Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) (3 page)

Instead of doing
what she wanted and bursting into the living room with blades drawn, ready to kill anything moving, Dev sat back and waited. Something nagged at the back of her mind, causing her to question her initial sense that the house was empty. Again, she opened herself to each and every space in the house and again she felt nothing, but Dev could not shake the sense that all was not as it seemed. Unwilling to leave anything to chance, she silently drew her sword in her right hand, held fast to the short blade in her left, then turned the corner to enter the living room.

And immediately understood why she could not feel a soul in her home.

There, right before her very eyes, stood three Sanctum warriors, in kill mode, sheltered like the cowards they were, under a Sanctum Shield of the Gods. The bubble, impenetrable by Magicals, invisible to humans, protected the killers from surprise attack as they carried out their mission. It also prevented Dev from telepathically getting a clear picture of the horror taking place right under her nose.

Her younger brother lay dead on the floor, sprawled in an awkward position, appearing to have fought valiantly but was no match for the three trained assassins and their many weapons. Arky, her best friend and constant companion, was close by and slowly dying, having been stabbed repeatedly in the chest and throat by what appeared to be poisonous Raven blades, knives used by The Sanctum to burn Magicals from the inside out. She glanced at her mother but could bear no more than that; the woman who had loved Dev endlessly and with tremendous affection lay decapitated, just steps from her brother.

Had her mother witnessed her brother’s murder or vice versa? Is that why she screamed out with such agony and pain? Tears welled in Dev’s eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to allow those Sanctum monsters to break her.

And then she caught sight of her father, still alive and standing before the three killers, a proud and determined look on his face. One member of the death squad was yelling something at her father; from the veins popping out of his neck, Dev could ascertain the boy was livid, but being unable to hear a word through the shield, she could not determine why. Then without warning, the boy whipped out his flamethrower and enveloped her father in fireflame, forever extinguishing the very essence of his being.

"NO!" Dev roared in anguish as the remnants of her father crumbled to the floor. She charged the shield without a thought, some part of her knowing such effort was pointless and yet, not caring. The room became a blur as she raised her sword to the shield, her hand throbbing with Daya’s energy. She swung the sword with a force unknown, fueled by pain and rage and a burning desire to kill. As Daya made contact, a searing pain shot up Dev's arm and through to her very soul but she cared less because as her soul lay aflame so, too, did the Shield of the Gods.

Burned to the very ground.

Nothing separated Dev from the three killers. Nothing prevented her from exacting her revenge.

The Sanctum warriors turned in Dev’s direction with looks of pure shock on their faces. Never had the shield been pierced, much less destroyed. Dev experienced her own moment of shock as she studied each of their faces, realizing they were little more than boys her own age. In another time and place, the four of them might have been friends. But right here and now, they were mortal enemies. Without wasting another second, Dev crossed the room in a flash and sunk her short blade into one boy while her sword pierced the chest of another. She pulled both blades up at once, killing the boys instantly. Not giving them another thought, she turned to face the only living member of the deadly trio. The boy responsible for the death of her father and most likely the one in charge of carrying out the orders to kill her family. The leader. As he turned towards Dev, his face appearing horrified at the death of his companions and then full of hatred for her, their killer, she recognized him right away: Max Breslin, future leader of The Sanctum. Someone her parents taught her to avoid at all costs. The last thing Dev intended to do was heed their warning.

"Max Breslin, I should have known,” Dev sneered with disgust, “these unjustified and depraved acts have the marks of The Sanctum all over them."

Without taking her eyes off the boy, Dev replaced her short blade at her hip and raising Daya with both hands, she charged, fully intending to end Max's short life with her first blow. But she was no longer fighting with the element of surprise on her side and Max braced for her attack, parrying her initial blows while getting in a few of his own. Around and around they went like this, both well-trained and strong fighters, neither scared to die. Finally, Dev made a mistake and came around on Max's left while he feigned to the right, pulling her off-balance and striking Dev's side with his raven blade. A look of smug satisfaction came over his face as he watched her back away from him to a far corner of the room, holding her side all the while.

Believing this was his chance, while the venom of the raven blade burned Dev’s insides, Max strode across the room, pulling a sword from its sheath on his back, ready to kill Dev with a final blow. Feigning injury, Dev cowered as his steps grew closer and then attacked with blinding speed and agility. She sprang at Max, stabbing him in the side with her hidden, short blade then sent him flying across the room with a single, powerful kick. He landed against the wall and crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud.

Dev gave him no time to recover. She crossed the room, grabbed Max and repeatedly slammed him back into the ground, wanting to hear every bone in his body break. The veins in her slim arms popped out as she held Max against the wall, her hands around his neck, choking off his air supply.

Just as Max seemed ready to faint, Dev released him, watching him fall to a heap at her feet. She kicked his sides until her legs grew weary, then propped him up against the wall, willing him to open his eyes. Daring him to open his eyes. She squatted in front of him, wanting her face to be the first thing Max saw when he regained consciousness, hoping he felt every ounce of hatred flowing through her veins.

“Enough,” Max whispered through bloody lips.

