Lost Souls Found

by Kris T. Bethke

  Sam thought that was a turning point for them. But in the end, it didn't matter. Michael still hid behind his morals, or whatever the hell he called them, and he wouldn't even entertain the thought of them being together.

  "It doesn't matter, Blake. He thinks there's no way we can be together. And I... I have to stop pushing. Because it's killing me."

  Blake wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's neck and squeezed. The affectionate touch settled Sam--a throwback to when they were kids and Blake used the same technique to settle him when he got upset.

  "What are you going to do, Sammy?"

  The question was filled with concern, but Sam had to wonder if it was really for Blake. They both knew that if Sam were ever truly going to get over Michael, it meant he couldn't stay in Duncan Moor. Sam shut that line of thinking down fast. He wasn't ready to entertain it.

  "I don't know."

  Blake nodded and then ruffled Sam's hair. Sam playfully swatted his brother away. Blake's rich chuckle made him smile. With a sigh he took the glass Blake offered. Then Blake slung his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him in to rest against Blake's side.

  "You gotta do what's best for you, little bro. And you know I'll support you in whatever that is."

  Sam nodded and was grateful that Derek chose that moment to announce dinner was ready. Blake got up first, and Sam followed more slowly. He appreciated his brother's words. He even knew Blake meant them. Sam just wasn't sure what was best for him.

  TWO days before his vacation ended, Sam finally got into the groove of lazing around and doing nothing. He'd spent a couple of days in nearby Rochester, doing the tourist thing and enjoying the museums and sights. But he was back home, his cat was sleeping on his chest, and he flipped through the channels idly and waited for something to catch his attention.

  When his cell phone rang, it startled Cameron so badly that he dug his claws in and took off to parts unknown. Sam bit out a curse and then rubbed at his chest to soothe the sting as he sat up. Michael's name flashed across the screen.

  He considered ignoring the call, but knew Michael wouldn't call him during his vacation if it weren't important. With a sigh he tapped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

  "We have a Code Red. You need to come in."

  Sam was on his feet and moving toward the door before he realized the most important thing. "Dom's not here. I can't ghostwalk."

  "I'll anchor you myself. Just get here."

  Sam's heart pounded. As much as he wanted to help a fellow ghostwalker in trouble, he couldn't let Michael anchor him--not again. He was barely holding on to the mental separation he'd made. If he let Michael take care of him, all the walls he'd built would crumble.

  "What if I say no?"

  "That is your right. But Tyler is trapped, and if we don't help him, he'll never return." Michael paused and then continued more softly. "I can't force you to do this. I wouldn't. But I don't have time to argue about it. Get here or don't. I need to send everyone in."

  The call disconnected, and Sam stood in his entryway, breathing fast, his mind racing. He knew he never had to ghostwalk without his anchor, but how could he leave Tyler to the mercy of a malicious spirit? He couldn't allow his emotions to get in the way of his job.

  Sam shoved his feet into shoes, grabbed his keys, and raced out the door.

  Chapter Six

  MICHAEL shut the door behind him and headed for the next room. Just as he was about to open the door, movement caught his eye. There was Sam, looking flushed and a little windblown, as though he'd run all the way from home. More likely he'd just run in from the parking lot and up the stairs.

  For just a second, Michael stood transfixed. Sam's chest heaved as he sucked in breath, and Michael couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled. He imagined, just for a moment, a different situation where Sam would be flushed and breathing hard.

  Michael quickly clamped down hard on those feelings and offered Sam a small smile. He'd been reasonably sure Sam would come, despite his reservations.

  "Head to your office. Let me send Michelle in, and I'll be in to brief you."

  Sam's whole body gave a tiny jerk, and his expression shuttered as he nodded. He moved at a fast clip, and Michael blew out a silent breath.

  "Sam?"

  Sam stopped, but didn't turn. Michael knew his abrupt manner had hurt him, but time was of the essence, and he needed to get everyone onto the spirit plane so they could help Tyler. Without them all there, he might be trapped forever by the malicious spirit. Tyler was experienced enough that he wouldn't risk coming back with a tail. He'd sacrifice himself first. But Michael was hell-bent on making sure it didn't come to that.

