Veined (A Guardian of the Angels Novel) Read online

  Guardians of the Angels

  Book I

  VEINED

  Anyta Sunday

  Books by Anyta Sunday

  Guardians of the Angels

  Veined

  Lethed

  Gay Novels

  (Enemies to Lovers Series)

  Shane & Trey

  St-st-stuffed

  William

  The F Words

  *

  (In)visible

  (Un)masked

  *

  COMING 2013

  Heartwood

  Lenny For Your Thoughts

  First published in 2011 by Anyta Sunday,

  An Anyta Sunday publication

  www.anytasunday.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Anyta Sunday

  Cover Design 2012 Caroline Wimmer, Streiflicht Fotografie, www.streiflicht-fotografie.de

  Edited by Lynda Lamb

  Second Edition

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced without prior permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  All the characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For Carolin Thomas, sushi fiend, and fabulous friend.

  Thanks for all the encouragement.

  CHAPTER 1

  DAYTIME TELEVISION SOAPS were funny. Brain transplants, lovers that turn out to be related, and always someone who ends up in a coma. Yeah, I'd thought them pretty darn hilarious.

  Until the day I woke up from my very own coma.

  I bit my bottom lip and looked at the doctor—Albelin, as he’d introduced himself what felt like hours ago. When I’d first woken into this . . . this drama.

  “. . . much sooner than anticipated.” Although Albelin stood next to the bed, his voice echoed like he was at the other end of a tunnel.

  Goose bumps dotted my skin and I tucked the hospital sheet—the only thing covering my body save a pair of ungenerous undies that, of course, most serious moment of my life, were giving me a wedgie—tight under my arms.

  My thoughts spiraled off. I strained to recall how I’d gotten myself here in the first place, but I couldn't remember much. There was a flash of color, and then—blank.

  Albelin's curly black hair swished as he moved his gaze away from me and toward his vibrating pocket. Something on the side of his neck caught my attention. A black tattoo, like the wing of an eagle. But it disappeared behind his collar as he pulled out his Smartphone. He scanned the screen and stuffed it back in his pocket, a small crease pulling taut the skin on his forehead. “Your family is on their way,” he said.

  My family. Faces and partial memories popped up like a black and white film, with someone slowly winding the crank. A blonde woman unraveling a kite—Mom. A man in a police uniform—Dad. And a boy building a Lego tower—Jeffrey.

  “Right.” The word felt hollow and scratched the inside of my throat. Using the corner of the sheet to cover my mouth, I coughed. It hurt my chest and sounded wet.

  With watery eyes, I scanned the room. I’d been so stuck on the word coma, I’d failed to notice some very basic things. Where were the machines I should have been hooked up to?

  My coughing came to an abrupt stop, but my thoughts continued to gallop. It wasn’t like I knew what coming out of a coma should feel like, but I had an idea what it should look like. Where was the respirator? The drip? Heart monitor? In fact, the only things about the room that looked like a hospital were the green walls and linoleum flooring.

  Albelin must have read my panicky expression as I’d surveyed the room, because he started to explain, “We used a new method to bring you back to consciousness, involving electro-magnetism. Which is why you aren’t wearing anything and why you shouldn’t have any muscle deterioration issues. That, and we’ve given you protein supplements.”

  Electro-magnetism? That sounded like something I’d hear in a physics class. My stomach flipped and I swallowed the awkward laugh that rose to my throat, making a gurgling sound. This wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill hospital at all, was it? Maybe it was experimental. Maybe there'd been no other option.

  Oh god, what'd happened to me?

  I craned my neck from side to side. My muscles were stiff, but at least I was conscious, right? I let out a shuddering breath and blinked back the water pooling in my eyes. I didn't care that I was seventeen, and supposed to be big and brave and something close to an adult. Right now all I wanted was my mom.

