Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4)

by C. S. Churton

  “We couldn’t reach him by phone, and Ephraim isn’t exactly going to welcome us back with open arms.” His eyes flick to the two young runaways. Yeah, I bet he isn’t, not after they walked out with two of his best absas. I slump down in my seat. So much for that.

  “We’ll find him,” Scott says. “If you want him here, I’ll find a way to get a message to him.”

  I’m not blind. I see what it costs him to make that offer, and I see the way his face contorts with pain every time I mention Iain. He thinks I’m in love with the cop. As if anyone else could have brought me back from the brink the way Scott did. As if I could love anyone other than him.

  I shake my head.

  “We can’t afford the distraction. Every day we delay is another day Pearce has to prepare.”

  “Anna…” Joe’s warning tone cuts across me and I catch his eye. I’ve got this. We’ll take down Pearce, and then we can worry about fixing me. I can hold it together that long. He holds my eye for a moment and then nods.

  “Talk us through the rest of your plan,” I say to Scott.

  It’s not really a plan. More like a list of reasons any plan we come up with couldn’t possibly work. We debate the pros and cons of various methods of attack for hours, until I’m beyond the point of exhaustion, and the violent flashes are playing out almost constantly. I push my chair back and stand up.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. I just need some air.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Mika says, rising from her chair. Rohan reaches out and grabs her arm. She frowns at him.

  “Rohan’s right,” I say. “It’s not safe for you to be around me right now.”

  “Lie,” she says with a trace of a smile. Hm, interesting. I guess some part of me knows I won’t hurt her… except she can only read what I believe to be true, and good intentions only count for so much. Especially when I’ve spent the better part of the last hour visualising ways to abduct her and deliver her to my one-time master.

  “You know what,” Joe says, pushing back his chair. “I think I could use some air too.”

  I nod my thanks, grateful for our chaperone. At least if Savage Anna gets any ideas, Joe should hear them before we can act. Bring a taser. I don’t say the words aloud because I know Scott will freak out if I do, but then, that’s the beauty of hanging out with a mind reader.

  “Let’s break for lunch,” Nathan suggests, practically dragging Scott in the opposite direction. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

  A few minutes later we’re sitting outside the dilapidated barn, surrounded by nothing but fields, trees and freedom. I run my fingers through the soft grass, marvelling at the warm, smooth blades. It’s been too long since I sat on anything that wasn’t made-man – for real, and not in an illusion. It feels like a lifetime ago I last stretched out on the grass, letting the sun gently tan my skin. A cry sounds high above me, and I tilt my head back with a smile, tracking the bird as it wheels against the bright blue sky.

  Apparently, Scott’s been taking notes on the Ishmaelian guide to setting up a hide-out – there’s no-one around for miles. Probably for the best. Would have been tricky explaining my incarceration to the cops.

  Mika is sitting quietly beside me, as caught up in the farm’s casual beauty as I am – or maybe just giving me a moment to appreciate it. Joe’s standing unobtrusively somewhere behind us, giving us some privacy. Except not really, because he’s constantly scanning my thoughts, waiting for me to lose control. He coughs and shifts his weight. If I looked behind me he’d have an apologetic expression on his face. An unnecessary apologetic expression, I chuck in for his benefit – I’m glad he’s keeping an eye on me. Someone has to.

  I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turn to Mika.

  “Helen says you think you can help me?”

  She nods and her gaze slides off to one side, then she makes an obvious effort to look directly at me. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, and she returns it. I hope mine didn’t look that forced.

  “What Doctor Pe– Sorry, I mean–”

  “It’s okay, you can say his name, I don’t mind. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.”

  “Lie,” she says sadly.

  “Okay, let’s try that again. I need to get over my aversion to hearing Pearce’s name, and I don’t want you guys to have to walk on eggshells around me.”

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand.

