue polo shirt. He ran the comb through his hair until he was satisfied with the image. Lowering himself back in the wheelchair, he rolled back into the living room. “Better?”

  “Yes,” Katrina said.

  André rolled to the recliner and winced as he shifted into it. “I don’t want to give an interview in the wheelchair,” he said, meeting his father’s gaze once he settled into the comfortable seat and raised the footrest.

  Matthew dialed a number on his phone and disappeared.

  “Are you sure about this?” André asked, reaching for Sam.

  “I think so, but I certainly don’t want Sam on camera,” she said.

  “I’ll give him back before they finish setting up, okay?”

  She nodded and handed Sam to him.

  “Commander, I want to thank you for this exclusive,” a voice said from the hallway leading to the garage. André traded a glance with Katrina, trying to squash the nervous flutters in his stomach.

  “Joanna, if you exploit my son in any way, I will make sure this is the last interview of your career,” Matthew said, his eyes hard and unyielding as they stepped into the living room. “He is still only a teenager.”

  André took a deep breath and glanced up at Katrina. She put her hand on his shoulder and he smiled at her, silently thanking her for the support before he gazed back at the beautiful blonde reporter and the cameraman who stood stock still staring at him.

  Joanna Cassidy stopped in her tracks and shot a glance at her cameraman. “Commander, I didn’t know you and your wife had a child recently.”

  “We didn’t.”

  Her smile never faltered and she turned toward André and Katrina, crossing the living room and offering her hand to André. “Hello, I’m Joanna Cassidy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Cassidy,” André said, shaking her hand. “This is my wife, Katrina,” he said looking up at her.

  “Your wife?” Joanna asked, raising her eyebrow.

  “Commander Lawrence was my father,” Katrina said, shaking the reporter’s hand and trying not to let her disgust show. André thought she did a pretty good job, considering how much she hated reporters.

  “And this is our son Sam.” André looked down at Sam, smiling.

  “He is adorable,” Joanna said with less than a fleeting look. “I want to thank you for letting me interview you,” Joanna directed to André.

  André nodded. “Thank my dad.” He swiveled his gaze to the staring cameraman. “What’s your name?”

  “Um, Tim.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I won’t bite,” André said. He felt the fear radiating from Tim. “You ever cover the local football games?”

  Tim nodded.

  “The Sabers?”

  Tim nodded again.

  André smiled. “I’m the quarterback.”

  Tim’s expression changed. The fear of the unknown transitioned to recognition and a smile formed. “You have a hell of an arm.”

  André felt the heat rush into his cheeks. “Thanks, man.”

  “Seriously, I heard your name come up more than once during the pro draft,” Tim said.

  André’s eyebrows arched and his heart skipped. The pro draft? Damn. I hadn’t even entertained that option. “Really?”

  “Yeah, they want to see what you do this year to make sure last year wasn’t just a fluke,” Tim said, setting up the camera.

  André’s smile faded. “It’ll be awhile before I can play,” he said and glanced up at Katrina. “You want to take Sam?”

  “No, keep him in your arms,” Joanna said.

  “I don’t think so.” Katrina plucked Sam out of André’s arms. “You are not here to exploit my son.” She walked out of the room.

  André watched her leave. He smiled and shrugged a little as he looked back at Joanna. “I don’t want my son on camera either,” he said. “This is about me, not him.”

  Joanna smiled. That’s what you think.

  A cold anger burrowed into his skin and André dropped the warm façade, staring her down. “Yes, that is what I think and I’ll ask you to leave if you bring it up in the interview.”

  Joanna’s jaw hung askew.

  “And I’ll make whatever you have recorded disappear,” he added. “Understand?”

  Visibly flustered, Joanna smoothed her skirt and nodded.

  “Are we ready?” André asked after a moment, adopting the friendly smile again.

  Joanna looked at Tim for confirmation. He nodded and flipped on the lights.

  André squinted at first as Joanna took the seat to his right. He blinked, letting his eyes get used to the bright camera light.

  “André, can you tell the viewers why you are here?”

  André took a deep breath. “Sure. It was dumb luck,” he answered, knowing that was not what she wanted to hear.

  “Can you expand on that a little?” she asked, with the same winning smile.

  André almost laughed at the thought of expanding on dumb luck, but he kept his expression neutral. “I drifted into this galaxy and Commander Robbins found me. He saved my life.”

  “Were you alone in space?”

  André nodded. “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “I figure about five years,” he answered.

  “Why were you in space alone?”