  "Thanks for coming." Michael kept his voice low, but when Sam's shoulders immediately relaxed, he knew Sam heard. Michael added, "I'll be there in a minute."

  Sam nodded and headed into his office. Michael watched him go for just a second and then pushed into Michelle's office. She was already seated in the chair, shoes and shirt off, a black sports bra covering her for her partner's sake. As close as Michelle and Luca were, her anchor felt it was better if he didn't regularly see her breasts. Luca was convinced that Michelle's husband would deck him if he did.

  Michael took one look at them both and opened his mind. Michelle was determined, and Luca was worried, but they were both ready. Under normal circumstances Michael liked to talk with his operatives a little, but they didn't have that kind of time. He trusted his telepathic ability to tell him the truth about their states of mind. With a nod at the ghostwalker, Michael lifted his sword. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and Michael brought the sword down in a smooth, swift motion and pierced through her chest, straight through her back.

  The first time he did that, it was weird. He killed somebody. Cutting through bone, tissue, and sinew wasn't as easy as it looked, and if he hesitated, he could hurt them unnecessarily. Violent though it was, death by sword was still the best method for ghostwalkers. And it was easier for him after lots of practice. But sending Michelle, or any of the other ghostwalkers, onto the spirit plane was a hell of a lot easier than what he was about to do.

  Michael made sure Luca had things under control. Then he left the office and all but jogged to Sam's. He paused for a minute, got his frame of mind solid, and pushed inside. Sam was in the chair, ready and waiting, but incredibly tense. Michael wanted to soothe him, to make him relax, and he wasn't sure if that was his genes or his feelings for Sam. It didn't really matter. They were on a tight timetable.

  "Tyler is on the Appalachian trail somewhere. He managed to get a distress call to Alli about an hour ago. What he thought was just a difficult spirit turned out to be so much worse. The hiker died on the trail because she didn't have enough provisions and got hurt. Her body was there for four days before searchers found her. She got hold of Tyler and won't let him go."

  Sam nodded as he took in all the information. Michael could see the gears working in his brain as he processed.

  Sam looked up at Michael. "Blake's already there?"

  Michael nodded.

  "Good. I can track my brother easily on that plane. Let's do this."

  Michael studied Sam, and the determination and fiery passion on Sam's face did something to his insides. He loved Sam's attitude... most of the time. In an emergency, it worked to everyone's benefit.

  "Be right back."

  At a jog, Michael left the room for the weapons cabinet. He chose his favorite sword for Sam. Long and thin, it was incredibly sharp. It cut through a body like a hot knife through butter, and it didn't hurt as much. Not like the claymore he liked to use on Blake, just because it annoyed him. A brief smirk arched his lips.

  He returned to the office, and Sam slammed his eyes shut. Though Michael never used his telepathic abilities on Sam if he could help it, he had a strong urge to now. He wanted to know what was going through Sam's head. But it wasn't the time. Instead he took up a position on Sam's right side.

  "Ready
?"

  Sam nodded and flailed with a hand until he could get a grip on Michael's thigh. He took a deep breath and nodded again. Michael had to steel himself to shove the sword through Sam's chest. It was different, killing the man he adored, and even though it was their job, and Michael knew it had to be done, he hated every second of it.

  The instant the sword made its clean cut and slid through Sam and out the other side, Michael reached for Sam's hand. He squeezed Sam's fingers tightly and leaned down so his lips were right at Sam's ear.

  The gurgling breaths, the way his body fought to live, even though it was impossible, wrenched at Michael's heart. But he kissed Sam's ear and murmured, "It's okay. I got you. I'm right here."

  And with that, Sam went limp and died.

  Christ. That got harder every time he had to do it. But being right there next to him, holding his lifeless hand in his own, assuaged some of Michael's heartache. It was far harder when he killed Sam and then had to walk out of the room and leave Sam to Dominic's care instead. He hated walking away from Sam.

