Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) (5 page)

“Please.”

She wouldn’t stop begging.

And Wyatt wouldn’t oblige. He simply held her hand and watched her in silence. Slowly her body was coming back to life, bit by bit. She was regenerating right before his eyes and still, he wouldn’t move for his blades. For one, he doubted they would be effective and two, he doubted his orders.

Never in his life had Wyatt questioned an order, no matter the task. Being a member of one of the founding families of The Sanctum, he knew nothing but The Sanctum: their Code of Ten, their rules and their orders. And he followed everything to a tee.

But the fact remained that contrary to Carter Breslin’s latest directive, the girl lying on the ground before him could most definitely express emotion and understand reason. And why did it matter that she wasn’t human? Darby wasn’t human. None of the Magicals The Sanctum dealt with on a daily basis was human. And yes, he understood that based upon an interpretation of the Book of Prophecy, The Sanctum had killed hybrid demons for centuries, but that didn’t mean he was willing to kill her.

“Please.”

Wyatt ignored her hundredth plea for death.

"
Aren’t you curious where you are
? Or who I am?" Wyatt asked her,
trying to turn her attention to something less morbid.

She studied him for a moment and then turned away, a determined expression
crossing
her face. Her only response to his inquiry was to release his hand and begin trying to sit up.

Wyatt moved towards her, intending to help but stopped when she shot him a murderous
glare
, fully understanding she did not want him touching her. Instead, he
moved away and continued quietly watching her
.

Even in the girl’s current state, her
deep, brown skin was luminous, giving off a beautiful glow. Her black hair was
a thick mass of curls,
full of leaves and twigs and who knows what else
, all evidence of her apparent crash-landing in the park
. She had intricate tattoos on both of her shoulders that continued down to her elbows
, one circling her left wrist and another running along her right ring finger
. Wyatt had never seen designs like them and wondered as to their meaning.

He tried not to stare at her for too long, but found himself unable to look away. Her large, dark eyes reminded him of the women in
Ash
paintings
, with their impossibly thick, long lashes and soulful expressions
.
Her cheekbones were high and prominent; her mouth was wide and framed by the most perfect, full lips he had ever seen. Wyatt found himself wondering what she looked like when she smiled, then became so flustered by his train of thought that he immediately stood up, turned away from her and started fiddling with the blade at his hip. Anything to distract him from studying her further.

“Okay then. You speak even less than I do, so now I feel forced to say something. Which is significant since I hate pointless verbiage. But in a gallant effort to make some chitchat, I’ll give it a go. My name is Wyatt Clayworth,” he began, hoping she might come around and do the same, and he might be able to focus on something besides her bewitching face. “I’m eighteen and a Class A Warrior for The Sanctum, which I believe you already know. I was born in New York City, which is where we are right now, in case you’re wondering. But you’re not, because the only thing you’re really curious about is whether or not I’m willing to kill you. I can’t imagine how you wouldn’t want to know where you are. If I were in your shoes, that’d probably be my first question. But maybe that’s just me being a product of my training.

“Anyway, you’re in Central Park. Actually, quadrant 24 of Central Park, if I’m really being exact, but that means nothing to you since you’re not Sanctum and don’t have to sweep quadrants of the park as part of your asinine job.”

Wyatt snuck a look at the girl out of the corner of his eye, just to see if she was paying any attention to him. He knew he was rambling, but it prevented her from asking him to kill her.

“I grew up in the City, within the confines of The Academy since my family runs the one in New York. Academies are Sanctum centers that house training facilities, libraries, laboratories, weapons centers, professors, trainers, cadets and warriors. Each Academy is run by one of the ten founding families of The Sanctum. As Sanctum, when you turn ten you enter The Academy as a cadet to train for a specialty, although I didn’t enter per se since I grew up in The Academy, but I digress. So we all train for a specialty, such as mine, which is warrior. They say I’m one of the best warriors The Sanctum has ever seen, a Class A to outshine all Class As, but I think that’s just people blowing smoke up my ass. Hoping if they gas me up, I’ll keep doing their bidding.”

While Wyatt babbled away, the girl continued and finally succeeded in her efforts to get herself into a seated position. She leaned back against a tree in complete exhaustion, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She was sitting in an awkward position, suggesting to Wyatt that only her upper torso had regenerated.

“I’m just going to touch various pressure points to see what is and isn’t working.”