  “Because I was exiled.”

  Joanna gasped, but André could tell it was all for the camera. Her mind was working overtime and André had to bite down on the growing unease filling him.

  “Why?”

  “Because the emperor was a supreme nutcase and I happened to be an easy scapegoat,” he said, directly to the camera. He shrugged, trying to brush it off but the truth bit at him, getting under his skin. He shifted in his seat.

  “Pardon?” Joanna asked.

  André sighed. “It’s a long
, involved story, but the bottom line is the emperor considered me a threat, so he executed my parents and sealed me in a space pod and sent me into space to die.”

  Joanna’s composure slipped for a fraction of a second and her mouth dropped open. She popped it closed and focused on the story that just got a little hotter. “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “A threat?” Joanna answered, pleased that he had walked right into this line of questioning.

  Irritation bloomed and André smiled, hiding it for the time being. He shook his head. “No. Especially not to Earth.” He glanced past the camera to where Katrina stood. “This is my home.” He looked back at Joanna. “The only home I’ve ever known.”

  Joanna took a deep breath, disappointed at the way André was working the interview. “Is that why you volunteered to stop the meteor?”

  André nodded. “It was the right thing to do.”

  “Even if it meant coming out to the world?”

  “Yes. I’m not that different from the next guy,” André answered with a shrug. “I bruise when I get hit.” He pointed to his face. “I’m not invincible,” he said.

  “And yet you can vaporize a meteor the size of Texas,” Joanna said. She had been privy to some of the data that had been collected by NASA prior to their return. “It vanished into thin air.”

  André shrugged. “I’ve got a more developed level of extra-sensory perception than most humans.”

  “That sets you apart. Humans can’t do that.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. You have the capability inside; you just don’t know how to break down the barriers in your mind to open the floodgates.” He smiled. Do not elaborate on that, André. Matthew’s voice boomed in his head.

  “And how do you know that?” Joanna asked.

  André smiled at her. “Do you follow your hunches?” he asked her, turning the tables on her.

  “Yes,” she answered with no hesitation.

  “There you go,” André said. “Hunches, instinct—whatever you want to call it—is a form of ESP.”

  Joanna laughed. “You are comparing a hunch to completely destroying a meteor?”

  “What else do you want to ask me?”

  Joanna glanced at her cameraman. “How did you get hurt?”

  “What has the media been told?” André asked. He wanted to know how much he could say. They were told that we had a run-in with an alien craft. The fact that it was Zyclonian was not disclosed, Matthew’s voice informed him.

  “We were told that you ran into trouble in the form of an alien space craft.” Joanna echoed what Matthew had silently told him.

  André sighed. How much can I say? he sent to his father, the answer came a second later: As much as you want. “Yes,” André answered. “Ironically, it was from the planet I came from.”

  Joanna couldn’t hide the surprise fast enough. “Really?”

  “Bastards are looking for more worlds to conquer,” André answered. He shifted in his seat, sighing as he looked between the camera and Joanna.

  “Did you know they were coming?” Joanna asked.

  André shook his head. “No.”

  “Did they know you were here?”

  “No.” But they do now. “Not until the press conference the day we left to stop the meteor. The explorer picked up the satellite feed. He knew we were coming.”

  “Why did they hurt you?”

  André looked squarely at her. “Because they still want me dead,” he replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but not doing a very convincing job. “They wanted to bring my head back to the emperor as a gift,” he added for shock value.

  Joanna recoiled in disgust. “The word on the street is that you saved your father and a medic on board.”

  André shrugged. “I guess,” he said, shying away again.

  Matthew strutted into camera range. “My son is being modest. If he hadn’t stepped in, we would have died.” He put his hand on André’s shoulder. “In the process, he was almost killed.”

  André twisted his wedding band, studying the way his finger molded around the metal.

  “What happened, André?” Joanna asked, feigning sorrow.

  He raised his eyes to the camera. “We fought; I killed him. End of story,” he concluded, closing the door on further questioning.

  “The alien body was brought back. Can you tell us why?”

  André raised his eyebrows and shot a glance at his father.

  Matthew took a deep breath. “His blood type matched my son’s.”

  André blinked. “Huh?”

  “You needed blood.” Matthew looked down at him.

  “So you...” He trailed off, getting the picture out of Matthew’s mind. He sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized just how close they came to really losing him. The slow rush of blood out of his face left him cold and dizzy.

  “We brought the body back for organ donation if André ever found himself in a situation where he needed a heart, liver, or kidneys,” Matthew explained.

