Nightingale (The Sensitives) Part 39

The blond woman begins chanting. The water quivers, but it keeps climbing the bank.

But what's a little water going to do? Get their shoes wet? With my palm turned up, I slowly raise my hand, and the water rises into a sheer curtain separating Dawson from our attackers. I form a fist and punch my arm toward Eamon. The wall of water crashes down on them.

And they're gone.

"Lark?"

A scream erupts from my throat and I stumble backward.

Beck Channing stands before me. My heart accelerates into an erratic pattern and sweat beads along my hairline. I swing my head around wildly, looking for Eamon. How stupid of Dawson and me to not protect our rear. How stupid of me to think Beck wasn't working with Eamon.

The easiest thing would be to transport. Immediately.

No. I'm not a coward. I'm stronger than him. And I always have been.

"If you didn't notice, Eamon isn't here," I sneer, hoping I sound more threatening than I feel. Beck, Ryker, and Maz stand near the tree, looking down at Dawson and me. I may not be a tactical genius, but I know we're in the weaker position.

My eyes meet Dawson's. "Behind them," I whisper before transporting to the other side of the tree.

The three boys turn in unison and Beck throws up his hands. "Lark, stop. I just want to talk to you."

Every muscle in my body tightens in antic.i.p.ation. Dawson stands at my side, waiting for my command. Where the h.e.l.l is Annalise? Why hasn't anyone sent backup?

"Talk to me?" A shaky laugh escapes my lips. "Is that what you call it when you send Eamon after me? You can't even fight your own battles?"

Beck runs his hand through his blond hair. "I didn't send him."

I snort. "Right." I focus on Maz. "Kyra's not going to be happy about this Maz. You're in so," I launch a tiny spurt of magic at Maz's feet and he jumps, "much trouble." The ground before him catches fire.

"Not funny," Maz says as he blots it out with his foot.

"I'm not exactly known for my sense of humor."

Dawson touches my arm. "I need to remove you. Now."

"But I'm just getting started." I bat my eyes and smile at Beck and his friends. "I think the boys have missed me. Haven't you?"

Beck steps into the empty s.p.a.ce between his group and mine. "Look at you. Gnas.h.i.+ng your teeth like a feral animal, circling me. You don't know what to do, do you? Why is that, Lark? Is it because you know this is wrong?"

The wind swirling around us picks up, and the canopy of leaves rustles. I turn my face toward him. My chest constricts under the pressure of my racing heart. "Are you upset because I'm bad, or because I'm so d.a.m.n good at it?"

"This isn't you." He plants his feet wide and folds his arms across his broad chest as if he can force me to feel things I don't.

"Yes, it is," I scream. An irrational sense of misery pummels me. Why do I care what he thinks?

Beck lunges at me, and it takes me a second to understand that he's attacked me not with magic, but with brute force. I'd expected a magic-on-magic battle, but he surprised me.

I fall backward, my mind racing to recall Mother's lessons, as the air around us snaps and cracks from Ryker's attack on Dawson.

Beck reaches out to me, his hand hovering in my face and I twist it. I want to throw him to the ground, but he grabs hold of my arms and pins them to my side.

I thrash, pus.h.i.+ng against his body, and attempt to wrap my leg behind his in hopes of knocking him off balance, but he antic.i.p.ates my move and avoids my knee. Once, long ago, we used to play fight like this. He taught me how to escape every hold possible.

So why can't I escape?

Calm down, Birdie, Beck says to me in his maddening mind-speak.

My lungs deflate. How dare he use that name. How. Dare. He.

"Get out of my mind! Out!" I ram my head into his chest, but his arms tighten and he clutches me closer.

A low snarl forms in the back of my throat and with a surge of energy, I bash my hips backward. Beck stumbles, but he doesn't loosen his grip on me and we fall to the ground. Our bodies roll over and over each other. Rocks jab into the soft parts of my skin and sticks break beneath us. Just when I think I've finally got the upper hand, Beck grabs one of my flailing fists and pins it over my head.

"You love me," he says. There's a hint of urgency and worry in his voice.

My heart hammers at the wall of my chest. I channel my energy and visualize throwing his weight off me. But instead of the typical rush of magic flooding my system, I feel like I've hit an invisible block. Like the slippery s.p.a.ce between two like-sided magnets. My magic creeps along his, searching for a way to penetrate whatever sh.e.l.l he's pulled over himself. Nothing works.

I bang my head against the ground in frustration. "Get off me," I order. "Or I'll call for help."

Beck shakes his head. "Call everyone you know. Show them how I caught you." Tears drop from his eyes and splatter on my chin. I watch each one fall with growing horror. This boy, my enemy, is crying.

And despite his obvious weakness I can't-no, I don't want to-hurt him.

"Birdie," he says, loosening his grip on my wrist. "Please, stop this. It isn't you."

I squirm beneath him and get just enough leverage to throw Beck to the side. I scramble to my feet as he leaps up.

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" I shout. I don't know why, but my heart thrums, not in fear, but with some other type of feeling. "Is that what you're doing?"

