Healing the Broken: A Kindred Christmas Tale

  “I’ve been working in the main office since I was eighteen,” Sarah said. “But I’ve been living in the Compound since I was twelve when my parents joined and took me with them. My father left but my mother stayed and I…I stayed with her. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I see,” he said again and Sarah wanted to shout that he didn’t see—that he could never see or understand what it had been like. Living in dread that she would be called as a Bride of the Prophet, camouflaging herself for years, arguing with her mother who was so brainwashed by The Brotherhood she refused to listen to reason…

  “…living now?” Commander Sazar asked and Sarah realized she had missed a question.

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “I said, where are you living now?”

  Sarah swallowed hard.

  “In a women’s shelter. I…left the Compound a couple of weeks ago.” Left—that was a laugh. More like slipped out in the dead of night after weeks of planning.

  She’d been sneaking pieces of bread and scraps of meat—everything she could spare from her dinner—to Zeus, the fierce Doberman who guarded the front gates of the Compound for ages, trying to make friends with him. He’d still growled a little when she slid by him the night of her escape and Sarah had been so afraid he would start barking and howling—setting off the alarm. But she’d given him a piece of greasy, delectable bacon she’d saved from breakfast and he had stopped growling and remained mostly silent as she slipped away.

  The tears of relief had been caught like a lump in her throat—tears she hadn’t dared to shed until she finally found her way to the shelter after two days and nights of walking and hiding in the tangled overgrowth at the side of the road.

  Sarah had known she was taking a risk in leaving—she remembered what had happened to Sister Jenny. But she couldn’t wait any longer—she was to become a Bride of the Prophet the very next day. And the thought of Father Caleb’s liver-spotted hands sliding all over her body as he “gave her his seed” to form a “holy child” made her flesh crawl.

  Never, she thought. I’ll never go back! If I don’t get this job, I’ll find another. I’ll stay in the shelter as long as I can. Until I find a place I can go.

  Unless they found her.

  The Controllers were very good at tracking down runaways. They were a special squad of men, handpicked and trained by Father Caleb himself. They always seemed to know where to find the girls who managed to make it out of the Compound and bring them back before messy secrets and dirty stories about The Brotherhood could get out.

  Not that anyone would believe me if I tried to tell them, Sarah thought bitterly. Even the shelter people thought she had just run away from an abusive husband. She didn’t dare to tell them the truth.

  Father Caleb had everyone fooled with his blinding televangelist smile and down-home, folksy way of speaking. He helped out in local police fundraisers too, making sure to keep Tampa's finest on his side. People from all over the world donated to The Brotherhood of Peace, thinking they were funding good works and charity.

  And the Brotherhood did do charity—or appeared to. They were always there, on the front lines working hard after natural disasters or handing out baskets of food to the poor at Christmas. Nobody would believe that such a fine, upstanding organization hid a rotten heart—like a beautiful red apple with a putrid center. No one would believe that the Compound wasn’t just a religious retreat but also a prison for the young girls who couldn’t get out of it…

  But I got out, Sarah told herself fiercely. I got out and I’m not going back. I won’t end up like Sister Jenny—I won’t!

  “Would you rather I didn’t call your former employer, Ms. Michaels?” Commander Sazar was giving her a penetrating look from those pale eyes.

  “I…” Sarah swallowed hard. “That would…probably be better. I realize it doesn’t give you much to go on for my past employment but I can give you the name and number of the woman who runs the shelter where I’m staying. She hasn’t known me long but she can tell you I’m honest and a hard worker. I’ve been helping out in their office while I stay there.”

  That was all true. And she was pretty sure the shelter director, Benita Sanders, would give her a good reference—if the huge, intimidating Kindred sitting across the desk from her would only take it.

  Sarah held her breath as he narrowed his eyes, apparently considering her offer. She felt like she had during those tense moments at three o’clock in the morning as she stood just inside the gate of the Compound and offered Zeus her last slice of bacon. Would he give her a chance?

  At last, Sazar nodded.

  “All right, I’ll agree to call the shelter you’re staying at instead of The Brotherhood,” he said. “But…you may not want me to bother when you hear the requirements of your new position.”

  Sarah’s heart jumped. He was talking like she already had the job! Your new position—he’d actually said your new position!

  Then she remembered what the blonde applicant had been complaining about.

  “Is it the biting thing?” she asked flatly, trying to keep her tone cool and businesslike.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “The biting thing?”

  “Oh, uh…” Yet again, Sarah felt like a fool. “I just thought…I mean, the girl who interviewed before me said…”

  “I am a Pitch-Blood Kindred,” Commander Sazar said in a dry, level voice as detached as hers had been. “Which means I need to consume blood. Not a lot of it and not very often but I do need it. And if you take this job and come with me to Alquon Ultrea, you must be willing to provide it to me.”

  Sarah squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked directly.

  “Yes.” His tone was clipped, frigid. “I apologize but I cannot make the experience pleasurable for anyone save my mate. And since I have no mate at the moment—”

  “Where would you bite me?” Sarah interrupted. “I mean…what I’m trying to ask is: is this some kind of a sex thing?”

