Pirate Bound: A Prequel (Telepathic Space Pirates)

by Carysa Locke

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dem didn’t take the same Viking Sanah and Nayla arrived in. There would be a certain poetic justice if he did, but he preferred smart to poetic. He prepped one they’d stolen off a Rescue station, one of the few models to come equipped with stealth flaps, and a more powerful engine for faster re-entry—or escapes, as the case may be.

  He didn’t know how Niall had tracked the girls. Veritas might have some Hunters on the payroll. It would be foolish to believe that particular trait exclusive to the pirates. Dem was living proof of their genetic dominance. He was only a quarter Hunter himself, yet the ability to track a mind on the psychic plane had bred quite true.

  There was one small setback. The only imprint he had of Niall was tainted by the minds of others’. But he could get around that. Niall had to be relatively close, to manage what he’d done.

  For now, he ran the pre-flight check and tried not to think about Sanah.

  “You were planning to leave without me?”

  He didn’t even turn around. “Treon. Go away.”

  “No.”

  Dem suppressed a sigh. “I notice you’re not speaking telepathically; clearly, you should still be in bed.”

  “And leave you to die, nobly trying to slay your lady’s dragon? I think not.”

  Dem swiveled the pilot’s chair around and found his brother slouching on the crew bench, a metal flask in his hand, looking slightly better than the last time he’d seen him. At least, his color had improved. He gave him a measuring look.

  “Just how did you manage to get here?”

  A droll look. “I walked, obviously. How are you planning to find Niall?”

  Dem said nothing. He swiveled his chair around and went back to prepping the Viking.

  “Ah, I see. You have no plan. You’re just going to go on your instincts, is that it?”

  “I have good instincts.”

  “And I have a better way.”

  “Last I checked—you were the telepath in the family, not the Hunter.”

  “Exactly.” There was enough of his usual smug satisfaction in the word to grab Dem’s attention. He fired up the engines to start the launch cycle and turned around again, hands on his thighs.

  “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”

  Treon took a long drink from his flask before he spoke. “You think a single bout of mental combat was really enough to lay me so low? You think I would meet someone so close to matching my own ability, and then let it go?” He shook his head. “When he relinquished Leanne, I followed his psyche back to the source. That is why I find myself in my present condition.”

  “So, you can find him.”

  “I can find him—mentally. Physically? As you have pointed out, I am no Hunter.”

  Dem sat back, considering. He watched Treon raise the flask to his lips again. The idea had merit. In different circumstances.

  “I don’t think you’re ready,” he said reluctantly, because he knew the response that would get. He was right.

  Treon sat up, his eyes flashing with anger and affronted pride. Dem suppressed a sigh. Treon had always been the emotional sibling. The youngest, lost in the shadows of his brothers for much of his childhood, until the depth of his telepathic ability became apparent.

  “Not ready?” he repeated in a hard voice. “You dare judge my mental capacity?” You presume to dictate over me?

  The words were spoken with enough mental force to make Dem wince. But it wasn’t changing his mind. “Haven’t I always? Treon, stop. Take stock. You’re only here because you dragged yourself, drinking mnemosa the whole way. You should be in bed.”

  But I am not. I will not let this go, Dem, whether you allow me to aid you or not.

  “You’ll risk burning out your gift?” Dem didn’t believe it.

  Treon gave him a withering look. “And why do you think I even approached you, brother? Were I at my full strength, I would have simply hunted Niall mentally, and ended him myself. As it stands, I must call upon your strength.”

  Dem stared, shocked. Treon didn’t kill people. He played with them. He rewrote memories sometimes. He didn’t kill them.

  A thin smile spread across his brother’s lips. “You think I could be raised beside you and not learn a thing or two? I am capable of killing, Dem. Perhaps not so gifted as others in that regard, but quite capable, given the right circumstances. These are the right circumstances.”

  As Dem stared at him, an automated voice behind him let him know the dropship was ready for launch. “What do you propose?” he asked at last.

  “We attack him on the mental plane, together. I help you find him; you use your skills to kill him. He should be at diminished capacity, unless this Veritas has something far better than mnemosa at their disposal.” Treon paused, cocking his head as he considered. “Perhaps, if we’re lucky, I’ll be able to mine some information about this secret organization from him before he dies.”

  Dem eyed him. “As annoying as you can be, I don’t particularly relish the idea of an empty husk in place of a brother. You’re sure you can do this without burning out?”

  It should have been difficult to look arrogant while slouching weakly on an uncomfortable crew bench. Treon managed. “Do you really think I’d risk myself so?”

  “If it meant removing a possible rival for your infamous most powerful telepath in the universe title?”

