Starborn (The Order of Orion Book 1)

by Samantha Jane

  Lucas waited until Granger nodded in agreement before leaving the minivan. The fire alarm had stopped and they merged into the crowd now flowing back into the hospital. Many of the patients were distressed and required staff attention, allowing him and Granger to slip through a security door undetected. They took the internal stairs to the top level of the hospital, both silent and focused on the mission at hand. Opening the stairwell door, they found the corridor empty and began systematically searching the rabbit warren of rooms for Trilby and her patients. Over the years, Lucas had done plenty of snatch and grabs from mental hospitals—they were prime places for people who had emerging abilities they couldn’t control or understand. Queensgate was the same as the rest, full of lonely and dejected people huddled in ugly white rooms lit by over-bright fluorescent lights. But no Trilby and no Starborn.

  A loud crack reverberated through the ward. He stilled, trying to make out the sound and where it had come from. Another crack, and then another. Gunshots. And then screams and cries for help. Lucas pulled out his Beretta and checked the chamber. He turned to Granger who already had his gun poised. Lucas mouthed, “Noctem,” and Granger nodded, his face flushed with excitement. Rookies. So eager to fight, so eager to face death.

  “Cover me from behind. No heroics.” Lucas took a deep breath and ran along the main corridor straight into bedlam.

  So much for a covert operation. Their original plan was now null and void. Patients huddled in corners, staff ran in all directions, and still gunfire rang out ahead. Adrenalin surged through his body as he was greeted with the makings of a massacre. Blood streaked the white corridor walls. A security guard lay groaning and clutching his stomach. An injured doctor was dragging herself ever so slowly across the floor trying to reach a nursing station and the safe hiding spot it might offer. The blood she was leaving smeared across the floor looked like a sick and twisted treasure map to her hiding spot.

  Not that Noctem would search her out, she was only collateral damage. The rogue Starborn group cared nothing for ordinaries, unless they could be used to blackmail Starborn to commit horrific crimes. Use them as leverage, like they’d done to him and Danny. Memories rushed forward of his twelve-year-old brother being tortured with a retractable box cutter knife. All because Lucas had refused Noctem’s order to wipe the memory of a train conductor who caused the derailing of a commuter train. Some politician had been paying Noctem millions for untraceable accidents for political gain. Lucas hadn’t been able to do it and Danny had paid the price. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories, but not the pain—the pain was what drove him, what gave his life meaning. The chance to save other Starborn from the horror his family had experienced. It was why he believed in The Order of Orion and their dictum to find emerging Starborn before Noctem could claim them.

  His legs pumped like pistons as he raced down the corridor. Granger followed closely behind. Another gunshot sounded up ahead to their right. They skidded to a stop just before the corridor veered off in that direction. Holding up his hand, he indicated for Granger to wait. He popped his head around the corner for a quick scan. Two shooters. Five patients—one dead. And Trilby. She stood in front of the pyrokinetic Starborn, shielding the terrified girl. They were hemmed in with nowhere to go.

  Lucas turned back to Granger. “Two,” he said, his voice low. “One of them has the male Starborn cooperating with a gun to his head.”

  “And the pyro?”

  “Trilby’s protecting her.”

  Granger smirked. “Maybe we won’t need to do the kill order. They’ll do the job for us.”

  “On my count of five, you take the guy on the right who has the male patient. I’ll take the other…with Trilby.”

  Lucas took a slow, measured breath and silently counted out with his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one. They burst around the corner, guns firing, the scene unfolding in slow motion. As he squeezed his Beretta’s trigger, a Noctem shooter fired his own weapon. Trilby flung backward at the same time as the Noctem shooter dropped to the ground dead from Lucas’ hit. Granger’s aim was also on target with the other Noctem killed instantly. A blue-haired patient screamed as she rushed to Trilby who lay unmoving on the floor. Lucas swallowed hard. He strode toward the group. The pyrokinetic Starborn stood frozen, her eyes wide as he approached. Adrenalin continued to fire through Lucas. With the threat eliminated, he should feel more in control, but as he drew close to Trilby’s body, his mind stupidly hoped she lived. Ridiculous, because then he’d have to kill her.