  But he did it because he had to--not only because Dom was his anchor and had his care well in hand, but because nothing could ever come of his feelings. He knew that. He believed that.

  Didn't mean it was easy.

  He kissed the back of Sam's hand and gently laid it on the armrest. He set to work cleaning all the excess blood from Sam's chest and around his mouth. Some had leaked down his neck. With exquisite care and gentleness, he removed it all. Then he laid out what he would need next, pulled the chair closer, sat down, and held Sam's hand.

  Waiting was maybe the hardest part. Sam looked so peaceful in death that he could be sleeping. Only the hilt of the sword glittering where it protruded from his chest reminded Michael that Sam was, in fact, dead.

  With a fond smile, Michael brushed an errant lock of hair off Sam's forehead. From the very first moment they met, Sam had captivated Michael with his bright, infectious smile and amazing eyes. Right then and there, Michael should have had him transferred out, sent to another branch office. But he knew how much it meant to Sam to work with his brother, and Blake had wanted it too. Not to mention that Duncan Moor was their home, where they'd grown up. So against his better judgment, he let Sam stay, and foolishly thought he could control himself.

  Well, he had managed the control, but it cost him dearly and cost Sam as well. And now they were stuck--too far in to leave, but not able to move forward. If things were different... but they weren't. So Michael would have to continue to deal.

  Just then his phone squawked to life, and Derek's deep baritone greeted him.

  "They're done. Tyler is safe. Bring 'em back."

  "Thanks, Derek."

  Michael kissed Sam's hand again, then strode to the door and pulled it open. Stepping into the hall, he called, "Julie?"

  She walked swiftly toward him without hesitation, and he managed a smile for her.

  "Sit with Sam," he began as soon as she was in range. "I'm going to pull them all back, and then I'll be in to take care of him."

  "You got it, Mr. King."

  Michael headed for Tyler's office first. Tyler would need the quickest recovery, and his anchor was at her wit's end waiting for him. Then he'd pull Blake back. The bond he had with his anchor made it so Derek could still feel him on the spirit plane, and while they'd both wait if they had to, Michael hated to make it harder on them.

  He moved with purpose, anxious to get back to Sam. Even knowing that nothing could happen to Sam while he was dead, being away from him jangled Michael's nerves. Each ghostwalker came back to life easily and readily, and Michael only stayed long enough with each pair to make sure the ghostwalker was all right.

  Tyler was a shaky mess, but his anchor had him, and Michael knew they'd hit the emergency button if needed. Everyone else seemed more stable. He wasn't overly worried. His operatives were the best--literally.

  Once everyone was settled, Michael all but ran back to Sam's office. Julie was with him, but she stood as soon as Michael walked in. She quickly walked around the chair and waited for what came next. She might not be an anchor, but she was caring to a fault, and she'd assisted him on more than one occasion when he had to fill in as an anchor.

  Michael got the thick absorbent pads ready, placed one on Sam's stomach, and gripped the other in his left hand. He slid it under Sam's back and made sure to keep his fingers out of the way of the blade. Then he gripped the hilt with his right hand. He looked at Julie. She was white, but determined, and she took hold of the sword too.

  Together they pulled it free, and Michael trusted her to have it the moment he let go. He grabbed the extra pad and stanched the bleeding from Sam's wound, pushing hard so he wouldn't lose too much before his body started to heal.

  "You're in charge," he said, never taking his eyes from Sam's face. He hadn't started to breathe yet, but it would happen at any moment. "Let me know if there's an emergency."

  "I've got it, Mr. King." Her voice was soft, and Michael didn't spare her a glance as she left and took the sword with her. All his attention was focused on Sam.

  Come on, sweetheart. Breathe.

  With a gasp Sam sucked in his first breath, and his lungs expanded under Michael's hold. Sam sputtered and coughed, his lungs struggling, and Michael quickly turned him onto his side so he didn't choke on any blood or mucus still in his lungs. He leaned down and cradled Sam to make sure he knew he was being cared for.