  “Dem, really. We are adults. No need to dredge up embarrassing childhood labels.”

  “Fine.” Dem swung around and powered down the Viking. “We’ll do it your way.”

  “Excellent.” Treon upended the flask, drinking down whatever remained within it. When he was done, he tossed it aside and straightened up in his seat. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  Then we are away.

  Space and time were odd things when physicality was left behind. Distance still applied, but crossing it depended on the mental strength of the Talent in question, whether it was telepathy, as they were using, or Phantom’s more unique gift of manifesting a nearly solid representation of himself. Neither Dem nor Treon possessed that gift, so this would be a battle purely on the mental plane.

  Treon guided them, his mental presence overpowering, his mind linking so closely with Dem’s that their thoughts blended and merged. Usually, he took pains to control it when joined with others. Not this time. It burned brightly white, almost blinding if Dem tried to pull back and focus directly on him. So he didn’t.

  When two minds connected in this way, to think something was to say it.

  I will not burn out before we reach Niall, Treon stated deliberately, having sensed the apprehension in Dem’s mind. I am pacing myself.

  Dem didn’t know how.

  I know my limits.

  They sped outside the Nemesis, quickly leaving behind the majesty of the enormous Monarch-class ship, her Commonwealth markings long since burned from her hull. Stars swept by. First slowly, bright balls of yellow, blue, red, and orange. Then faster, pinpoint streaks of light streaming past.

  Here, Treon said. He is here.

  Everything stopped.

  A Charion Triatt orbited a fuel station, the sort of merchanter that only the very rich could afford. Three cargo holds, twice as many guns to protect whatever they carried, and it was armored. The very best civilian money could buy.

  Niall was inside.

  They passed through the hull and into the ship itself. The cargo holds were empty. Fifteen hands crewed her, fifteen minds, all of them Talented. None burned so bright as the brothers’, except Niall.

  Do we kill them all?

  Yes, Dem said. But him first.

  They weren’t fortunate enough to find him incapacitated, as Treon had hoped. Niall sensed them. He threw up shields that glittered like titanium-dusted diamond. He sent a deadly mental bolt that rebounded off Treon’s shield.

  I thought you said he’d be hurt.

  He is. But his shields are incredibly
strong…ah, of course. He’s drawing upon the others.

  Dem reached out. Their shields were not as strong as Niall’s. He found the weakest among them, and moments later, the man slumped over his post, brain dead. He moved on to the next, leaving Treon to deflect Niall’s increasingly aggressive attacks. With each death, Niall’s shields lost some of their strength, their splendor fading.

  Then he spoke, his voice furious. Do you wonder why we fight so hard against you? Look at this waste, the lives you cost.

  The memory of their mother dying, of their aunts and cousins, filled Treon’s mind. Anger whipped through him, relentless and hot, spilling into Dem. Dem thought, too, of Nayla, of what Niall had intended for her Talent.

  He thought of how he’d meant to kill Sanah.

  How easily you discount all that you have done, Dem coldly said.

  We are the same, Treon added. The difference is, we don’t attack the innocent. Women. Children.

  We are not the same, Niall insisted. We support the Commonwealth; we are the power behind the Monarchy; we do what is necessary for the good of humanity. You are chaos. You seek to destroy all that we have built. We are truth; you are lies.

  You have a twisted sense of truth, Treon said. He attacked Niall’s shields.

  All it took was one weakness, one tiny hole. Dem waited, worrying as Treon’s bright pool of Talent started to flag and dim. It began to seem a race; who would falter first. Then Dem killed the last of Niall’s crew. Treon leapt upon the advantage, gathering the last of his strength in a blinding assault.

  It overwhelmed Niall. His shields flickered, and dipped…Dem arrowed past them before he got them back up, but he stopped short, stunned. Treon was already inside.

  What are you doing?

  Saving you, came his brother’s dry tone.

  Treon.

  Working, Dem. Quiet.

  Treon lacked Dem’s ability to find the switch in the brain that turned it off, to know exactly the point to strike, to effectively kill someone with one mental blow.

  But there was more than one way to kill.

  Niall fought him, even here. But now past his shields, Dem could see the damage he’d already suffered. Their previous combat had left wounds behind, angry red places within Niall’s mind, edged in dangerous black. Black meant darkness. Black meant Talent burned beyond saving.

  Black meant death.

  Instantly, Dem’s gift told him which was the weakest. A carefully applied bit of pressure here, and…

  Got it!

  Dem expected Treon to go for the place he’d already identified, but his brother did things his own way; he used his own flagging strength and fed it to Niall. Power surged, brilliant white washing over the red and black. Niall screamed. His mind literally burnt itself out in seconds.