  He took a final step to stand beside her. Blood oozed from a head wound and it looked scarlet-red against the doctor’s pale skin. His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe. It was only a graze. The Noctem’s shot had gone wide, the bullet striking her skin at a shallow angle.

  With unsteady hands, Lucas raised his gun and pointed it at Trilby’s chest. Her eyelids fluttered open and crystal blue eyes suddenly stared into his. And then her gaze widened as she took in his Beretta. Fear washed over him, wave after wave crashing over him, forcing him almost to his knees.

  What the hell? The rush of emotion he was feeling wasn’t his.

  He immediately erected his telepathic shield and her feelings disappeared. His mind reached out and submerged itself into the depths of her cerebral cortex. Saw images of her life. Of her hiding her ability.

  Doctor Willow Trilby was different. Starborn different.

  He lowered his weapon. Relief slammed into him. He didn't speculate on whether it was her emotion or his.

  Granger suddenly appeared at his side, his expression incredulous. “What are you doing?”

  “She’s one of us.”

  Granger stared at him like he was mad. “What? Have you lost your mind? We’ve got orders to follow.”

  Lucas shook his head. “No, we take her back.”

  “Fine, it’s your funeral if you’re wrong.”

  Trilby watched them, her brows pinched, her face a hideous shade of green. She was close to passing out again. He held out an open hand. “Come, we’ll keep you safe.”

  She hesitated, turning to look around at her patients. A sob wrenched from her as she took in the lifeless body of a middle-aged man. “Mark?”

  “He’s gone,” said Lucas, crouching down beside her. “We need to go. Now.”

  “The others?” Silent tears streaked down her cheeks.

  He knew instinctively what she meant. “Yes, we’ll help them too.”

  Her face lost some of its tension and she nodded her agreement. She struggled to stand but slumped back against the wall clutching her head. With a curse, he tucked his arms under her back and legs and lifted her to his chest. Her look of gratitude caught him off guard, and when she snaked her arms around his neck his heart began to race.

  Willow Trilby was no longer dangerous to The Order of Orion, but primitive instinct warned that she was a danger to him and his little used heart.

  4

  Willow

  Muffled voices and searing pain told Willow she was still alive. Her eyelids refused to open, and acted as a self-imposed blindfold. She knew she was in a vehicle by the sounds of gears shifting and the hum of an engine. Soft, gentle hands held on to her, intermittently stroking her hair and keeping her from rolling off someone’s lap. Paige. Her tortured, emotional aura was unmistakable. Willow cast out her emotional net, trying to connect to the auras of the people nearby. Immediately, she was overwhelmed with emotion. Confusion and fear swirled around her. Never before had she sensed other people’s emotions so strongly. She tried to sit up, but found her body was still on strike. Even her tongue refused to cooperate when she tried to moisten her dry, cracked lips. Shot. She’d been shot. She groaned in pain.

  “She’s coming around,” Paige called out before softening her voice to a soothing tone, “Doctor Trilby? Willow? Can you hear me?”

  Despite her best efforts, Willow couldn’t translate her thoughts into spoken words. She lifted her head slightly but the effort was exhaus
ting.

  “Willow, you’re okay. We got away.”

  “She’s awake?” Willow heard a deep voice from the front of the vehicle. Memories came tumbling back. A man with dark hair and the most intense pale green eyes she’d ever seen. How he and the other police officer had swooped in to stop the crazed gunmen from taking Paige and Gabriel. How he had almost accidentally shot her before realizing she was an innocent victim. She remembered the overwhelming relief she’d felt when he’d lifted her up into his strong arms.

  “Yes, she’s moving.” Relief radiated from Paige. “Willow? Doctor Trilby? Can you hear me?”