  “When Pearce,” she emphasises his name, “reprogrammed you, we think he only suppressed the real you. That’s why you’re having trouble understanding what you’re really feeling. Your imposed persona is conflicting with your real personality. My gift can help you understand which is which.”

  I pluck a blade of grass and toy with it as I run her words through my head. When I’d first met her, she’d explained that her talent detects the contradiction between your words and your convictions – even if it’s unconscious, like when you’re lying to yourself – so long as deep down, you don’t believe it. So maybe she’s right, maybe she really can help me find who I am, help me shake the violent images and the barely suppressed rage. If I just knew I–

  The thought slams into me with all of the force of a baseball bat to the gut, knocking the wind out of me, and the hope with it. I rip the blade of grass in half.

  “It won’t work.”

  “Pessimistic, much?”

  “No, it won’t. It can’t.”

  Wrinkles appear in her freckled forehead.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m… different. Whatever Pearce did, it changed me. Gave me some sort of immunity. I can break through Duncan’s illusions without blinking. Helen’s talent can’t even touch me. Dammit!”

  “Anna?” I start at Joe’s voice behind me, then smile bitterly: Pearce would’ve been pissed I’d dropped my guard. Small consolation. I twist my head back to squint up at him against the brightly lit sky. Pretty sure he’s smiling. Pretty sure there’s nothing to smile about.

  “Think again,” he says, his smile broadening. Child, I retort mentally, but my heart’s not in it. His face gets serious and the rest of him catches up.

  “Anna, for such a talented woman, you can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”

  Cheeky bloody git, I spit mentally at him, and– Oh! No wonder he’s looking so damned smug.

  “Your talent still works on me.”

  “So does Scott’s. In fact, anyone with a passive mental talent can get through your defences. It’s only active mental talents you’re blocking.”

  He pauses for a beat while I digest that, then adds;

  “I wonder if Rohan’s talent would work on you.”

  “Yeah, let’s not find out.” I’m in no hurry to be flung across a room by the telekinetic to test his theory – but I do want to test it. Because if Joe’s right – and he has to be – about me developing some sort of immunity to active talents… well, Pearce has been collecting them. They make up almost all of AbGen’s defences, and not one of them would be able to touch me.

  “Sorry, Mika,” I say, pushing myself up off the ground. “Our chat’s going to have to wait. I think I’ve got a plan.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Anna, there’s no way I’m letting you walk in there – it’s suicide.”

  “Are you forgetting that Pearce made me into a weapon – both mentally and physically?”

  “Are you forgetting that there are people here who care about you?”

  The others are standing back watching as me and Scott face each other down. I sigh, and nod. I was forgetting.

  “Okay, so what’s plan B?”

  Scott looks relieved, and the tension drops out of his shoulders.

  “I still think we should wait until you’re stronger before–”

  I cut him off impatiently with a shake of my head.

  “We’ve been over this. The longer
we wait, the more time he has to prepare.”

  “Then we need more people.”

  “The Ishmaelians?”

  Scott nods and my enthusiasm returns.

  “You really think–”

  “We can do this. Together.”

  We’ve closed the gap between us without noticing, until only a few short, electrified inches separates us. I grin up at him until Nathan’s voice breaks through.

  “Jeez, can you two decide if you’re going to fight or f–”

  Helen cuts him off with an elbow to the ribs, but the smile stays on his face.

  “Both. First we’re going to fight Pearce, and then,” I hook a finger in Scott’s top and draw him closer, “you and I, Mr Logan, are going to–”

  “Alright, alright! Question withdrawn. I’ve just eaten.”

  I laugh and break away from Scott. But not too far away. The more time I spend with my former lover, the more my body remembers exactly how it feels about him.

  “So, the Ishmaelians, huh?” Nathan says, looking decidedly sceptical. “Are you sure Ephraim isn’t just going to shoot us on sight?”