  It took a few minutes for Sam's limbs to work again, but when they did, he lifted a shaky hand and wrapped his fingers loosely around Michael's forearm. Michael smiled and took the opportunity while Sam was still out of it to kiss his sweaty temple. In another minute or two, Sam would be fully aware, and he'd miss his chance.

  "Hey. I'm here," Michael murmured. "You're okay. I've got you."

  Sam panted and then managed the barest of nods. "Bad one."

  Michael lifted the pad a fraction of an inch and checked to make sure the wound had closed. It had, and he let out a silent breath of relief.

  "Yeah. Everybody is back safe and sound, though. And you're safe, Sam. You're good. I've got you."

  "Hurts."

  "I'll fix that in a minute. As soon as you're ready to move."

  Sam opened his eyes and stared sightlessly at the far wall. "Just give me a sec."

  "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

  Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and Michael almost missed the single tear that leaked from one corner. Sam wasn't usually emotional when he came back to life. It must really have been a bad one. Michael dreaded reading the reports his team would turn in.

  "Ready," Sam whispered.

  Michael checked the wounds again, noting they were both closed and angry pink. He glanced at the clock on the wall, mentally noted the time, and slowly pulled away. Sam stayed where he was, breathing steadily, and Michael tossed the pads into the biowaste container by the door.

  He slid his arm under Sam's shoulders, carefully rolled him onto his back, and used the barest hint of pressure to help Sam sit up.

  "Slowly now."

  When Sam was more or less upright, Michael used his free hand to press the button and right the recliner. Sam lifted a shaky hand to his head. Michael knew the signs and gently nudged Sam's head down toward his knees. The dizziness would pass in a moment. Blood loss would do that to a person.

  After several agonizing minutes, Sam pushed himself up and tried to stand. Michael gripped him around the waist and gave him all the support he needed. As hard as it was to see Sam hurt and weak, there was a part of Michael that reveled in being the one to care for him. It wasn't just his genes. Michael always wanted to be the one who took care of Sam. And not just in this room.

  He was so screwed.

  But he shoved that away and helped Sam to the bed. It took everything in him not to just scoop him into his arms and carry him. Michael was strong, and though Sam was not tiny, Michael knew he could lift him with ease. But that would be crossing a l
ine he could not--and would not--go over.

  Michael settled Sam under the covers and gathered what he needed at the counter--cold pack, electrolyte water, and a syringe of pain medication. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently placed the cold pack on the wound on Sam's chest, and then set the syringe by his knee.

  "Drink." Michael held the bottle to Sam's lips and used his other hand to support Sam's head and lift him enough to swallow. Then he set the bottle aside and picked up the meds.

  Quickly and deftly he injected the premeasured dose. Almost immediately Sam's entire body relaxed back into the mattress. Michael felt a smile tug at his lips. Seeing Sam at ease, no longer hurting, warmed something inside him. He brushed the hair off Sam's forehead and fluffed the pillow so Sam's neck wasn't at an odd angle.

  Sam licked his lips, and his gaze darted over Michael's face and then flitted away. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, "It's different with you."

  "It's my genes." Not entirely a lie. He was hardwired to care, and the gene mutation that made Sam a ghostwalker responded to that. It eased something inside them.

  "Keep telling yourself that," Sam muttered and closed his eyes.

  Michael swallowed hard. He wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole.

  "Let me check your back." Realizing how much that sounded like a command, Michael added, "Please."

  Sam rolled to his side and faced the wall, and Michael bent to peer at the wound along Sam's spine. It was already less red and angry-looking. His fingers itched to touch, to run along that smooth expanse of skin and check. He held himself back, but only just.

  "It looks good," Michael said softly. Sam didn't react, so Michael pressed on. "Rest. I'll get your vitals in a bit."

  Sam remained silent. Michael's heart squeezed, and he gave in to his urge to touch. He cupped the back of Sam's head, massaged briefly, and pulled away. Then he stood, meaning to move to the table and begin his report. But he couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop wanting to wrap Sam up in his arms, hold him tightly, and assure him that he was back and safe and whole--reassuring them both.