  She fought the darkness and again tried to sit up. Throbbing pain ripped through her skull. Sharp light pierced her vision as she opened her eyes to a group of blurry faces. “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  Isobel, her face stern, leaned over and gave a reprimand. “You scared the shit out of us!” Her heavy blue fringe hid the expression in her eyes, but her sharp tone was edged with worry.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Willow.

  “Keep her still,” said the same deep voice.

  As her vision cleared, Willow took in the worried faces of her patients. Isobel, Paige, Gabriel, and Jack were crammed into the back of a minivan, with her body stretched over several of their laps. When she maneuvered herself into a sitting position, the pain in her temple intensified. Despite the pain, her eyes were drawn to the driver’s seat.

  Dark hair and broad shoulders. Him. Her savior.

  Trees and fences blurred into one another as the van raced through the back roads away from Queensgate. Presumably they were headed for the closest police station and away from the chaos of the hospital. A few days ago, the threat of dismissal from work had felt like life or death, and now she had seen death for what it was. Horrific. Unforgiving. It wasn’t being fired or getting dumped or any other mundane human plight. It was Mark, his eyes unfocused, his body limp.

  She fought back tears, and her throat tightened in emotional pain that turned physical as she tried to swallow.

  “Water. Please,” she croaked.

  Isobel handed her an old plastic bottle and Willow took a few grateful sips before voicing her fears. “How many patients and staff were hurt…or killed?” Willow felt ill as she thought of the carnage she had witnessed at Queensgate before she’d lost consciousness.

  “We don’t know,” said Gabriel. “These guys got us out so quickly. They wouldn’t let us go back and check.”

  “I want to call Queensgate. Pass me a cell phone so I can find out what happened.” She would discover the fall out, even if she was afraid to hear what the details might be.

  Isobel shook her head. “We don’t have any, the blond man took them all. He said we need to be untraceable.”

  Willow slumped back against Paige, feeling helpless in her weakened state. She wanted to demand to know more, but exhaustion drew her back into dark oblivion.

  She woke to find herself the center of attention once again. Well, one person’s attention. But when his green eyes gazed down at her with such intensity, the rest of the world faded away. They stared at each other for an intense few moments. And then as if in a trance, her eyes took in his high cheekbones and square jaw before her gaze came to stop at his full lips. Those lips curved in a smile, transforming his face from unreadable and distant to something altogether different. Something that made Willow’s heart pound.

  His green eyes darkened and Willow was instantly breathless.

  “I’m Lucas,” he said. “How are you feeling?” He reached out and gently touched her cheek.

  The sensation of his fingertips against her skin sent her mind and body reeling.

  “I’m alive,” she said in a husky voice. “Thanks to you.”

  His expression instantly lost some of its warmth.

  “She’s awake.” Someone from behind Lucas spoke and then worried faces crowded around her.

  She glanced around and realized she was lying on a single bed in a cheap motel room.

  Paige bent down and put her arm around Willow, once again offering comfort. “Doctor Trilby, how does your head feel?”

  “Like a complete bitch,” replied Willow, much to the delight of the group. “And, please…everyone call me Willow. I think we can throw away any sort of formality after what’s happened.”

  Lucas still crouched beside her, his green eyes trained solely on her.

  “Willow?” Her name sounded exotic on his lips; the timbre of his voice deep and dark like sandpaper and honey.

  “Willow?” His glance turned troubled and Willow realized he was offering her a drink flask.

  Embarrassed, she greedily gulped down the liquid thinking it was water, only to gasp and cough from the fiery spirit that chargrilled her throat.

  “Have another drink,” he commanded. “I’m going to check your wound.”

  Willow was prepared for the pain of his inspection, but not the pleasure that came from his touch. Time slowed down as he carefully pushed her hair back from her face. His fingers were warm as they pressed softly against her skin. She cast out her emotional net toward him, but her consciousness was pummeled by the emotions of everyone except his. Closing her eyes, she tried harder to distinguish Lucas’ emotional footprint from the web of auras surrounding her. She could perceive nothing. Zero. Zip. Frustrated, she opened her eyes and saw him frowning as he inspected her wound.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said, tipping alcohol on her scalp.

