We set off toward the vehicles again. As soon as we started moving, Erik and James both began sweeping their gazes over everything in our field of vision, never fixing on anything for more than a couple seconds.
“Talia says you can’t use your Talents, is that true?” Erik asked after a couple of feet, yelling over the noise all around us.
“Yeah. They injected us with a suppressant,” James responded, shouting to be heard.
Erik solemnly shook his head. The look on his face was understanding, fear, empathy, and suspicion all rolled in to one. It was one hell of a look.
Instinctively, I felt put off that he would act like he could relate to what we’d been going through—what did he know about being forcibly stripped of his powers?
Then realization dawned on me. The Director had Erik arrested. He’d spent a week in one of TOXIC’s maximum security prisons.
The troubled look in his eyes told me that he understood what it was like to be deprived of something so integral to our very natures.
“Here, take these.”
Erik slowed enough to hand his assault rifle to James. Reaching behind his back, he brandished a handgun that had been tucked in to his belt and, surprisingly, handed it to me. Relieved of both guns, Erik was left with only two throwing knives that he pulled from holsters on his thigh.
Had it been anyone else, I would’ve felt bad for taking their weapons, would’ve refused to relieve him of both firearms. But I knew Erik didn’t really need them. He himself was a weapon far superior to any inanimate object.
“Thanks, mate,” James said, accepting the rifle eagerly.
My legs burned as our pace increased again. Adrenaline was keeping me going, but lack of food and all of the chemicals still running through my bloodstream were starting to take a toll. I kept weaving from side to side, like I’d been guzzling champagne inside with the buyers.
Ultimately, I lost my footing all together and tumbled forward, somersaulting several times before finally coming to a halt. My skull bounced off something sharp—a rock?—and pain exploded in the back of my head.
James screamed my name, but I barely heard him. I moaned and tried to get my bearings, tried to stand, but the blow to my head had made me dizzy and I was seeing double.
Rough hands were under my armpits, pulling me to my feet.
“Kenly! Kenly, are you okay? Look at me!”
James’s voice was a million miles away.
I blinked and three fuzzy James’s danced before me. I blinked again, and then only two moved from side to side. When I blinked a third time, only one set of platinum eyes stared back at me, just inches away from my face.
James had his arms over my shoulders, was running his hands through my hair.
It’s not exactly the right time for that, I thought, giggling.
When his gentle touch brushed over the base of my skull, I realized James was assessing the damage. Boooo. The pain was excruciating as his fingers lightly probed the back of my head.
“Sorry,” James said, wincing in sympathy.
When he withdrew his hands from my hair, his fingers were dry. No blood.
“How is she?” I heard Erik ask
Erik had stayed close by, making sure no Poachers reached us while James looked me over. And Erik appeared to talking to himself. How odd. When I noticed his hand up by his ear, I felt like an idiot.
Right, the comm system.
“Clumsy,” I grumbled, making an overly exaggerated angry face.
“She’s okay,” James called back, smirking.
“Good,” Erik called. “Do you think you can run for just a little bit longer?”
If nothing else, the fall and the pain had brought another surge of adrenaline and knocked me out of my stupor. I no longer felt dizzy or weak. The only thing I felt was a strong urge to get the hell out of there.
“Yeah,” I yelled back. “I’ve got this.”
That was the honest truth. As long as I never had to see this house again, I could run, duck, evade, and escape for as long as it took.
“Great. I’m thinking it’s probably best if we don’t go for the hoverplane. All those guards are still over with the vehicles, and there’s absolutely no reason for us to grapple with them. Just head for that.”
Erik pointed straight ahead of us, where one of the helicopters sat on the lawn like a duck on a pond. The aircraft was still spinning its blades, ready for an immediate takeoff. The sight of the escape vehicle, and the knowledge that we could use it instead of fighting our way through the other group of guards, gave me a surge of energy and vigor.
We were going to make it out of there. Against all odds, we were going to make it.
Eighty yards, that’s it. Just eighty yards and we’re home free. That’s a piece of sweet and delectable cake, I coached myself.
Over James’s shoulder I caught sight of Talia, Angus, and several others UNITED agents, all running across the lawn in our direction. The Poacher guards the agents had been exchanging blows with tried to pursue, but between the helicopters and reinforcement agents, they didn’t make it very far. Some took cover on the porch, while others retreated inside the Monroe’s house of horrors.
Erik only had eyes for Talia. At first, I thought it was a sweet, albeit poorly timed gaze passing between them.
Talia and Erik are professionals. They know to save the longing gazes for a more opportune, much safer time.
Talia looked away, to the helicopters, and then back to Erik, nodding. Evidently, they were forgoing the comm unit in favor of a mental chat.
“Let’s go,” Erik called to James and me before racing towards our ticket to freedom.
Both James and I followed, immediately breaking into a hard run and drawing even with Erik.
Seventy yards.
Once caught up, we kept pace with him, running in a side-by-side line.
Fifty. This is what it feels like to be part of a real team.
The thought leapt into my head unbidden, and for a moment my mind drifted back to what could have been. What I should have been—a Hunter.
