Inescapable (Talented Saga #7) (35 page)

Anya turned to look behind her. I put my
hand on her shoulder to draw her attention back to me.

“
Look, Anya, I cannot tell
you how grateful I am for your help. I know I screwed up with
Konterra. That woman hates me, and I shouldn’t have let her get to
me. It’s just, after she told me about Victoria voting to execute
me, I lost it. If you hadn’t already been planning this escape,
well, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Using my talents
in front of two guards sort of sealed the deal. Not that it
matters, since UNITED was already hell-bent on offing me.” Anya’s
rambling must have been contagious, now I was doing it. I took a
deep breath to regroup. “I can’t let you get in any more trouble on
my account. Go to your family friends. Let them hide you until this
all blows over. If the vote goes our way, and if you want to, go
back to UNITED and tell them I compelled you. Otherwise, stay in
hiding. If the treaty isn’t renewed, well, I guess do the same
thing. Or maybe it’s better if you stay in hiding. I don’t really
know. The islands can’t accommodate all of our kind, so maybe it’s
better if you stay with your friends.”

“
No. No, that’s not how
this works. I knew the consequences from the beginning. Please,
come with me. It will be safer for you. For both of us.”

I swallowed my guilt. In a way, Anya was
right. She wasn’t a fighter. If she encountered trouble in the form
of UNITED agents, she’d be easy prey. But they wouldn’t hunt her
the way they would me. I truly believed that.

“
No, Anya.” I smiled sadly.
“The safest place for you is as far away from me as possible.”
Another pang of guilt over what I was about to ask Kenly to do made
my stomach cramp. “As soon as I can, I’ll contact Victoria and tell
her that I forced you to help me. It won’t matter that Konterra and
Les say differently. Once Victoria learns we aren’t together,
UNITED will stop looking for you.”

I flipped the release switch.

Anya’s protests were drowned out by the wind
and rain suddenly whipping about the small cabin. I stood on the
seat. Anya’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, attempting to pull me
back down.

“
You can’t leave me. You
don’t understand,”
Anya shouted inside my
head.

I blocked her. Too much more of her pleading
and I would stay. In my gut, I knew going separate ways was in
Anya’s best interests. Mine too, if I was being honest. Alone I had
more options, could take more chances. Anya would only slow me down
and likely get me caught. I’d be too worried about protecting her
to save my own butt.

“
I’m sorry!” I screamed,
yanking free of Anya’s hold. Then, I closed my eyes and
concentrated on the bird form that had become my go-to
morph.

It had been a long time since I’d morphed,
but the change came quickly and easily, though not painlessly. When
Anya grabbed for me a second time, several black feathers were her
reward.

Racked with shame and guilt for leaving her
to fend for herself, I didn’t look back until I was soaring high
above the pod. By the time I did, Anya and the pod were little more
than a spec in the distance.

Flying was exhilarating, liberating, and it
felt amazing after so much time locked in a cell. The air tasted
cool and fresh. Even the rain pelting my feathers couldn’t ruin
those first minutes of absolute freedom. I’d missed this so
much.

Being directionally challenged, I’d plotted
a course using the pod’s GPS system prior to take off. Once up in
the air, the map I’d committed to memory wasn’t so easy to follow,
though. I had a general idea of where England was in relation to my
point of takeoff and hoped that was going to be good enough.

The sky was dark, sapphire blue infused with
brilliant streaks of pink and gold. In a matter of minutes the sun
would emerge, hopefully driving away some of the rain with it.

I flew north and west, feeling good about my
course as the air grew colder and figuring that was probably a good
sign. But when day finally did break, the rain was no longer
refreshing; it was hard and sharp and clung to my feathers,
weighing them down. Flying became increasingly harder. The wind
howled around me, great gusts whipping my small bird body in first
one direction and then another, and soon I was very far off
course.

Diving low to see if flying closer to the
ocean’s surface would help, I surveyed my surroundings for a place
to land and wait out the storm. The lower altitude did me no
favors. If anything, the conditions were worse.