He squatted next to her, and felt her legs, all the while watching her closely for any reaction. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even bother opening her eyes, so Wyatt continued his examination. He worked up her legs and lower torso, finally getting a reaction around her shoulders. She had either been thoroughly destroyed or her body’s regeneration process took forever. Either way, it was going to be a while before her legs were working again and she could walk herself out of the park to somewhere safe.

He studied her for another moment and then did the most sensible thing he could think of: he released a long, slow, piercing whistle.

Then Wyatt sat back and waited.

Five minutes later, Ryker burst through the trees, out of breath, Raven blades in both hands, ready to kill anything moving. The girl’s eyes flew wide open with shock; Wyatt didn’t flinch. Ryker scoped the scene, realized there was no emergency and put away his blades, a million thoughts running through his head, but only one pressing enough to vocalize.

“My man,” Ryker tightened the straps holding his blades across his back and eyed his best friend, a hint of irritation in his voice, “do not ever use that whistle again. Are we straight on that? Never again.”

Wyatt stood up and started to apologize, but Ryker stopped him.

“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t apologize. You don’t have to. Just don’t use it again. Don’t be in a situation where you need it. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry man. I owe you.” Wyatt half-heartedly apologized.

“Damn straight you do,” Ryker laughed, surprised he lived to see this day. He was usually the one doing the apologizing.

“What have we got here?” Ryker eyed the girl on the ground, seated awkwardly with her mangled legs and bruised face. Everything about her evoked pain. He could not help but grimace. “Ouch.”

“It’s her.”

Ryker shot Wyatt a questioning look, not quite certain he knew “her”.

“Her,” Wyatt insisted but when Ryker still didn’t get it, he further elaborated, “the Hybrid.”

It took a second for the meaning of Wyatt’s words to hit their mark, but when they did, Ryker reacted as only he could.

“No friggin’ way,” Ryker stepped closer to Dev and bent down, giving her a closer inspection, “Breslin and his crew of gremlins forgot to tell us that she’s down right beautiful. Jesus, get a look at her.”

Dev shot Ryker a defiant look and turned away from him. She didn’t appreciate his eyes inspecting every inch of her face.

“Don’t do that.” Wyatt didn’t like it either.

“No worries. I’m not going to woo her with the Morrison charm.” Ryker turned and winked at Wyatt. “Pretty as she is, she’s all yours, Clayworth. I have enough drama in my life.”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

Wyatt knew his friend was just giving him a hard time, like Ryker always did about anything concerning girls, but he didn’t want Ryker thinking his intentions were anything but proper.

Which was amusing because Wyatt didn’t really know what his intentions were concerning Dev. He might not have been able to explain the growing sense that he needed to protect her, but he knew one thing and it was that he was going to help her. Help her do what remained to be seen.

Ryker gently grasped Dev’s chin and moved her face so he could see her better.

“Wow. She was in one hell of a fight.”

Dev glared at him but remained silent.

“That’s not the half of it,” Wyatt came and squatted next to Ryker, “when I found her, only one of her arms had any functionality. Since then, she’s developed use of both of her arms and some sensation in her shoulders. She propped herself up like this, which means she’s undergoing some sort of regeneration. Maybe someone killed her and left her here, not knowing her capabilities?”

“Nah,” Ryker shook his head, not buying that explanation for Dev’s sudden appearance. “That doesn’t jive with the last update. Your Sanctum buddies said she was in south India, not New York City. I’m thinking she fled after killing Breslin’s cronies.”

If Dev was listening to the boys debate her entrance into their lives, she didn’t let on. She remained lost in her thoughts, pressed against the tree, patiently waiting for her body to catch up to her mind. Going over and over again the loss of everything that mattered to her.

Wyatt watched her from the corner of his eye, finding himself getting lost in her sadness, wondering the nature of its cause.

“Yo! Clayworth!”

Ryker knew Wyatt wasn’t listening to a word he was saying; he was too wrapped up in whatever was going on with Dev. If it was anyone else, Ryker wouldn’t think twice about it. The girl would make anyone’s head spin. But this was Wyatt. Nothing made his head spin. Nothing.

“You sure she didn’t put some hybrid mojo on you?” Ryker only half-jokingly asked Wyatt.

“Nah, nothing like that.” Wyatt laughed off Ryker’s question. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s next.”

“What’s next?” Ryker repeated Wyatt’s words, shocked they were coming out of his friend’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Wyatt cautiously eyed his friend, noting the wary tone of Ryker’s voice, “I can’t leave her here, exposed like this.”

