Free Malcolm (Book 1, The Redemption Series) by S.J. West

more minutes pass and the pain completely ebbs away. Yet, I can't quite bring myself to ask the stranger to stop gliding his fingers up and down my back. I feel slightly ashamed, knowing that he's only doing it to bring me comfort, and I'm taking advantage of his generosity. But, I know if I tell him the pain is gone he'll take his hand away, and that isn't something I'm ready for just yet.
    “Are you sure this is helping?” He asks again, sounding doubly uncertain that his actions are serving any real purpose.
    I open my eyes and let out a resigned sigh because I know I'll need to tell him to stop. I wait just one more selfish minute before saying anything.
    “You can stop now,” I tell him and feel him instantly pull his hand away like he was simply waiting for me to give him permission to stop touching me. “Could you close the back of my dress for me?” I ask, finding a small way to make him touch me again, however briefly.
    He does as I ask, and I feel his fingers momentarily brush across my back as he brings the seams of my dress close enough together for them to grab hold of one another.
    I immediately roll over onto my back and look up at the man sitting next to me.
    The earth beneath me moves and my heart quakes.
    I find it hard to breathe because the beauty of the man I'm looking at is beyond any I've ever seen before.
    His long black hair is slightly wavy and hangs down just past his shoulders. His features are so perfectly symmetrical that they look like they were chiseled by the hand of God himself. He's shirtless, and I don't even bother to pretend to avert my eyes out of propriety as I look at the length of him, wondering how I could have not noticed a man like him in Cirrus before.
    “Who are you?” I ask. “How did you know I was in trouble? Where did you come from?”
    His soulful blue eyes stare at me for what seems like forever. He looks confused by me, like there’s something about me that he wasn’t expecting see. Before I can ask another question, he stands and turns his back to me, walking a few feet away while running his fingers through his hair as though he's thinking about something that troubles him.
    I sit up and watch him as he stands completely still. I can't help but admire his well-formed, muscular back and again wonder how I could have missed meeting a man like him in Cirrus.
    Finally, as if making up his mind about whether or not he intends to give me answers to my questions, he turns around. The look on his face isn't one of confusion anymore but grim determination.
    “My name is Malcolm Devereaux. I'm not completely sure how I knew you were in trouble, and I come from a city known in the down-world as New Orleans.”
    “I know you. Well, I know of you,” I amend. “You're one of the overlords on the surface. Did you actually come to the Tribute Ball this year? Was I already in prison when you arrived there?”
    It was the only thing that made sense to me. Why else would he have been here in Cirrus this evening?
    “No,” Malcolm says to me, looking uncertain he wants to explain things further, “I did not attend the Tribute Ball.”
    “Then, why were you in Cirrus tonight?”
    “I wasn't.”
    I sit there and just stare at him waiting for a better explanation, but he doesn't seem to want to elaborate any further on what he just said.
    I need an explanation. I need answers, and I need them now.
    “Then how did you get here?” I ask again, pressing for an answer.
    He stands there silently as if he's carefully weighing his next words.
    “I can do something called phasing,” he finally admits.
    “Phasing?” I ask, never having heard the term before. “Is that a special type of teleportation?”
    “In a way,” he says, “but I do it on my own without needing to use a teleportation device.”
    I sit there and think about the events of the night. When Levi suddenly appeared in my sitting room, I noticed then how he teleported in without the flash of light usually