He reaches for me, but I jump back. "I told you once, I'd never hurt you. And I won't. But I can't watch this anymore and not try to help you," he says.

"I don't need help and I don't need you."

Sorrow fills his eyes and he takes a quick step forward. "You can bruise my hands and scratch my skin, but you can never make me not love you," he whispers, stretching his arms out to me.

I hold my hands behind my back and imagine the cool, hard metal of a restraint. I reach out to the item, like Oliver taught me until it's physically in my hands. Behind me, Dawson continues to fight with Maz and Ryker, but I keep my eyes on the prize: Beck Channing.

A slow smile forms at the corner of his lips as I step forward to greet him. I don't pull away from Beck's kiss. He presses harder, his tongue darting carefully along my mouth until I yield and let him devour me. With a shudder, he grasps the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

And when he least expects it, I slap the restraint around his wrist.

35.

With every minute that pa.s.ses, my mind slowly unravels. Piece by piece, Beck Channing chips away at it.

I clench my teeth and dig my nails into the cus.h.i.+on of the couch. Since we took him and Maz into custody, Beck's been a.s.saulting my mind non-stop. If only I knew how to block him.

And then there's, Ryker. He escaped the fight, and even though Dawson put out a Society-wide alert for him, our chances of finding him are slim. With his training, he could be anywhere.

It doesn't help my nerves. A free Ryker is a dangerous Ryker.

I can help you, Beck says.

Have you forgotten you're in jail? I reply.

Tomorrow, Beck will be paraded across the Sentencing Stage, with a red wristlet around each of his arms. And even though I haven't officially recorded my sentence, there's only one I can choose: death. He's accused of a.s.sa.s.sinating my mother, and for that he must pay. Just as I swore before every member of this Society.

Dawson taps his finger against my desk. Thud. Thud. Thud. We've been waiting for news of Oliver for the past hour. We both know he's dead. But until there's official word, then perhaps there's still hope.

Perhaps, but probably not.

Beck's voice works around my brain. I need to see you.

"No," I say aloud.

Dawson lifts his head from the data he's studying. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing." I flick at the seams on the couch. "What are you working on?"

He beams an image to the wallscreen. It's a mark-up of the fight we had with Eamon. "Getting close to Eamon will be all but impossible now. You probably had the best chance at the creek."

The way he looks at me speaks volumes. Once again, I had a chance to rid us of Eamon and I didn't follow through. Instead, I sent a wall of water after him.

Pathetic.

I don't even know who I'm fighting anymore. The Splinter group? Beck? The people of our Society. Or the wars Mother engaged us in with every other major Society.

My chin quivers.

Mother was right; my predictability is my biggest liability. Only I wasn't the one who paid the price.

Dawson's wristlet pings and he touches the area behind his ear. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I have news." His voice cracks. "Oliver is dead."

Even though I knew it, hearing the words aloud send stabs of pain into my body. Poor, sweet Oliver.

"We'll need to do something for Fiona." My voice shakes and I don't hide it. We're all grieving today.

"I'll see to it."

We both stare off into s.p.a.ce, letting the finality of the news sink in.

I sigh. "Any word on Kyra?" I ask. After delivering Oliver to Annalise, she disappeared.

Dawson shakes his head. "I've pinged twice in the past ten minutes. She's most likely busy taking care of...things." He drops his voice.

"Check the jail," I say with a sinking heart. "If she heard of Maz's arrest, that's where she is."

Dawson wipes his finger across the screen of his tablet. He nods.

I sigh. Looks like Beck is going to get what he wants.

Kyra sits on the rough, cement floor with her forehead pressed against the metal bars and her fingers are curled around them.

"You need to go home," I say, touching her shoulder. "Annalise needs your help."

"You promised you wouldn't hurt him." Maz sits across from her, his fingers stroking hers. He doesn't acknowledge me.

I suck my upper lip between my teeth and breathe deeply. Kyra may be my best friend, but she's making a scene. "Have I hurt him? He seems fine to me."

"You're going to send him to a work camp."

I run my hand over my mouth.

"Would you like to join him? Would that make you feel better?"

She turns her head to the side and glares at me. "Why can't you admit you made a mistake? You hurt Lena and now you want to send Maz away."

I notice she doesn't mention Beck. Funny.

Anger boils inside me, and I lift my hand. I'm about to strike her face, when my heart sputters.

"Lark?"

I turn slowly. Beck's olive green eyes captivate me, and I shuffle closer to his cell. His s.h.a.ggy blond hair hangs a little too long in the eyes and his clothes look like they haven't been changed or cleaned in several days "Where were you hiding?" I ask. Perhaps I should try to get information from him before he's condemned.

"In old buildings, worried you or the Splinter group would catch us at any moment."

"So you want me to believe you're not working with Eamon?"

He grimaces. "I swear I never worked with them."

"Where's Ryker?"

"I don't know."

What a mess, I think.

You can fix it.

Beck reaches through the bars. His fingers graze the back of my hand leaving a trail of energy in their wake.