  She stuffed her knuckles into her mouth. Gently, he dabbed her skin with a cloth and after a couple of ragged breaths, she felt back in control. “You were right, that hurt.”

  His mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “It needed to be cleaned.”

  “Thank you, but shouldn’t we be at a hospital? Or at your police station?”

  She heard a snort from across the room and turned to see the blond officer sitting on a chair in the corner. His legs were spread wide, his gun resting on his lap. “We’re not cops, sweetheart.”

  For a moment, all she could do was look back and forth from him to Lucas. Then it dawned on her. “You’re FBI?”

  “Baby, you’ve got no idea.” The blond slowly stood and dimples appeared as his smile widened. He put his gun in his shoulder holster and placed his hands on his hips.

  “Granger,” said Lucas, frowning.

  Isobel, who had been standing close to Willow, walked over to Granger. Her blue hair was in disarray and dark smudges underlined her dark eyes. She poked his chest with her pointer finger. “You said once Doctor Trilby was awake you’d tell us what was going on.”

  He peered down at the petite goth looking woman and grabbed onto her finger, his eyes glittered with amusement. “Baby, we’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.”

  Within seconds, Gabriel was standing in-between them. “Don’t touch her.”

  Granger made a show of holding his hands up. “Chill, chill, big guy. It’s all good.”

  The room suddenly filled with tension. Unlike Lucas, Granger was easy to read—on the surface he projected arrogance, but deep down, nervous tension rattled through him.

  Lucas stepped forward. The metal of the handgun strapped to his chest flashing under the exposed light bulb hanging from the ceiling. An image of Lucas aiming his gun at her in the hospital flooded her. Of him hesitating. She gripped the rank bedsheets. “I think when to know is now. What government department?” She looked back and forth from Granger to Lucas.

  “Answer me,” she demanded when neither answered.

  “We don’t work for the government,” replied Lucas, his expression dark.

  5

  Lucas

  As Trilby processed his statement her face paled, making the sprinkling of freckles across her nose more pronounced. Now that she knew he wasn't government, she’d be wondering if they were the good guys or the bad guys. He grimaced. The line was blurry, even for him.

  Her eyebrows pinched together and then h
er blue eyes narrowed. “Who then?” she demanded. “If you don't work for the government, then who?”

  He had no choice but to answer her question. Exhaustion pulled at him, his powers obliterated by overuse. Wiping over twenty individuals at Queensgate to erase any memory of their presence had sapped his strength. He scanned the others in the room. There was no way he could accurately and safely wipe five individuals. Wiping the two patients that would be left behind—the nerd and the goth—would push him to his absolute limit. He wouldn’t be able to wipe the Starborn for extraction back to the Sanctuary like he usually did. They were going to need to be convinced. Persuaded. Sweet-talked.

  “Well?” she said, her voice sounding like a school mistress. She pushed her long red hair back from her face and he couldn’t help but appreciate her pluckiness after all that she’d been through.

  He shook his head. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Why don't you all sit down.” He gestured to the other bed and the chair Granger had vacated.

  “Stop stalling,” she said. “Who the hell are you? And who the hell were those men at the hospital?” Her eyes filled with unshed tears and her voice wavered. “And why did they kill Mark?”

  Her patients moved to stand near her as if in protective formation. Lucas rubbed his eyes. He was in the military team for a reason. He was a soldier, not a politician. Flowery words didn’t come easy.

  Granger took the opportunity to take the stage, his eyes shining and his body still pumping with the adrenalin from the Queensgate fight. “Who are we?” he asked. “We’re your goddamn saviors!” He walked around the tiny room, looking at each of the Queensgate group in the eye. “Those murderous motherfuckers were from Noctem and they would have snatched you and made your life a living hell.”

  “Why us?” asked the blue-haired goth. “What the hell did we ever do?”