Dev bent down and leaned in close to Max, hissing in his ear, “Trust me when I say this: it will never be enough.”

“How do you,” Max gasped and coughed, “know my name?”

Dev stood up, all five feet ten inches of her towering over the beaten boy. He looked up, his expression one of haughty arrogance, awaiting an answer to his question. In his current state and circumstances, Max’s behavior was unbelievable. It was the very attitude that enabled members of The Sanctum to run around the world, passing judgment on others and killing them with little more than a thought.

“How did you find us?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“We’ve spent years hunting your parents, those blasted wizards my family held so dearly, so convinced were they that their precious Maya and Philip would never turn on The Sanctum. Ha!” Max laughed and spat blood, “bloody fools.

“Once Ava and Carter stopped mucking about, it was simply a matter of putting the best wizards on your trail and waiting, for we knew at some point you people would either mess up or get lazy. No one is that good, I don’t care how powerful you are; eventually we all get tired or comfortable. Apparently, they did just that and now, here we are, love. You and me.

“So I answered your question, now you answer mine, tit for tat,” Max insisted obnoxiously.

Dev looked down at him for a moment, the smug set of his mouth rubbing her the wrong way, annoying her. Before she knew it, her boot was in his face, Max’s nose was broken and he was screaming in pain. Somewhat satisfied, she felt ready to talk.

“I’ve known your name since I was a little girl.”

At this, Max laughed incredulously.

“You are anything but a girl. You are an abomination. Angel and Demon, the spawn of two creatures never meant to come into contact with one another. You are disgusting,” Max spat.

Dev studied Max for a long minute, wondering what made someone like him tick. He was young and already so full of hatred for her. And why? She had done nothing to anyone. Her only crime was existing at all.

“And you are nothing but a tool of your father.”

Catching the expression on Max’s face, she laughed as she took a seat on a chair close by.

“What? Did you honestly think my parents haven’t told me what I am? How I was made? The extent of my powers?

“Max, Max, Max,” Dev shook her head at him as if he was a misbehaving child, “I didn’t grow up in The Sanctum, in a world full of dark secrets and unfounded hatreds. I grew up with two parents who loved me desperately and equipped me with all the tools I would need should the day ever arrive that you fools with your petty grievances came calling.

“Despite what you have been taught, I am one thousand percent a girl. A most powerful, awesome, brilliant girl who can destroy you with a thought. I can creep into your mind and persuade you to kill yourself. I am immune to your silly, little Raven blades and Shields of the Gods. I am smarter than your most intelligent officers.

“I am half angel, half demon and all power. You have never seen anything like me, nor will you ever again. I am unique and wonderful,” Dev smiled, giving Max a glimpse of her extraordinary beauty, “and I am going to kill you."

With that statement, Dev jumped from her seat, rejuvenated, grabbed Max by the feet and yanked him towards her. The sudden, surprise movement caught the boy off-guard and his head met the floor with a loud, painful thunk. As he tried to gain some leverage, thrashing this side and that, Dev continued dragging him across the floor, ignoring his cries of pain, determined to get him as far away as possible from her loved ones before ending his life. Max Breslin was not worthy of dying in the company of such people. He was going to die alone, with her blade at his throat, begging for his life, his cries falling on her deaf ears.

Dev was so deep in her own thoughts, she paid little attention to where she was going. She never saw the shimmer. One second she was headed across the living room, the next she was sucked into nothingness, Max was stripped from her arms and everything went black.

A couple of
hours later, the trio exited the bar into a perfectly balmy, New York City summer evening. The setting sun reflecting off the buildings gave everything, including the pavement, a warm, pinkish tint. It hinted at the terribly hot and humid weather that inevitably engulfed the city every summer, but tonight it was like a small slice of heaven.

Jools tilted her face up to catch the last rays of sun and the scent of the city before nightfall. The play of light and shadow on her face was stunning, especially to Darby, the slight girl standing down the block, hidden in the darkened alley of the parking garage. Darby was a lover of all things beautiful and Jools never failed to take her breath away. Jools’ dark beauty coupled with her deadly grace and utter confidence made her even more captivating than her male companions, and few were prettier than Wyatt and Ryker.

Darby smiled to herself as she watched the boys, opposites in every sense of the word and yet so similar to one another, it was eerie. She closed her eyes and could see them in her mind’s eye, fighting as one, a deadly beautiful killing machine. Flashes of dark skin, corded muscles, playful eyes. Ryker. Furrowed brow, sharp angles, sensuous mouth. Wyatt. One completely aware of his physicality and how to use it to his advantage; the other, totally oblivious of the effect his beauty had on those around him. She feared she would forever desire to ravage one and protect the other. And knew she would do neither.

Wyatt stretched his arms high over his head, wove his fingers together, cracked his knuckles and then slowly brought his arms back down to his sides, resting one hand on the hilt of the knife in his waistband. He felt calm, almost quiet inside as his eyes swept up and down the block. He cocked his head slightly to the side, feeling Darby watching him. He sensed her as soon as he walked out of the bar and her presence brought a slight smile to his lips. This was not the first time Wyatt had caught her watching them, but it mattered little since he never minded her voyeurism.