  Albelin smiled, barely crinkling the skin at the sides of his eyes, but it didn't soothe the crazy-rocking butterflies in my belly. If anything, it made them worse. He was so young to be a doctor. Too young. My guess, he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

  Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a duffel bag and handed it to me. My duffel bag. The one I took to gymnastics trainings. “Here are some clothes for you to change into.”

  I twisted the familiar canvas handles around my palm.

  “Showers aren’t far,” he added, “just out those doors, second on the left. Towel’s in the bag. Let me help you there.”

  Holding the sheet, I stood up. My legs felt like jelly, but I shook my head at Albelin’s offer. “I think I can manage.” I wobbled my way toward the swing doors.

  Albelin raced to my side. “I insist on helping you.”

  He went to brace my elbow, and I pulled away. “Thanks, but—but—” I needed to be alone. To think. And I didn’t want anyone touching me while I was wearing nothing but a sheet. "I'll be fine, really. I'll yell out if I need help."

  As soon as I was in the hall, I rested one hand against the wall and used it as a crutch. Doing all right. Well, considering I’d not used my legs in weeks.

  Light filtered through the windows, imprinting squares on the opposite wall. I pressed my hand in the center of one as I looked outside onto the street. Mom, Dad and Jeffrey would be coming soon.

  At a flash of black out the corner of my eye, I jumped, dropping the duffel bag to the floor. I lunged to grab it, but my foot caught in the sheet, ripping it from under my arms. My head jerked up as the scratchy cotton sunk to my feet and I chased after it. A tall guy, something around my age, strode down the hall. He wore a green T-shirt and tight black gloves, coming up to his elbows.

  Palms sweating, I wrapped the sheet tightly around me, heat swelling my cheeks. At least he'd jerked his head away. Still, it didn't stop my heart from thumping double-to-one in embarrassment.

  Pick up the bag and move. Go shower.

  He glanced back, sweeping the hair out of his eyes as he did. With a chuckle it looked like he'd tried (and definitely failed) to suppress, Gloved Guy passed by and pushed through the swing doors of my room. As soon as he was behind them, Albelin greeted him. It sounded like they knew each other well. I reached to pick up the duffel bag and stopped.

  “Her name’s Lark?” Gloved Guy’s voice sounded amused by my name. “Like the bird?”

  I crept closer. Why was Albelin talking about me?

  “Sylva Lark,” Albelin corrected.

  “And?”

  “And she’s Veined.”

  Huh?

  “What do you want me to do?” The guy’s tone was uninterested. I could almost hear a yawn attached to it.

  “I have a job for you. It’ll be tedious I’m sure, but the girl’s Vein is already quite prominent. She’s developing quickly.” Developing quickly? “I tried to Lethe her, but it didn’t work.”

  The two must have moved further into the room because I had difficulty hearing much more and only caught snippets of their conversation. And as most of it made no sense, I assumed I was mishearing it. “. . . made them
move halfway across the states . . . leaking . . . not with us yet . . .”

  “. . . fade or survive . . . but that should be years. . . .”

  Their voices descended into low murmurs, and I couldn’t make out anything more. Not that I’d have understood what they were on about anyway, and I was positive words like Lethe and Veined weren’t medical jargon. But maybe that was just how these experimental doctor-scientists coded their procedures?

  I picked up the duffel bag and hobbled to the showers. Inside, bumpy grey tiles massaged my feet. To my left, three separate showers divided the cream tiled wall. I dropped the sheet and the duffel bag, stripped (finally relieving the wedgie), and hopped into the nearest one.

  While I scrubbed myself clean, a long jagged scar that ran diagonally across my upper right thigh caught my attention. How had that gotten there? Why can’t I remember? I had so many questions. But the main one, the one that kept repeating in a continuous loop: How had I ended up in a coma?

  I finished showering and patted myself dry, twisting the water out of my hair as if, by doing that, I’d clear my head of questions. The damp towel slapped against the floor. A bright blue light reflected in the mirror across the room.

