Sienna (Dreamcatchers Romantic Suspense Series Book 5)

by Jamie Garrett

  “It’s going to be hard, you know,” Payton said. “You, more than any of us, are so wired to your emotions. They’re the strongest part of you at times. But you already know everything you need to do to control this. You just need to remember.”

  “My emotions . . . maybe that’s what happened when I pushed those men up against the wall, when I made the bed shake. It’s gotta take some strength to do that.”

  Payton nodded. “Maybe.” She was looking outward, gazing off into the darkened sky. It would be dawn soon, but for now the moon was still the only light.

  “But then what’s in the bubbles? I don’t understand that part.”

  “They’re the parts of you that are so closely guarded they’re protected automatically by a shield. There might be things in there you don’t even remember right now. Only time will tell.”

  “But how did you get in there?”

  Payton turned, looking directly at her. “You made the decision to let me in.”

  Sienna closed her eyes, imagining she was standing back at her home. She was back at that night. When she walked in the door, her mom would be dead on the floor. She knew it, had seen it a thousand times in her mind, and yet she dreaded doing it again. She needed help. She opened her eyes, widening her gaze at the night spreading and snapping around her. She forced her mom’s face to the forefront of her mind, a smile from happier times. She held on to that image for as long and as tightly as she could, and then reached out and took Payton’s hand, snapping the bubble around them both.

  “Good. I’m seeing it.”

  The bubble snapped back, breaking on impact. Sienna pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, squeezing her eyes shot. “But I lost it.”

  “But you did it. The rest will come.”

  “Not yet.” And if it didn’t, they were screwed. Things were coming, whether they were ready or not. Cole had left to confront what they all knew was already lurking out there, seeking them. She squinted, looking out to the horizon. Isobel could be out there right now, somewhere deep in the desert. She had to protect everyone. The light arced and flickered, wrapping itself around both her and Payton faster this time.

  Payton nodded her head. “There it is. That’s your motivation. It all comes back to your emotions. You just need to find the right one.”

  Sienna nodded. The bubble hardened around her, and yet this time she could still see the world beyond. After nothing came lurching out of the dark, she calmed, and the bubble began to recede.

  “Can you keep that up longer?” Payton asked.

  She nodded again. “If I practice.”

  The shield was already beginning to feel more natural, a part of her, but the telekinesis was a different beast. The shield required intense concentration, but to move things required monstrous energy—more than she could control. She’d have to learn to wrestle it, how to pull it under her command. She only had a few short days.

  What was the secret? Was it just anger? She had to get mad at it? Like she’d gotten mad at the men in her room?

  Of course.

  Her mom had tried. She’d been telling Sienna all along. It just hadn’t made sense until right now. She’d gotten Sienna into sports early, anything that sounded like fun. At first it started with a simple game of ball. They’d go to a small park across town. There were loads of trees and not very many people. Her mom would set up a line of dodge balls for her to kick. She’d been young, maybe six or seven. Her mom showed her how to aim and kick. She’d told Sienna to concentrate hard on where she wanted the ball to go, and if she missed, to get mad at it. To focus until she could feel it. Sienna had clenched her fists, furrowed her brow, and kicked the ball as hard as she could. Nothing had ever happened beyond her aim improving, but her mom had kept at it.

  So Sienna was supposed to get angry? Good. She was pissed. She stood up, pacing back and forth, whispering the words her mom had used over and over. “Get mad at it. Get mad at it. Get mad at it.”

  She was mad. She was furious. Her mom was gone, her house abandoned. The man she felt like she could fall in love with had a target on his head—they all did. All because some freak had decided she wanted an army.

  “Get mad at it.”

  There it was. Crawling at first, but gaining speed. It was like a cloud, created from the need to protect—or perhaps attack—it all came down to intent. She understood that now. She and Isobel—two sides of the same coin.

  The rock she’d been sitting on split in two. How easy would it be to turn it over? Flecks of powder grated off as it slowly rotated in the air. She gasped with effort and the giant piece of boulder trembled in the air. Her hands gripped into fists and she laid it back on the earth before she couldn’t control its tumbling to the ground.

  Payton stood behind her, a quiet smile of satisfaction on her face. Sienna didn’t need to hear her mind to know exactly what she was thinking.

  31

  Isobel

  She was raised her entire life to know two things as absolute fact. There would come a day when she would have to fight to take her rightful place, and she would succeed. Her mother had told her every day that she’d been engineered to fit perfectly into the system designed for her, and Isobel believed her absolutely. She had been created to control and save humanity, and she would not fail. Failure was simply impossible.

  There’d be trials, yes. In fact, she was going through one right now. Every hero faced them. She would come out on top. She was fated for success. It didn’t matter that her mother’s mission was no longer the official party line. She could handle it herself, and when it came, success would be all the sweeter. Those in the government had grown weak, no longer prepared to do whatever must be done. It didn’t matter. She would show them all.