“Darby,” Wyatt quietly called into the evening air, his low voice reaching out to her, but not loud enough for the others to hear.

She allowed Wyatt’s voice to roll over and through her. Sometimes Darby wondered which she found more appealing, his physical appearance or the sound of his voice calling her name. Most of the time she wished he had never crossed her path. He was irresistible and unattainable. He was not hers.

Quietly she stepped from the shadows and onto the street, completely glamoured and hidden to most. Ryker and Jools were deep in conversation as she came up behind Wyatt and wrapped her painfully thin, deathly pale arms around him. He turned and smiled down at her, pulling her into his arms while he kissed her hair. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, with fine bone structure, porcelain skin, shocking blue eyes and a pouty, kissable mouth. Her long, thick, blonde hair fell in perfect ringlets down her back and she was always dressed in Chanel.

“The one and only Darby Winthrop.” Wyatt smiled into Darby’s hair, feeling her cold arms hold him tighter.

“How come she gets to wrap herself around you but I can barely touch you without losing my hand in the process?” Jools did little to hide her disdain for Darby.

“Let it go, little girl,” Ryker wrapped his arms around Jools, as if to protect Wyatt from his angry, little sister, laughing all the while, amused by the whole scene.

Wyatt released Darby and turned back to his sister, carefully weighing his next words.

“This little one,” Wyatt explained, hoping to stave off one of Jools’ infamous temper tantrums, “can drain all my blood in a matter of seconds. You cannot. Simple as that.”

Jools knew Wyatt was trying to lighten her mood but she wasn’t taking the bait. She was hurt and as much as she hated to admit it, jealous. Of a vampire, no less.

“Jooooools,” Darby drawled in her perfect Southern accent, “if it makes you feel any bettah, I’d drain you in a matter of seconds, too.”

Ryker grinned as he watched Darby in action. He loved the vampire and sensing some of the tension drain from Jools, figured she might hold a little affection for Darby as well.

“Ahhhhh,” Darby came to a stop in front of Jools and traced a slim, cold finger along Jools’ jawline, coming tantalizingly close to her lips, “that’s much better. There’s nothing quite like a Clayworth smirk. It’s rather divine.”

For maybe five seconds, no one said a word, no one moved a muscle. Jools felt Darby’s eyes taking her clothes off right in front of the boys, with not a care in the world if they watched.

“Stop that nonsense, Darby,” Jools blinked hard and stepped away from the vampire, grinning despite herself, “freaking wicked vamp.”

That was Darby to a tee. A wicked vamp and she loved every minute of it. Born in 1847 to Southern abolitionists, she made it through The War between the States, as she insisted upon calling it, only to be turned in its closing days by the dark and beautiful Claude Grayson, someone she believed to be seeking the Underground Railroad, but was in fact simply seeking her long-term companionship. Never one to believe in eternal damnation and burning in hell—growing up surrounded by death, destruction and brutality, it was hard to believe in a benevolent and loving God--Darby had no issues with becoming a child of the night and reveled in her change.

As vivid and enthralling as the decades were with Claude, nothing quite compared to the day she spied Wyatt and Ryker. She had been alone for so many, long years following Claude’s self-inflicted death, incapable of settling down in one place for too long since doing so inevitably resulted in a yearning for companionship and love, something Claude had provided without end while he was alive, and something all these years later, she had yet to replicate.

His death left Darby hollow and bitter, closed off and deadly. She hunted with frenzy, careless with her victims, taunting The Sanctum with her thoughtlessness. Knowing her behavior would result in a death sentence, Darby invited it. She hoped The Sanctum would send someone after her to put an end to the misery that had become her unending life.

Which was precisely what happened three years ago, when she followed a victim down a dark alley in Williamsburg, hell-bent on torturing the young man before bleeding him dry, only to come face-to-face with two Sanctum-sanctioned angels of death: Wyatt and Ryker.

“Oh, honey,” Darby shot Jools a mischievous smile, “wicked doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Jools rolled her eyes. The wide range of emotions Darby conjured in Jools never ceased to amaze and annoy her: intrigue, suspicion, fear and attraction. All balled up together.

“You know what I’ve always wondered about you, Darby, and just never asked?”

Darby casually leaned against a car parked in the street, making the simplest of poses seem incredibly sexy.

“What is that, sweetheart?”

Jools eyed her brother watching the vampire, wondering the hold the girl had on him. He would never admit it, but Jools suspected there was little Wyatt wouldn’t do for Darby. She wondered if he felt the same affection for her.

“How is it that you managed to get my brother, the perfect Sanctum soldier, the Academy’s beautiful angel, the great Wyatt Clayworth, to go against a direct order to burn you to a crisp? What have you got flowing through those vamp veins of yours that makes my brother so crazy he would risk everything he has worked for to save your ass?”

“Honey, you cannot be serious,” Darby laughed in disbelief, throwing her head back and shaking with mirth. “If you knew the first thing about your brother you wouldn’t even be asking me that question.”

Sometimes humans, even the special ones, could be so damn amusing.

“Wyatt didn’t save me, you silly, little girl. Ryker did.”