Ryker looked around, taking in their surroundings.

“Um, I think you can do exactly that. By the time it’s daylight, she’ll probably be mobile. For the time being, she’s well hidden, seeing as how she landed in the only glamoured quadrant of the park. That didn’t strike you as oddly convenient, Clayworth?”

That most important fact of Dev’s appearance hadn't crossed Wyatt's mind at all. Not once. Wyatt didn't know what to say since he had never encountered a situation like this before in his life: one where he didn't have all the answers, where he hadn't performed perfectly. He never missed a detail when conducting his duties, but now it seemed he had overlooked a very obvious one.

Ryker noted his friend's loss for words and again wondered what hold Dev had on Wyatt.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Wyatt stood up and stared down at Ryker, knowing his friend was wondering what was going on inside his head. He wished he could explain it to Ryker but it was impossible; he could not even explain it to himself.

"I don't know what to say. I have no idea why I didn't realize she hit dead center on a glamoured quadrant. I couldn't begin to tell you why I missed such an important detail. All I know is I'm getting her out of the park," Wyatt bent down and gently picked up Dev, ignoring the fury of her glare, "with or without your help."

Dev wrapped her
arms around Wyatt’s neck, forced to hold on to something while he stormed out of the park, all the while livid that her body refused to cooperate with her mind. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t yet recovered, but worrying about it now was pointless. Her main concern was devising a plan to get away from these boys and complete what The Sanctum started.

Unfortunately, she had no idea where they were taking her, placing just one more road block in her getaway plan. She looked over Wyatt’s shoulder, trying to catch sight of street signs or building names, anything to give her an idea of where she was headed. But knowing next to nothing about New York City made that task all the more difficult. All she could discern was that the street numbers were descending, hinting to the obvious: the trio were headed downtown.

“Maybe she doesn’t speak English?”

Dev studied Ryker. He seemed both hesitant and excited by the prospect of helping her. Physically, he looked like the perfect warrior and she imagined his disobedience infuriated The Sanctum. He was incredibly tall, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a small waist. His arms were long, perfectly muscled and covered in tattoos, so much that it in certain places it was difficult to discern his coppery skin. He had one of those painfully beautiful faces, like he was carved by an artist: square jaw, prominent cheekbones, aquiline nose, heavy-lidded eyes. Every feature fit perfectly together in his exquisite face. His hair was cropped short with two small parts cut into the left side of his head. His dark eyes were full of mischief and something else, something grim. Dev could not put her finger on it, but recognized the expression; she often saw it in her own eyes when she looked into the mirror.

“She speaks English.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I just know.”

Wyatt was so sure of himself. Or of her. It was bizarre. And unsettling. She wanted him to leave her in the park, vulnerable and alone. And away from him. From the pull of him.

She studied Wyatt through slit eyes, not wanting him to note her curiosity. Where Ryker was all model-looking, gorgeous ball-player-slash-Sanctum-killer-slash-screwup, Wyatt was just fierce. She didn’t know how else to put it. Everything about him was hard. His ice-blue eyes, his prominent cheekbones, the defined cut of his jawline, the chiseled planes of his chest. Even his dark hair, set against his lightly summer-tanned skin, seemed severe. The only softness about him was his full, lower lip and his rare smile. He was almost as tall as Ryker, but lanky and lean where the other boy was muscle. This fact, however, seemed strangely irrelevant since Wyatt evoked just as much power, carrying himself with an authority Ryker lacked. Dev sensed people listened to Wyatt; he was a leader. All of which made his repeated refusals to kill her all the more puzzling.

"Please, kill me." She half-whispered, half-growled into his ear, but with less desperation and urgency.

"All right," Ryker glanced at Dev, utterly shocked to hear her voice but doing his very best to play it off as no big deal, "you were right. She speaks English."

"I told you," Wyatt played cool as well, pretending death requests were an everyday occurrence.

"And she asked you to kill her." Ryker eyed Dev, not knowing what to make of her.

"She's been asking me to do that since I found her. Obviously," Wyatt continued walking downtown, well glamoured and invisible to average passersby, "I'm not obliging her."

"Obviously."

Ryker walked beside his friend, the guy he knew inside and out, through and through, backwards, forwards and any other direction possible and swore he didn't know Wyatt at all. Not this Wyatt.