  He stiffened, his broad shoulders going absolutely rigid as a muscle tensed in his jaw. For a moment Sarah thought she’d gone too far but damn it, she’d had to ask! She hadn’t gone to the trouble of running away from The Brotherhood and Father Caleb just to land herself in another position where she would be abused or molested. Although she had to admit, the idea of being touched by the tall, muscular Commander Sazar was a lot more appealing that picturing the same thing with the aging, oily Father Caleb…

  “Taking blood from a mate can be part of the sexual experience for a Pitch-Blood Kindred,” Sazar answered at last. “I tell you this in the interest of honesty and complete discloser. However, taking blood from you would not be in any way sexual. You are not my mate and I am not yours. I would not be seeking to pleasure you—I would only be taking a small amount for sustenance.”

  Sarah studied his stern, earnest face, which might have been handsome if he smiled, and decided she believed him.

  “All right,” she said at last. “But you never told me where you would bite me.”

  “The wrist. Perhaps the crook of your elbow—both areas offer easy access to veins.” He spoke dryly again, the stiff irritation gone from his deep voice.

  “Not…not my neck?” In every book or movie she’d ever seen featuring vampires, they always went for the neck.

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I can call a vein for drinking from almost any area in your body—that is one of my abilities as a Pitch-Blood. But I would not…bite you there. It would be…too intimate and this is not, as you put it, ‘a sex thing.’ It is strictly about sustenance and survival.”

  “I see.” Sarah was surprised at the slight feeling of disappointment she felt. The idea of the huge Kindred gathering her into his arms and pressing those cruel, sensual lips to her throat was darkly exciting.

  But what was she thinking? She most definitely didn’t want any kind of intimacy with h
er employer—it was the main reason she’d run away from the Compound in the first place!

  “Do you think you could handle my need for blood?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I have had…several assistants who could not. I wouldn’t care to get all the way to Alquon Ultrea and find that you’re too squeamish to fulfill the requirements of this job.”

  “Too squeamish to let you bite me, you mean,” Sarah said bluntly. She’d had enough of euphemisms and double talk to last her a lifetime. She needed this job but she was going into it with her eyes open and all the cards on the table.

  Commander Sazar’s pale eyes sharpened but he nodded his head curtly.

  “To let me bite you, yes.”

  “Well, let’s find out, shall we?” Sarah stood on shaky legs and walked around his desk. Boldly, she stuck out her arm and pulled up the sleeve of her blazer, baring her wrist. “Go on,” she said, “Drink.”

  Part of her couldn’t believe she was doing this—how had she gotten so bold? But she had a hunch it was the right thing to do—a gut instinct she couldn’t ignore.

  Had any of the other applicants for this position offered to let the big Kindred drink from them? Sarah was betting they had not. What better way to seal the deal and get the job for herself than to give her prospective boss a literal taste of her abilities?

  Commander Sazar’s pale eyes widened but he didn’t move from his position behind the desk. He looked at Sarah in complete silence for a moment—such a long moment, indeed, that she began to think she shouldn’t have listened to her instincts after all.

  Then he took her hand in his much larger one and turned it over.

  Sarah tensed herself for a bite. But instead if sinking the long set of double fangs she could now see lurking just under his sensuous upper lip into her wrist, he did something completely unexpected—he licked her.

  Sarah couldn’t help herself—she gasped in surprise. His tongue was warm and wet and a total shock. It slid over the heel of her hand and sent shivering tingles through her entire body, making her catch her breath in surprise.

  “What…what are you doing?” she whispered through numb lips.

  “You have a small cut on your hand—I noticed it the moment you walked in.” His voice was a soft, purring growl. “I just healed it for you.”

  He released her hand with obvious reluctance and Sarah stared at it. Sure enough, the place where she’d cut herself on the sharp metal seat of the bus was completely healed—not even a scar was left to show where the injury had been.

  “How…how did you do that?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling beneath the wine-red uniform shirt.

  “A talent of my kind. I wanted to reward your courage—to show you that even when I bite you, I can also heal you.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said uncertainly. “But…do you want to bite me now?”

  His pale eyes were suddenly half-lidded and Sarah felt like she might burn up just from the way he was looking at her. But all he said was,

  “No. Not now.”

  “All right.” Suddenly being so close to him was too much—too intense. He had a scent about him—something sharp and dark and spicy that made Sarah feel warm and helpless, like she might do something foolish or submissive or both.

  She had a brief image in her head—herself, half naked in his arms with her hair pulled back and her throat exposed. Drink from me—I want you to.

  For a moment the image was so sharp she was certain she’d either seen it or lived it somehow before—maybe in a dream…

  She took a step back, her heart thudding in her chest.

  “Should…” Her voice came out in a squeak and she had to clear her throat and start again. “Should I wait for your call or…”

  “If you’ll give me the number of the shelter you’re staying at, I’ll call the supervisor there and verify what you’ve told me is true,” he said. His tone was brisk again and some of the intensity had leaked from his pale eyes. “If the call goes well, you’ll have the job and I’ll expect you to take a shuttle with me immediately to the Mother Ship.”