  I’m sure he meant it to be sarcastic, but he’s not wrong. You don’t gate crash a rebel faction’s hideout, take advantage of their hospitality – not to mention their resources – then walk out taking two of their most powerful absas, and expect their leader to welcome you back with open arms. My expression turns glum. Scott may have burnt our bridges there – with the best of intentions, and thank God he did otherwise I’d still be in Pearce’s thrall – but still.

  “He’s going to take some convincing,” Scott admits.

  None of us suggest using Helen’s talent to force Ephraim on side, because we all know taking that path would make us as bad as Pearce. But I’m not afraid to take it, if that’s what it takes to put AbGen down. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, because I’m not sure there’s any coming back from there.

  I look around the room at all the faces staring at me. At all the talents staring at me. Scott, the tracker. Helen, with her awe-inspiring perception control. Joe, the mind reader. Mika, lie detector. Rohan, telekinetic. Duncan, illusionist. And me. The ultimate weapon: shifter, fighter, projector, shield. I nod confidently.

  “We’ll just have to be persuasive. We’ve got a hell of a lot to offer him, and he wants the same thing we do.” Or so he claims, I add silently to myself, recalling his reticence when Scott and I first joined forces with him.

  “He spent years keeping his people in hiding,” Joe disagrees with an apologetic look. Bloody mind reader snooping on my thoughts. His expression turns guilty and I give him a no-hard-feelings smile as his continues, “I’m not sure he’ll be willing to take chances for some outsiders.”

  “He’s right,” Nathan says, his voice tinged with regret: no-one loves a good scrap the way Nathan does.

  “Then we’ll have to show him it’s in his best interests.” I turn to the illusionist. “Duncan, how strong’s your talent?”

  *

  I glance at my watch; we’ve got only minutes. I look around to confirm everyone’s here. They are. Scott waits for me to give the command – this is my party – and I hold his eye for one of our precious seconds, take a breath, then give a terse nod.

  As one, we rush the building. They’re going to see us coming but we can’t worry about that now. Their guards are half-trained at best, and we have speed and surprise on our side. Not to mention Joe, who can tell us if the defenders manage to get any of us in their crosshairs, and Helen who can convince them not to pull the trigger – if she can get close enough.

  Nathan swings his shotgun up on the fly and blasts two holes where the door’s hinges are – or where they used to be. Now they definitely know we’re coming. He tosses the shot gun and pulls his pistol from its holster. Mine’s already in my hand as I burst through the door, hot on Scott’s heels. It’s loaded with rubber bullets, with live ammo in a spare magazine on my hip. We haven’t come here to kill anyone. Scott sweeps low and I go high, firing off two shots that both hit their mark, taking down the guard on the balcony before he has time to bring his weapon to bear.

  Beside me, Scott’s pistol barks and I hear another body hit the floor. I don’t spare him a glance. Two more targets on the balcony but as I adjust my aim they both collapse – Joe and Nathan have wasted no time flanking me. I lower my weapon.

  “Rohan?”

  He steps forward and raises an arm, using his telekinesis to drag the prone figures to the floor in front of them. Duncan and Joe close in, quickly securing their wrists with plasticuffs, making sure they stay out of the fight. I spare my watch another glance: forty seconds gone. Scott and Nathan are already pushing towards the door out of the entrance hall, and I fall in beside them. The door swings open before we make it, and half a dozen figures pour in. We raise our weapons and take out the first three, but even more are flooding down the hallway. We’re outnumbered. Badly.

  “Duncan, Rohan!” I shout back over my shoulder. Two of the figures drop to the floor, caught up in Duncan’s illusion. That means he’s out of commission until he brings them back. At the same time, four figures go flying across the room, colliding with the wall with enough force to make me wince. I lock eyes with the telekinetic and nod.

  “We’ll keep them busy,” Nathan says. “Find Ephraim.”

  I nod, then grab hold of Scott and Joe, and shift to the room I know Ephraim is in.

  The room fades to darkness as we arrive inside it, and for a heartbeat the entire base falls unearthly silent as every single electrical object goes offline.