  Her world was focused, down to exactly what she needed to be triumphant in the current trial, and nothing more. The pieces were all falling into place. She’d tracked them down, gotten close to their base without the poor idiots even realizing. She just had to solve the local resistance problem and then she’d take her army back offshore, where officials were less concerned with “ethics”—Isobel made a face—and more interested in what her program could deliver them.

  First thing upon waking, she would take care of her morning ablutions and then sit, quiet and still. Her upbringing had been worldly, encompassing many different faiths and tools. A tutor from her childhood had believed that breath was the life force of the world, the power inside your soul. If she could harness it, she could do great things.

  Like finally move the fucking pencil.

  She spent hours, sitting and staring at her desk, re-enacting the breathing exercises she’d learned as a child. She closed her mind to everything outside, including everything and everyone currently residing in the compound, and focused her mind on that desk. After hours—days—of concentrated staring, she knew the very image of it. The grain in the wood, every little dent and scratched imperfection, the worn polish of the lacquer. She could form the image in her mind just as easily as if she were looking at it, eyes open.

  She spent an entire day doing nothing but counting the lines ingrained in the wood. She understood their patterns, even researching the materials, the wood, understanding it down to the molecules forming it. She would understand it entirely, and then she’d be able to move it with her mind. Understand something—know how it works—and you can control it. That lesson was clear from her mother since birth.

  She stared at the desk, unblinking, until her eyes grew dry and scratchy. Then she closed them and pictured it in her mind—every scratch, every groove. She concentrated until her hands were scrunched into fists and her lungs grew tight from lack of oxygen.

  Nothing.

  Finally, she could withstand it no longer and her eyes flew open as she inhaled, gulping in air. If only she could master ultimate control of her own body. It was holding her back, needing things she didn’t have time for. Already, she’d cleared herself of toxins, giving up cigarettes. What else could
she purge herself of until this was all she needed? She could live on power. Mastering this task—this simple task—would ensure she had enough to last her lifetime.

  But still, the desk sat. Disobedient, just like every other piece of furniture that had once been in the room. She’d removed it all, lamps, chairs, even her bed, when it failed to do her bidding. She would control her entire world, soon, but today it was her desk. She looked up, seeing it in a new light. How had she missed it before? There was something there, something evil, working against her. She could almost sense the defiance. It was everywhere. What the hell was it? How had she missed it before?

  That would not do. She was going to have to start a new regime, exert more control. If the desk would not move, then she would use people. They would do whatever she asked of them. Fear was a wonderful motivator. If she found that one of her people was the cause of this . . . disobedience seeping through the air. Well, she’d simply solve the problem. There was no room for anything else, not anymore.

  She pressed a button on the wall behind her, sweeping her robe over her body and securing it. She was beautiful. Her mother had told her endlessly how to use it, but her beauty wasn’t needed today. The man she’d called was undeserving of it.

  “Isobel?” Steven’s voice came through the wall speaker. An experiment, and a failed one, but he was large, and useful to keep around for the heavy lifting.

  “Have the desk destroyed.”

  She clicked off the intercom

  Steven entered the room, silently. He wasn’t allowed to speak to her in person. None of them were. Her voice was to be saved, as was every part of her. She didn’t even like to use the intercom system, but at times it was necessary. Her cell had gone the same way as her computer. Who knew what the radio waves and EMF might be doing to her powers? She would eliminate everything standing in her way, until she learned how to do what the other could.

  Sienna. Isobel seethed as the name rolled through her mind. She forced herself to forget it. She was nothing, of no consequence. She would either be captured and give up her secret, or Isobel would destroy her also. After she studied the girl, found out what make her tick, of course. That was the only possible way it could go.

  She hunched her shoulders, muscles tensing at a loud creak and then scraping sound, as Steven dragged the desk from her room. The noise grated on her, jangling her nerves. As soon as he was gone, Isobel lay down on the floor where the desk had been and tried to attune herself to any energy circling the room. The other’s life was simple. She was on the run and had only herself to worry about, while the weight of saving the world rested on Isobel’s shoulders.

  She would forget that, concentrate only on herself, until she figured out how to make all this work. She closed her eyes, imagining her body relaxing. Damn, she was so tense. Everyone expected so much from her. They looked to her for guidance, for their next meal. They wanted too much. Even her own body was betraying her, refusing to do as she asked. Perhaps it was time to start thinning the herd a little—starting with Steven. Yes, she’d remove all distractions.

  Decision made, a small amount of tension drained from her body. She exerted her control, letting herself focus inward.

  Relax.

  Her twisted muscles refused to yield.

  Relax.

  Goddamn it! The effort she was exerting to try to force herself to relax was only making her more tense. What was this? Something was seeping through her world, destroying her every effort. There had to be something blocking her. Nothing else made any sense.

  “Isobel?” Steven’s voice came through the intercom. Hesitant, quiet. She ignored him. He’d be gone soon enough.

  “Isobel,” the voice came again, nagging her. “We’ve captured one of them. Only a man, but one of them. He was found walking out of town. He killed two of our men, but we took him in the end.”