  “Oh…” It was exactly what Sarah had hoped for and yet, she still felt like her heart was in her throat. “All right. Thank you. It’s 813-558…” She gave him the phone number and watched as he wrote it down in tiny, precise handwriting. “Will…will we be going to, uh, Alquon Ultrea right away?” she asked as he finished.

  “We’ll have a day at least for you to get oriented. I’ll have errands for you to run. And I’ll put you on my expense account…” His sharp, pale eyes flickered over her rusty black blazer, faded blouse and ill-fitting skirt. “So you can get some suitable clothing.”

  Sarah felt her cheeks get hot with shame but what could she say? She knew her interview clothes were a pretty sad affair but the shapeless dark dress she’d always worn at the Compound had been torn and stained in her desperate flight. Still, she didn’t like to accept charity.

  She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes.

  “I appreciate your kindness, Commander Sazar, and I’ll accept it—for now. But I want you to know I’ll pay you back for every article of clothing out of my first paycheck.”

  For the first time she saw a hint of a smile twitching the corner of his sensuous mouth.

  “Proud little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I just don’t like taking charity,” Sarah said stiffly. “I can pay my own way if you’ll just give me a chance.”

  “If your information checks out, I will.”

  “It will,” Sarah said confidently. “I’ll be going with you to the Mother Ship.” Going to the Mother Ship and from there, right out of this solar system—right out of this galaxy.

  She was going somewhere The Brotherhood and Father Caleb could never reach her.

  For the first time since she’d slipped past the softly growling Zeus and run from the Compound, Sarah permitted herself a sigh of relief.

  Then she looked at her future employer’s sharp eyes and even sharper teeth and wondered if she was really doing the right thing. Would she be any safer with this huge Kindred warrior than she’d been at the Compound?

  Sarah wasn’t sure but she decided she was going to find out.

  What other choice did she have?

  Chapter Three

  Sazar couldn’t help watching her from the corner of his eye as he piloted the small shuttlecraft upward.

  Sarah Michaels was such a tiny little thing—at least compared to himself—but she had immense courage in that soft, curvy little body. She didn’t cry out or gasp as the shuttle left the embrace of Earth’s gravity. In fact, the only sign of possible distress was the way her knuckles whitened as she grasped the restraining straps he’d fastened around her. Her hazel eyes behind their lenses—he couldn’t decide if they were more brown or green—widened as she watched her home planet drop away on the viewscreen but she said nothing and he could see by the firm set of her jaw that she meant to keep silent.

  She’s determined to bear anything to have this job—to come with me. Why?

  His conversation with the director of the shelter for battered women had shed at least a little light on the situation. At first Benita Sanders refused to speak to him, clearly thinking that Sazar was an abusive mate, trying to find Sarah. But after hanging up and calling the HKR building to reach him, she had apparently believed he was who he said he was and had been willing to talk to him.

  Once her guard was down, the shelter director had given Sarah an excellent recommendation. She’d also spoken of how Sarah had come to the shelter, shivering and frightened in the middle of the night—it was clear she wanted to be certain she would be protected.

  “She’s a good girl—helpful and kind. Wonderful with the children and a whiz on the computer,” she’d told Sazar. “So just you be good to her, Commander Sazar, you hear me?”

  “I will,” Sazar had promised, touched almost against his will at this outsider’s perspective of his
new assistant.

  “She came to us from a bad situation—I don’t know the details exactly because she didn’t want to talk about it,” Benita Sanders continued. “But whatever it was, she needs to steer clear of her past life as much as possible.”

  “She will be accompanying me to the Kindred Mother Ship,” Sazar had said dryly. “I don’t think she can get much further from her past life than to leave the planet.”

  “Good, that’s good.” The shelter director sounded approving. “But I’m just saying—I know you Kindred are supposed to be all about honoring women and keeping them safe. You do that for little Sarah—I want your word right now that you will.”

  Bemused by her demand, Sazar had sworn his oath.

  “I swear upon my life that Sarah will be safe with me. Any who seek to harm her, I will strike down in fury. My body will be her shield, my strength her shelter. May every bit of my own blood be shed before even a drop of hers is spilled.”

  “Well…” There had been silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment and for some reason Sazar got the mental image of the woman fanning herself.

  “Is that enough to satisfy you?” he asked dryly. “I know of no other stronger oath I may swear.”

  “No, no…that’s good. That will do.” Benita Sanders had sighed in his ear. “I just wish human men were like you Kindred. We wouldn’t need shelters if they were.”

  “It is true, places of refuge where females can hide from males are not needed in Kindred society,” Sazar had told her. “But then, we worship the Goddess who is the Mother of All Life. She dictates that we have reverence for females.”

  A Goddess he still believed in, though he was bitter at the way she had taken his Malinda.

  He had wrapped up the call with the shelter director shortly after and had opened the door to find Sarah waiting for him. She’d shown a controlled excitement and something else—could it be relief?—when he’d informed her she was hired. And after signing the papers on her new contract of employment, he’d led her to the waiting shuttle and fastened her into the passenger seat, trying not to notice how good she smelled as he did so.