  Was that . . . coming from my back? I walked to the mirror and looked over my shoulder.

  I froze.

  What is that?

  I placed my hand in the middle of my shoulder blades, touching a circle of raised blue skin, two interlocking spirals inside it. At a sharp pulse, I jerked my fingers to my neck.

  A pair of soft golden eyes flickered in the mirror behind me. I whipped my head around. Nothing but grey tiled flooring and three empty showers. Just my mind playing tricks; still recovering from the coma.

  My back tingled as I studied the strange marking again. Was this left from the electro-magnetism? I frowned at the blue glow of my skin. Guess it wouldn’t be so bad if the mark stayed. It was quite . . . dazzling.

  My fingers drifted back to the bright colored marking. From a distance, it would have looked like a tattoo.

  The strange pin-pricking pulse came again. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt almost . . . pleasant. I traced over the spirals, searching for a sign of those golden eyes again. Nothing. Must have imagined it.

  The distant sound of voices shattered my curiosity. I yanked on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. As I clasped on my amethyst necklace, a loud shriek tunneled down the hall. A catalog of sounds leafed through my head, not stopping until I’d identified that shriek in my memory. I got out of the shower and barely had time to take two steps before Mom embraced me. Her blonde hair whipped my nose, the Christmas smell of cinnamon and spices.

  She loosened her grip and placed cold thin hands on the sides of my head. Her green eyes narrowed as she searched my face. “Dear, oh, dear. You had us so worried.” She shook her head. “We’ve been here every day, you know, praying you’d recover.” She looked thin. Like me, she pushed the line between slim and skinny.

  “I’m glad to be back.” Seeing her made the tight knots in my stomach unclench. “I love you so much.”

  “Your brother has been talking about you non-stop on the way over here,” she said as we walked back to my room. “Speaking of whom—”

  “Sylva!” My short, pale, nine-year-old brother ran toward me and threw his arms around my waist. “You’re all better!”

  A laugh burst out of me, and I rubbed my knuckles on his head, frizzing his sandy hair. “And where’s Dad?”

  “He’s talking to Albelin,” Mom said. “I’m so glad he’s your doctor—he’s the best in the field, you know. Has quite a reputation.” Her voice lowered to a pitch just above a whisper, and she said the last thing I expected. “Though I wonder if that has anything to do with just how good-looking he is.”

  “Mom,” Jeffrey scolded.

  “Doesn’t do any harm to find someone attractive,” Mom said. “You know your father still has a poster of Marilyn that he refuses to throw away. Although, I did try to get rid of the thing on the move from Portland.”

  My breath hiccupped, and my voice came out like a wheeze. “What do you mean, on the move from Portland?”

  Mom’s shoulders slumped, and when she faced me, I noticed deep shadows under her eyes. “We had to come here, Sylva. As I said, your doctor is the best in the field. He brought you back to us. Moving here seemed a small price to pay. And he was so helpful. Even put in a word at the local Police Department and got your Dad a job.”

  But the home I’d lived in my entire life. . . . My closest friend Shirley. . . . My last year at high school. . . . The images of my life in Portland rolled up into a tight ball and smashed like glass, riddling my insides with painful shards.

  “But I’m better now. Can’t we just go back?”

  Mom shook her head. “We weren’t sure how long you would stay. . . . It could have been months, Sylva.” She shuddered. “And you have to stay, so Albelin can check your progress. He convinced us it was the best thing to do.”

  I took a deep breath before I asked, “Where did we move to?” At least I have my family. My life.

  Jeffrey stuck out his tongue as if he’d tasted something foul. “We’re in Foxtin.”

  Mom sighed. “It’s a small riverside city. And it’s not all bad, it’s only a couple of hours from Chicago.”

  The doors swung open, and both Albelin and Dad came out. Dad stood stiff, his chest puffed out, the badge of his uniform gleaming under the lights. He snuck a glance at Albelin and pushed himself straighter. Still, he looked ragged and limp next to the tall, graceful doctor. I struggled to smile. They left their lives behind for me. “Looking good, Dad.” My voice was barely even.