  To Ephraim’s credit, his voice is steady when he speaks.

  “Anna.”

  “Ephraim,” I return in the same stoic tone as Joe unsheathes his copper-wrapped torch and flicks it on, illuminating the man sitting calmly in his chair, with only the slightest trace of fear tightening around his eyes. Most people would miss it, but I’m not most people. Behind me, I hear Scott fall back to cover the door, but I don’t take my eyes from Ephraim. Joe stays half a step in front of me, so that the Ishmaelian leader can’t read the expressions on our shadowed faces.

  “So this is how it ends, then?”

  He sounds disappointed rather than afraid, like he’s being kicked out of the cinema before he can see how the movie finishes. On the other hand, the temperature in the room is fluctuating like crazy, so I know it’s just an act. That’s his talent – temperature control, and like all of us, it’s tied to his emotions. Sounds cool, but in reality, not so much. He could take out maybe one of us, but that’s it. The fact he doesn’t try to freeze or fry any of us tells me he’s not thinking about going out in a blaze of glory. He still wants to live.

  The torch flickers. I don’t bother to check my watch. We’re running out of time.

  “That’s up to you, Ephraim,” I tell him.

  I shift behind him, grab his arm and shift again, leaving the boys behind.

  Ephraim retches as I dump him on the floor of my old cell in Pearce’s basement. Waste not, want not.

  My captive stops retching long enough to look around, take in the bars, shackles and bloodstained walls, and heaves again.

  “You know where we are, right?” I ask, looking down at him with contempt. He nods. Of course he knows where we are – who else would have a torture chamber but his old friend Pearce?

  “He’ll be back soon. If I left you here, do you think the rest of the Ishmaelians would come looking for you?”

  “Don’t–”

  “I’m not sure they’d be able to find you in time. Question is, how long could you withstand Pearce’s torture before you told him where to find them?”

  I glance pointedly at the shackles and my own blood staining the floor beneath them. If it’s possible, he goes even paler.

  “Not long enough, I think,” I tell him casually, like we’re discussing the weather. “He can be very...” I grimace. “Creative.”

  “You can’t leave me here.” His voice
is close to desperate. He’s not worried about missing the end of the movie now – he’s worried that his action adventure is about to become a horror. He should be.

  “Why not? You left me here.”

  He flinches from the steel in my accusation. Behind him, one of the lights starts to flicker.

  “Besides, you’re just going to end up back here if you keep burying your head in the sand anyway. Pearce is coming for you, and he holds all the cards. Might as well use you to get him off our backs for a while.”

  “No! What do you want? Tell me!”

  “I want you to answer the phone.”

  He looks around the barren cage in confusion. As he does, I pull my pistol from my hip. His eyes widen as he sees the shining black muzzle pointing right at him.

  I smile and pull the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I open my eyes and blink rapidly as they adjust to the dim lighting inside the van. Everyone is watching me expectantly. I nod, then wince as the movement sends stabbing pains through my skull.

  “It’s done. He’ll answer. He’ll be pissed as all hell, but he’ll answer.”

  Helen nods and dials the number on her mobile. We figured she’s the one Ephraim is least likely to hang up on, especially after what he saw us do in Duncan’s illusion. I ease my neck to the side, and see him propped against the wall, looking weak and aged.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Dinnae worry about me, lassie,” he croaks, which makes me worry all the more. His illusion was incredible, but it’s clearly taken its toll. He kicked everyone but me and Ephraim out as soon as I “shifted” him to the basement, but the effort of holding us all in the illusion together, complete with all of the conjured Ishmaelians, must’ve taken more out of him than he’d let on. I know how he feels.

  “You two make a hell of a team,” Joe says. He’s not wrong. With my mental efforts bolstering his illusion instead of fighting it, Duncan had managed to make an even more convincing show than we’d hoped. Speaking of which...

  “What was with the bonus Ishmaelians coming through the door? I almost faded them right back out – I thought we agreed three.”