Forty yards. Over halfway.
We passed beneath one of the hovering choppers. The swirling blades were creating a windstorm, dirt and debris flying through the air all around us. Despite the excessive hairspray and pins that had kept my hair in place until then, as we passed through the gale, strands of my hair began to come loose from the elaborate up-do the aunties had given me.
Thirty yards. Almost there.
Twenty.
Our pace was way faster than I was accustomed to, but it felt so good putting distance between me and the despicable auction house.
Fifteen yards. So damn cl—
Shit.
I halted abruptly.
The guys stopped running, too.
Erik trotted back to where I stood.
“Kenly,” James called from ten feet in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” that was all I managed to get out, every ounce of my focus having been wrenched elsewhere.
The tiny figure was still charging across the lawn, now half the distance from where I’d first spotted her.
Her pixie haircut was no longer sleek. Mussed, stick-straight pieces of hair poked out from her head.
Pint’s weapon was drawn.
She closed one eye and aimed at our group.
But not for me.
James’s muscular body stood between me and the barrel of Pint’s gun.
Pint was going for the only thing that would hurt more than a bullet through my own heart.
Though the result would be the same.
As though I were standing right next to her, I saw Pint’s itty bitty finger tense as it moved to pull the trigger.
James.
Instinct took over.
Without a second thought, I stepped in front of James, blocking his body with mine.
I held my breath.
Pint pulled the trigger.
I closed my eyes and w
aited.
AND WAITED.
And waited.
Was I in shock?
Was I already dead?
When crippling pain didn’t consume me, I dared to open my eyes.
Pint was smacking the barrel of her gun as if that would make it fire properly.
She was out of ammunition. She was out of ammunition.
The tiny Poacher swore loudly.
Rationally, I knew that I should get in the helicopter. Leave. Forget about the girl who had made my life a living hell. But, in that moment, Pint was the living embodiment of every humiliating act that I’d been subjected to in the last twenty-four hours. I wanted her to pay, wanted to make her hurt.
“Kenly! No!”
With a twinge of guilt, I ignored James’s shouts and charged at my undersized oppressor. Without a single second of hesitation, I launched an attack, unleashing every ounce of fury I’d ever felt.
My Talents may have been dormant, but I was still a trained combatant.
Unfortunately, so was Pint. She matched me blow for blow.
Focused and determined, I recalled every tip, every trick, every single piece of advice I’d received from Talia and Donavon.
Stay low.
Protect your face.
Don’t forget about defense. Block.
Move around, make her come to you.
Follow through every move.
Anticipate. Think.
If all else fails, aim for the gut.
Using the four steps between us to gain momentum, I dropped my right shoulder and drove it in to Pint’s diaphragm with every bit of strength I had. Wrapping my arms around her midsection, I continued driving forward, letting my momentum carry me as, together, we crashed to the ground.
Without pausing or hesitating, I used her body as leverage and pushed myself up so I was kneeling above her. The pocket-sized pain in my ass was pinned flat on her back with my knees grinding into her ribs. One of her arms was trapped against her side, the other struggling to push my weight off of her.
Pint clawed at the tear the guard had made under the bodice of my gown, ripping the silky fabric farther until a patch of my skin was visible. Short nails raked across my flesh. Blood welled up in four thin lines.
Scratching? Really? That’s absolutely ridiculous. You fight like a girl.
Feeling what could only be described as a cross between vindication and triumph, I cocked my fist back and prepared to deliver the knockout punch. Twisting my body away from her so that the hit would carry more weight, I reminded myself to strike as though I was punching through her face.
Just as I swung, an intense, searing pain shot through my calf, clearing my brain of every other thought. Loud alarms were clanging in my head, alerting me to the gravity of the damage.
Predictably, my body’s reaction to the pain caused the blow to glance off the side of Pint’s face.
Wondering what sort of massive, supercharged bee had come along to sting me, I looked around for its immense dead body. Something that could cause that degree of pain should be easy to spot.
Instead, I saw James sprinting towards me.
That couldn’t be good.
Finally looking down at my leg, I saw the handle of a small dagger protruding from my calf muscle. That bitch had sunk the blade in all the way to the hilt.
“Kenly, duck!” Erik hollered.
As if on autopilot, I rolled to my uninjured side. A dart arced through the air, landing dead center of Pint’s forehead.
Laying there on the ground, a knife still embedded in my leg, I felt all my energy dissipate, like a soul leaving a dead body. Although adrenaline is supposed to kick in with an injury like mine, it had already surged forward and given me vitality countless times that day. I was done.
Just when I decided that the plush grass would be the perfect place to take a much-needed nap, James scooped me up as if I weighed nothing. The short sprint to the helicopter felt like it took a lifetime. He ducked through the open doors, which slammed shut behind us. Only three seconds later—I counted—dozens of dull thuds slammed into the chopper’s metal frame.
Though I smiled, imagining Pint’s tiny fists beating against the doors in the hissy fit of the century, the image didn’t last long.
“Please tell me this thing bulletproof!” James hollered to someone who wasn’t me.