  Joanna glanced at André. “You didn’t know how bad off you were, did you?”

  André shook his head.

  “I bet you were glad to see your wife and son when you woke up,” she commented, taking advantage of his instability.

  André’s head snapped in her direction, his face transitioning from shock to anger. “I told you to keep them out of this interview,” he said, wishing he could storm out of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Joanna said. “But the American public has a right to know that an alien and an American have created a child.”

  Tim switched the camera off. “Joanna, I’m not taping this,” he said, glaring at her.

  She swung around, her face a mask of surprise. “It’s a Pulitzer. An alien mix breed.”

  “Get out.” André stood, pointing at the door and ignoring the sharp pain in his leg. “Now!”

  Matthew grabbed her by the arm and escorted her to the front door. “If you mention my grandson, I will ruin your life,” he threatened and opened the door, shoving her out onto the front step and closing the door on her. He turned to Tim.

  Tim disassembled the camera, muttering under his breath about how much of a bitch Joanna was.

  André lowered himself into the chair, wincing.

  “Are you all right?” Tim asked, looking up from his camera case.

  André returned his stare. “No. My leg is bleeding again,” he said. A red spot on the leg of his sweatpants spread on his thigh.

  “You really got hurt?”

  André nodded. “My leg, stomach, and shoulder were split open. You heard my father. I lost a lot of blood,” he said, leaning his head back against the chair, controlling the pain. The air hissed between his clenched teeth.

  Tim picked up the tripod and the camera. “You are a hero,” he said to André.

  André laughed despite the pain. “No I’m not,” he said, thinking about how he toyed with Captain Trevor.

  Tim smiled. “Whether you know it or not, you are.” He turned to leave and paused. He glanced back at André. “I won’t let her turn you into a circus freak.”

  “Thanks,” André said. He gripped the armrest, sweat lining his palms and tacky on the small of his back.

  “Take it easy, kid,” Tim said and left by way of the front door.

  As soon as the door closed, André let out a roar of pain. “This fucking hurts!” He gripped his thigh.

  Matthew glanced at him. “You shouldn’t have stood on it. The doctor told you not to put any pressure on your leg for the next two weeks,” he said. He ran upstairs and grabbed the bag of bandages the hospital gave them. “I don’t want blood all over my chair,” Matthew said as he came back down stairs, retrieving the wheelchair and lining it up so André could switch easily. He cut the sweatpants, ripping the severed pant leg off and looking at the blood soaked bandages. “Jesus,” he cursed under his breath.

  “I don’t want to sit in a pool of blood eith
er,” André remarked.

  Matthew glared up at him. “Suck it up.” He removed the bandage and grabbed the bottle of iodine Cal had given them to apply with each dressing change. He poured a thin line into the stitched wound.

  The iodine burned and André clamped his teeth down on a yelp, gripping the armrests so tightly the color drained from his hands.

  Matthew covered the cut with the bandages and sat back on his heels.

  “Why the hell didn’t they seal the cut like they did with my shoulder and stomach?”

  “We’ve been over this, André. The cut was too deep. You have to wait until it heals naturally,” Matthew said and turned toward Katrina. “Kat, grab the pain medicine, please.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the pain pills and a glass of water in her free hand, handing them to Matthew.

  Matthew poured two pills into his hand and handed them to André with the glass of water.

  André downed them and put his head in his hands, trying to control his breathing and the pain.

  Katrina rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Get away from me,” André said, the tears dripping onto his lap, staining the fresh bandage and the remaining pant leg.

  “I’m just—”

  “Get the hell away from me!”

  Katrina backed away. Sam began to cry in her arms.

  Matthew gathered the soaked bandages and stood, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “You shouldn’t yell at Katrina like that,” Matthew said when he returned with clean hands.

  “You put that bastard’s blood in me?”

  Matthew nodded.

  “You should have let me bleed out.”

  Matthew sighed. “André.”

  “You should have let me die,” André screamed.

  The mental slap shot out of Matthew before he could stop it.

  André’s head rocked to the side with the power of it. A pink handprint appeared on his cheek and he touched the still stinging skin.

  Matthew approached him. “I don’t give a damn how much you hated that bastard. He was the only option I had of saving you.” He towered over André. “I took it and I will not apologize for saving you,” he growled down at his son. “And if I ever hear you talk to Katrina in that tone again, I will knock you on your ass. Understand?”

  André swallowed, his own anger and pain diminished by the shock of the slap.