Waves rocketed across the water’s surface,
crashing into one another and sending up geysers of frigid salty
spray. Soon, tiny icicles hung from my wings, throwing off my
equilibrium. Great gale-force winds rolled off of the tumultuous
black sea, pushing me back towards the sky. At the same time, the
air above smacked me down like a giant fist swatting a pesky
fly.

It wasn’t long before icecaps dotted the
seascape.

Too far north,
I thought frantically, but had no idea how to
correct my course. And that was even assuming I could manage to
correct my course. The squall was so intense. It was all I could do
to stay in the air.

A ginormous wave swelled up out of nowhere.
The crest hit my right wing, sending me into a tailspin. Long,
liquid fingers reached up out of the sea and pulled me under the
water. Conflicting tides yanked my body in too many directions to
count. I felt like the favorite ragdoll of quadruplets, each of
them having seized a limb and tugging in an effort to claim
ownership. For a long, terrifying moment, I thought it was the
end.

Erik’s turquoise eyes, eyes I wanted so
desperately to gaze into one more time, filled my mind. Images
flashed behind my own eyes: My and Erik’s first meeting at my
Hunter tryouts; our first mission, when I’d stupidly gotten myself
stabbed and he’d taken away the pain so that Henri could stitch me
up; the first time we’d kiss; the night after the Coalition
attacked a medical facility and Erik returned to my hotel room and
we made love for the first time; the last time we’d been together
at Victoria’s family home, Walburton Manor.

No!
I screamed inside my head.
Fight.
For him. For us.

Harnessing all of my strength, I flattened
my wings against my sides and darted in what I hoped was the
direction of up. My bird head broke the surface. Icy cold air
burned my lungs as I soared higher and higher towards the
ever-darkening sky. Lightning flashed in my periphery, sending a
bolt of fear lancing through my heart. When I’d concocted this
ridiculous plan, I’d never imagined so many potential pitfalls.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, terrible
and ominous.

I needed to find land. Any land.

I stretched my wings and halted my ascent.
Gazing down below me, I once again searched the seemingly endless
sea for a coastline or an island. It was like looking for a
pinprick-sized hole in the world’s largest blanket.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky in
two, the cymbal crash of thunder directly on its heels this time. I
was flying in the center of the storm. The next bolt was so close
that it singed the tip of my wing—just enough to send me into free
fall.

It happened so fast. My mind didn’t have
time to conjure the images of Erik this go-round. I hit the water
back first, Erik’s name an indecipherable screech when it left my
beak. Then, the world around me fell silent, and I was lost to the
darkness.

Violent tremors racked my body from head to
toe. Punishing wind swept across my bare skin like a giant broom
with razor blades instead of bristles. Water licked the soles of my
feet, occasionally climbing up my legs and over my stomach to cover
me in a wet blanket made of ice, only to be ripped away a moment
later.

My mind was as numb as my fingers, the cold
seeming to freeze my emotions so that I lacked not only the
strength but also the desire to move.

“
Is she alive?” a voice
called from a distance.

I tried to open my lids, but the simple
everyday task took a herculean effort. It felt as though my
eyelashes were coated with mascara made of pure lead. In the end, I
managed only small slits that allowed in just enough sunlight for
me to wish I’d saved my strength.

“
She’s moving,” a second
voice answered, this one closer than the first. “Run back to the
house and tell Andromeda to get a bed ready.”

“
You’re going to bring her
back to our house?” the first voice asked incredulously.

“
We can’t leave her here,
she’ll die for sure,” the second voice replied. “Go now. Quick.
I’ll be right behind you.”

A rustling noise came a second later, and
then warmth enveloped me. But the cold had seeped deep into my
bones and my body continued to quake with aftershocks. I felt
myself being lifted. A long, low moan escaped my lips. Hot
pinpricks of pain ran down my right side as though hundreds of fire
ants had decided to make a feast out of my exposed skin.