That made more sense, considering Pint was dead to the world, the recipient of a syringe full of the same mind-numbing sedatives that she’d given me.
I giggled nonsensically.
Mind-numbing. Cause she was shot in the brain.
Shot, though, not actually dead, I thought with disappointment. What a shame.
I felt that stomach-dropping sensation that only accompanies rapid ascent and knew the helicopter was airborne.
James had my head cradled in his lap. Warm, rough fingers traced the outline of my face, my nose, my lips. I was hot. I was cold. Sweating one second and shivering the next. My head and leg were throbbing in perfect, agonizing unison.
“Make it stop,” I groaned and James held me tighter.
“Do you have something to give her? For the pain?” James asked.
Instead of answering James, I felt Erik kneel next to the bench-style seat where I lay.
“Look at me, Kenly,” he demanded.
Erik’s tone, while commanding, wasn’t unkind or hard. But it did carry a weight, an authority that I was helpless to disregard. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to obey Erik, just as I had that night at the Hamilton.
I turned my head to meet his gaze. The pull of those turquoise irises was hypnotic and I found myself riveted, unable to look away.
“What’re you doing, mate?” I heard James ask.
I giggled. “Mate,” I parroted with mock seriousness, speaking in what I thought was a good imitation of James’s accent.
“Just helping her to relax,” Erik said breezily, his gaze still locked with mine.
Unlike when I stared into James’s beautiful face, I felt no spark, no stirring in my belly, no overwhelming, undeniable urge to touch his lips with mine, while staring into Erik’s.
I did, however, feel an overwhelming, undeniable urge to sleep. In fact, sleep sounded like the greatest thing in the world. Better than birthday cake with thick, creamy frosting. Better than movie night with Alana and Francie. Better than my mother’s homemade, from-scratch chicken pot pie. Better than beating any cyber-gaming system known to man, including Helix.
Not better than kissing James, though.
No, kissing James Wellington was beyond comparison.
“How does she function with so much nonsense constantly running through her head?” I heard Erik grumble.
Was he talking about me? Because I was pretty sure I was the only ‘she’ on the helicopter.
A disembodied voice inside my head commanded me to: T urn off the inner monologue and go to SLEEP.
You know what? I told that very bossy voice. I think I will.
I CAME TO with a jolt.
When my eyelids fluttered open, I found James staring down at me through his thick lashes. Relief quickly replaced worry in his exhausted platinum gaze. He smiled as he smoothed loose strands of hair back from my sweaty forehead.
“We’re about to land,” he said softly.
“Land where?” I croaked.
“A safe house,” came Erik’s voice from somewhere to my left.
Looking around from where I lay, I was surprised to find that the helicopter we’d commandeered had an unexpectedly expansive interior. As I tried to slowly sit up, the aircraft came to an abrupt halt.
Pain shot up my leg as I was jostled in James’s lap. Wincing, I tentatively reached down to the place on my calf where the knife had been protruding from my skin the last time I looked. Instead of cold metal, my fingers brushed a soft, gauze bandage.
“Wound’s deep but not too serious. Give it a couple of days and you’ll be right as rain,” James said.
“Did you p
lay doctor while I was asleep?” I asked, smiling.
“Actually it was your mate there, Erik,” James replied. “He’s a proper medic.”
Turning to thank Erik, I found the helicopter’s side door open and him already climbing out.
Carefully, as if I was made of glass, James helped me off of the bench-style seat and onto my feet. I was relieved to find that putting pressure on my hurt leg, though painful, was not excruciating.
“Think you can walk alright?” James asked, looping an arm around my waist without waiting for an answer.
Together we took several cautious steps towards the exit. Walking was only slightly more painful than standing, and James’s physical support ultimately proved unnecessary. And yet, I still leaned into him, taking emotional comfort from his nearness.
Once our feet were firmly on the helipad, I caught sight of a group of people congregated not far away, on the expansive lawn of an impressive English estate. It wasn’t the size of the home in the distance that held my attention. No, it was the welcome party waving frantically at James and me.
Willa, Honora, Riley, and Francie stood ten yards away with Erik and Talia set slightly apart. Riley had his arms wrapped around Willa, hugging her tightly against his chest as if he planned never to let her go again. Though they’d clearly just met, Honora had a supportive arm around Francie’s shoulders, which shook as my best friend sobbed silently.
Talia’s deep purple eyes came alive when she saw me, relief smoothing the creases around her mouth and eyes. She started forward, taking two steps before Erik caught her arm and pulled her back. She tried to shrug out of his grip, but Erik held firm.
Back at the Monroe’s estate, Erik had been kind to me. But his harsh glare made my steps falter and my heart skip a beat. The same hate I’d seen smoldering in his turquoise eyes that night at the Hamilton was back. And I didn’t understand why. What could I have possibly done wrong on the ride over here? While unconscious no less.
I’d seen Talia and Donavon communicate mentally enough times to know that while my former mentor was not actually speaking out loud, she and Erik were having a conversation. Her irritation was evident in her pursed lips and tensed muscles.