The Wyatt he knew was disciplined and reserved and followed the orders of his superiors. The Wyatt he knew was not easily distracted and he never left a stone unturned. The Wyatt he knew was the most perfect warrior to serve The Sanctum in generations. He was a thing of Sanctum legends and folklore.

This guy walking next to Ryker was an impostor.

"So, what's next?"

Wyatt ignored Ryker's question and kept walking, determined to reach his destination before dawn.

"Wyatt," Ryker walked beside his friend, sensing he should choose his words carefully, "the only way I can help you is if you tell me what you've got planned."

Wyatt stopped in his tracks and faced his friend, intently studying him before speaking. He had known Ryker forever so was well aware Ryker would lay his life down for him in a second, he had done it before. But this was different: the girl, the weird hold she had on him, the purpose. He would not allow Ryker to follow him down this road, headed for what felt like nothing but trouble.

"I don't need your help, Ryker. Not this time."

Ryker scoffed, knowing Wyatt needed his help all the time. That was the way they worked and it wasn't going to change now.

"Really now?"

"Really."

“So what’s your plan?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Ryker could not believe his ears.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re walking around with the one being at the top of Breslin’s hit-list and you don’t have a plan? And in case you haven’t noticed, she’s pretty freaking hard to miss, being all Amazon hot and whatnot. Come on, Clayworth. Seriously.

“This isn’t even your style. All of this: the hot girl, breaking the rules, disobeying that clown, Breslin. It all reeks of me,” Ryker slapped his chest for emphasis, “not you. No way. You wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Give me a little credit here,” Wyatt defended himself, “I’m not an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. But you’re acting like one now. You need to take that girl and put her back where you found her.”

Wyatt didn’t move.

“Now, Clayworth.”

Ryker folded his arms across his chest and waited for Wyatt to say something, do something, anything to convince him that Dev was worth their risk. It didn’t even need to sound well-planned or realistic, Ryker just wanted to hear a reason, Wyatt’s reason for all of this craziness. If he could give him that, no matter how insane it might seem, Ryker would do anything in his power to help his friend.

Wyatt stared long and hard at Ryker, the one person who knew everything about him. He knew Wyatt’s deepest fears, his lowest moments, his secret hopes. Wyatt's soul was laid bare before Ryker and vice versa--it was what made the boys an incomparable killing machine. Their innate awareness of one another was their greatest weapon. So Wyatt knew his only option was to tell Ryker about Dev and the strange effect she had on him the second he laid eyes on her. He would admit his inexplicable need to help her, protect her. And he would tell Ryker he was willing to do whatever it took to keep Dev hidden from Breslin and The Sanctum, even if he died doing it.

And then, for a brief moment Wyatt stepped outside of himself and eyed the situation, seeing it from Ryker’s perspective and one word came to his mind: ridiculous. He suddenly wished Dev was in Ryker’s arms instead of his. Perhaps then things would make sense.

“You win,” Wyatt relented.

“I’m not trying to win, I just want you to make sure you know what you’re doing is all.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing, so you win anyway.”

Ryker eyed his best friend, trying to hide his disappointment.

Wyatt shifted his weight, for the first time in his life feeling uncomfortable around Ryker.

“You’re disappointed.”

“Nah, man,” Ryker punched Wyatt in the arm, trying to make light of the suddenly heavy mood enveloping both boys, “it’s all good.”

“Let’s go then,” Wyatt turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, Ryker stepped into pace with him and the trio silently headed uptown. Not a word was spoken as they retraced their steps through the park to the exact spot where Wyatt discovered Dev.

Wyatt gently placed Dev on the ground, leaning her against a tree for support and hidden from sight should any Magicals or Sanctum come through the area. She shot him a defiant glare and sunk further into the brush.

"At least she landed in a glamoured section of the park," Ryker offered.

Wyatt turned and shot his friend a disgusted look.

"Not glamoured from the likes of our kind,” Wyatt retorted.

Ryker stood looking down on Dev, mesmerized by her haughtiness. She refused to acknowledge his existence. She was a warrior to the end.

"Clayworth, get up. She'll be fine. Let’s get out of here before they send a search party out for us."

Wyatt stood up, brushed his hands off on his jeans and started to walk away, then stopped. He walked back to Dev's hiding place, knelt down and handed her his most precious item: the blade at his hip.

"Just in case," Wyatt winked at Dev and then left without another word.