“
Shhhh. We’ve got you now.
You’re going to be just fine,” a soft voice murmured near my
ear.

This time, when I attempted to force my
eyelids open using sheer willpower, I succeeded. The face staring
back at me was more animal than human, with a great mane of fluffy
white hair circling its head and three green slashes across each of
its cheeks. Deep-set midnight blue eyes sparkled above razor sharp
cheekbones.

“
Where am I?” I mumbled
unintelligibly, the words slurring together so that it sounded like
another long groan.

“
Shhhh,” the creature said
again, and I got the impression it was female, but couldn’t say
why. “Don’t try to talk,” she added.

My head felt fuzzy as though full of cotton,
and too heavy for my shoulders. I was no longer cold, but I wasn’t
warm either. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything at all. A remote
part of my brain knew this was bad, that my body was shutting down.
The worst part was that I couldn’t muster the strength to care in
that moment. I closed my eyes and let the darkness claim me once
again.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for
what felt like a very long time.

The first time I came to, I was lying on a
cot in the corner of a dimly lit room, bundled in thick blankets
that gave off a musky odor that reminded me of the way a horse
smells after a long, hard ride.

A figure was standing opposite the cot
facing away from me, apron strings tied in a bow at the small of
its back. Judging by the small stature and sheet of dark hair
cascading down past the shoulder blades, I assumed the person was
female and probably young. She held a large bowl in the crook of
one arm and was using a wooden spoon to mix the contents. Over the
soft clangs of the spoon hitting the sides of the bowl, I could
hear the girl humming quietly.

I wondered what she was making. Eggs?
Pancakes? Oatmeal? My stomach growled at the thought of food, and
then I passed out again.

I next awoke to find the girl hovering over
me, the back of her hand pressed to my forehead. Her skin felt cool
against mine. She smiled serenely when my eyes fluttered open and
our gazes met. I tried to speak, but my lips felt as though they’d
been welded together and nothing short of a crowbar was going to
pry them apart. The girl shook her head from side to side
adamantly. She leaned closer and I realized she wasn’t a girl at
all. There were deep lines etched in the loose skin around her
mouth and eyes, and her dark hair was shot through with streaks of
white and gray.

“
Rest,” she croaked, her
voice hoarse and oddly deep for such a small person. The hand on my
forehead slid down over my eyes, the bridge of my nose, and lightly
brushed my mouth and chin.

I got the distinct impression she was
telling me to close my eyes.

When I didn’t comply immediately, she added,
“Safe.”

A tingly sensation swept over me, and
suddenly I did feel safe. I let my eyelids fall shut. Just as I was
drifting off yet again, it occurred to me that not once since
arriving here—wherever here was—had I worried about my safety.

The sound of two people talking pulled me
from a dreamless sleep for a third time. The fog inside my head had
cleared some, enough that I was mildly interested in the speakers’
conversation. Ears open, eyes closed, I laid still and listened,
hoping one of them might say something that would give me a clue as
to where I was.

“
Where did you find her?” a
man asked.

“
Ross and I were out on a
hike,” a girl replied.

I thought her voice sounded familiar but
wasn’t positive.

“
Yes, but
where
exactly did you
find her?” the man insisted.

“
You mean like the exact
spot?” the girl asked.

I smiled. Classic stall technique.

“
Yes, Emma, that is
precisely what I mean.” The man was losing his patience.

I heard something that sounded like the sole
of a shoe scrapping against dirt and envisioned the girl, Emma,
kicking the toe of her boot into the ground out of habit.

“
On Freedom Beach,”
muttered Emma reluctantly.

“
Emma,” the man spat
angrily.

Between Emma’s guilty tone and the man’s
harsh reply, I assumed Freedom Beach was off limits. It also seemed
the girl, Emma, had a penchant for pushing boundary lines.

“
You know better. What if
you’d been caught?” the man demanded.

“
It’s free land,
Dad
,” Emma said with the
contempt of a petulant teenager. “We’re allowed there. Everyone is
allowed there.”