  His eyes teared up and his jaw tightened. “It’s good to have you back, honey.”

  The sweetness of his tone made me fall apart. Hot tears edged my eyes, and I gripped Mom’s arm. Just stay close.

  “Looks like you’ve reunited with the whole family.” Albelin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His stare was calculating. He turned to Mom. “It’s quite normal that part of her memory may be missing or memories distorted somewhat . . . ”

  While he went on with his explanation, his gaze briefly shifted out the window. I followed it. Gloved Guy was opening the door of a Porsche. As if he knew someone was looking at him, he looked up. As his gaze met mine, a tingling sensation circulated the electro-magnetized spot between my shoulder blades.

  Then he jumped into the car and sped away.

  CHAPTER 2

  JEFFREY OPENED THE passenger door of Dad’s cruiser for me. It had been a quiet drive from the hospital, and while I appreciated everyone’s concern, it was time to lighten the mood. I stumbled out and looked at Dad over the roof. “This car’s a monstrosity.”

  “What? This?” He shut the car door and walked around the hood, shaking his head. “It’s the newest model. And I was only able to get one because we’d just moved here and I needed a cruiser. Plus, I think they all felt sorry about the accident.”

  I cringed and moved to the front of the car, keeping my distance from the bumper and headlights. Combined, they looked like a wolf baring its teeth. “Well, I guess it might scare some people out of trouble.”

  Dad placed an arm around my shoulder, the Foxtin Police Department emblem scratching my neck. It was weird to think he wasn’t with the Portland Police anymore.

  “Leave the luggage, Melissa,” Dad said. “I’ll bring it in.”

  Mom smiled, and sailed up the lavender lined path like she was glad to be home. I wished I felt the same, but this place was four unknown walls and a roof to me.

  “You working tonight?” I asked Dad, as he lightly laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “Not tonight. It’s strictly family time.”

  “Why didn’t you park this pretty little thing in the garage?” I asked.

  “Hey, hey, to a cop behind the wheel, this thing’s magnificent.” Dad waggled his finger before gesturing to the garage. “And your old car’s in there. The
re’s only room for one, and I use Rocky every day, so it made sense. But I guess you’ll be using yours for school soon. If you’re up to driving, of course.”

  Dad dumped a few bags on the lawn as I moved to the garage door, its white color tinged pink in the setting sun. It was light to pull up, squeaking as it slid against the rollers. My turquoise Toyota with pop-up headlights stared at me.

  As I ran a hand over the top of the roof, I thought about the run of bad luck I’d had with the car. It’d broken down twice while I’d been alone in it, one of those times on the highway. I’d filled the tank with diesel by accident and had to have it pumped. The only date I’d had in the car had turned out horrible, and worse, it’d gone on longer than it should have because the battery had gone flat.

  A glare hit my eyes. I looked to see a black motorbike leaning against the back wall, its mirror reflecting the evening sun. My insides crawled as if they were made up of tiny insects. I jumped back, my heart racing.

  “Shoot.” Dad raced to the end of the garage. He picked up a paint splattered sheet lying on top of cardboard boxes, and threw it over the bike. “The cover must’ve slipped off, sorry.”

  I tried to control the anger and fear curdling my blood. I didn’t understand why my body convulsed and my eyes watered. Looking at the ceiling, I forced myself to concentrate on the suspiciously unstable shelving partially hanging over my car.

  Dad tucked me into his arms. “If you need to talk about the accident . . .”

  I pulled away from him, coldness replacing his embrace. “I don’t remember. How did it happen?” My breathing quickened and white dots cluttered my vision. How did I end up in a coma?

  “We don’t know all the details. You were alone.” Dad’s voice hardened, anger edging his words. “You took your mom’s motorbike. The roads were slippery. You lost control.”