  Her head snapped up. Who had broken away and been stupid enough to walk directly into her hands? Better yet, who was this going to disable? Those girls were so stupid, tying themselves to a man. That could only serve to make them weak, compromised. There was nobody that could hurt Isobel, or be used to force her to comply. A bright smile painted her face. This was exactly what she needed. It didn’t matter who they had. The stupid sense of friendship—no, of family—the girls had struck up was going to be their undoing in the end. They wouldn’t leave one of their own to suffer, and when they came, she’d have them all.

  She dressed, quickly and efficiently. A pair of pants, long-sleeved shirt, and sturdy boots. She didn’t need fancy clothes. Isobel wasn’t going to charm anyone today. There was a far more effective method. Leaving her room, she walked swiftly through a series of subterranean tunnels, to where she’d set up her lab at this place. It was a simple setup, nothing special. She’d lost all that when she’d been forced to flee their original lab. All because some sniveling government couldn’t handle what needed to be done. She passed through the concrete passages, lit dimly, just enough for security cameras to function. When she entered the room, two armed guards stood over a man, who was on his knees. Bowing to her—perfect.

  “Let him up.”

  The man was pulled to his feet, and she walked forward. Grabbing his chin in her hand, she forced his head back. Just who did she have?

  “Do you know who I am?” She traced her finger along his cheek. He was handsome, really, if you could look past the fatal flaws. At least the others had good taste. Perhaps she could find places for their men, once they were captured. It could be useful to refresh her army. Men with real training, not the complete idiots she was left with after the betrayal.

  Cole jerked his head away, but his gaze held on to hers. He was defiant. But she would break him. She watched him, held his gaze so he would know who had the power here. Then she turned, walking to the door. She would be back later, when he was ready.

  “Make him scream.”

  32

  Sienna

  Sienna lay quietly in bed, still. Sleep wasn’t going to come any more easily than it had in the last few weeks. Ever since she’d found her mom lying dead on the floor, sleep would only come when she reached a state of utter exhaustion, only letting her rest long enough that she could start moving again. Short bursts, naps in between nightmares, was all the rest she got now.

  Still, there was no need to wake Jace. If Keila was right, they had hard days coming, and soon. If he could sleep, then let him sleep. She slid from bed, allowing his hand to glide over her body and gently fall away. He grunted in his sleep, wrapping his arms around the pillow in her absence, but he didn’t wake. She dressed silently and left the room, walking outside to where she could practice.

  Things were going to get completely crazy, perhaps even within days, and she had to be ready. Her power had to be strengthened and brought under control if they were to have any hope at all. She refused to be the weak link. Sienna sat on the front steps, allowing the cold morning air to wake her up. She stared at a potted cactus on the porch. Wasn’t there enough of those things sprouting naturally around here already? She focused on it. The pot was small, plain. She could get rid of it, shoot it across the property, bouncing it along the ground until it was merely pieces. She’d already managed that with a giant boulder. How hard could a cactus in a pot be? The light shimmered inside her as she stared, but Sienna cut it off. Yeah, she could throw stuff around, but that was all. She wanted more.

  Anger was the emotion behind the destruction. She could feel it coursing through her, and after just a few tries, it was already easier to call up. But what if she didn’t want to destroy the pot? Could she simply pick it up? What did she need to do to simply lift something? What happened if she was holding something and she let the anger get the better of her? She closed her eyes as her muscles clenched tight. There it was. There was anger inside her—there always was. Anger toward those who killed her mom, more recently for what had been done to others. And now? There was a new, festering wound. She was mad at her mom, and mad a
t herself. She didn’t want to be the key, the link that everyone needed. She was especially angry at her mom for making her what she was. Creating her to fight an army and then abandoning her, right when she needed her most.

  Her eyes snapped open and the pot shot to the top of the stucco ceiling and shattered.

  More destruction. There had been enough of that in her life. Enough running. She wanted something more. She could do something more. If only her mom had left her something to go on, more than just vague information hidden away in dusty old boxes. Sienna placed her hands behind her, leaning back, her mind drifting back to what Payton had said earlier. Her emotions were the key, but they weren’t everything. If she controlled them, she’d control it all. The anger was explosive, violent. It was forceful, but it drained her fast. What if there was another way? Her mom had been through so much, running and hiding her child. Maybe she hadn’t been able to move past her own anger. Sienna took a deep breath. It might have been the only way her mom knew how to show her, but she would find another.

  She stared at a shard of terracotta pot. The surface was matte, but brightly colored. It was soft, in a way—softer than the rock she’d thrown across the field. It needed a gentler touch. She remembered what Payton had shown her, out in the field. Her force field—bubbles—weren’t solid, but made up of thousands of golden strands of light. The light was where all their power came from, in the end. They were so different, but in the end they were the same. If Payton could grab a single strand of light and manipulate it, move it around, then she could, too. She closed her eyes and reached out for the energy, pulling up just a fleck. It was as small as a grain of sand, but she could hold it. The rest filtered away through her fingers, but she held fast to that one glowing spark.