  His voice went silent.

  Dem pulled back, taking Treon with him. His brother felt too light, that bright energy now a soft, dim glow, feebler than Dem had ever seen it. He would need Dem’s help to return his conscious mind to his body. For one endless moment, that coldness within him considered leaving Treon here to die. His brother had stolen his kill.

  Now, you won’t have to tell Sanah that you killed her brother, Treon said, exhaustion making the words heavy.

  Dem wrestled with the Killer within him. Niall was dead. Dem had played a role in that, even without delivering the final blow. Niall killed our mother. He was ours.

  Treon, though, had lost his mother, too. The coldness subsided.

  You always have to do things the hard way, don’t you? Dem told his brother, carefully cradling him close and moving back toward the distant tether of their physical bodies.

  You’re welcome. That’s what brothers do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sanah knew the instant she stepped into her quarters that she wasn’t alone. She saw him before she sensed him. The lights were dimmed, a soft glow illuminating the furniture. They outlined a shadowy figure, unmistakably large, emanating that nothingness she had come to associate with one particular man. She stopped, confused.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone…”

  “We did. Treon and I. We tracked Niall mentally, not physically.” Dem looked down at his hands, shadows playing across his face. “We found him.”

  An endless moment passed for Sanah, who swayed where she stood.

  Her first thought was—Dem is alive. Her second—My brother is dead.

  Relief crashed through her, so intense she couldn’t breathe. And on its heels, a wave of aching sadness. She would grieve for Niall, for the brother she’d known before their parents died. But not for the man he had become.

  Dem.

  The light caught the suit clasp at his throat, and when he stepped forward, it slanted across the hard, chiseled lines of his face. Her breath caught, her pulse quickening.

  She wanted to ask him why he was here. She couldn’t get an emotional sense from him. Had he come simply to tell her Niall was gone?

  “Niall is dead.” She forced herself to say the words, although she couldn’t make them a question. She knew it was true before Dem spoke.

  “Yes,” he said, the word flat and emotionless.

  “I don’t—I don’t want to know anymore.”

  He took another half step forward. “I should tell you. I was there; I helped him. But…it was Treon, not me, who delivered the killing blow. He made me promise I would tell you.”

  She didn’t answer for a long time. It was taking all of her concentration just to sort through the myriad emotions assaulting her. Her thoughts whirled quicksilver fast. What am I going to tell Nayla? Dem didn’t kill Niall. He’s here—does that mean he’s forgiven me? She was too afraid to ask him.

  Dem shifted uncomfortably. “Do you want me to go?”

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  “Do you want to talk?” There was reluctance in his voice, although she still couldn’t get an emotional read from him.

  “No,” she said, because she couldn’t stand the idea of a long, awkward conversation about any of this. Not right now. “Not really.”

  Without warning, his shields dropped, and the emotion that leaked out caught her completely by surprise. Fear. Need. Hope. Desire. There was nothing of the kind of rage she’d feared, but neither was there acceptance. He wasn’t thinking about the virus and what she’d done at all. Dem was all twisted up, waiting to see if she would accept him after what he’d done, or send him away.

  “I would have done it, to keep you safe,” he said.

  “Why?” The word burst out before she could stop it.

  Dem cocked his head, confusion written in his eyes. They shone blue against the darkness of his skin, but not the icy cold she’d come to associate with his lethal side.

  Sanah played with the hem of her shirt nervously. “The virus.” She had to force the words out. But she couldn’t imagine moving forward without having this conversation. “I made it. I created Matera-D.”

  “You helped create it,” Dem said. “To save your sister.”

  “That doesn’t change what it was used for. It doesn’t change what’s happened.”

  “Doesn’t it? Sanah, what did you do after you realized what the virus was capable of?”

  “I—tried to fix it. I tried to change it.” She remembered those long nights in the lab, the days that never ended as she tried to change the genetic sequence. “It even worked, for a little while.” She took a shuddering breath, struggling with the memories. “But it failed. Kept reverting back.” She shook her head, reliving the frustration. “It didn’t make sense. Viruses mutate all of the time. But it was like this one refused to change.”

  “Did it? Maybe because someone else on the team didn’t want you to succeed.”

  Dems’ gaze held hers for an endless time while she considered his words. It wasn’t the first time she’d contemplated the idea of sabotage. But the lab was a strict place, her team hand picked. And liars had a way of revealing themselves aroun
d an empath.

  “Treon,” Dem said. “He saw something in Niall’s mind, a buried memory. He couldn’t retrieve it entirely. Someone went to too much effort to see it hidden. But it was enough to cast doubt on the integrity of your lab.”

  Horror washed through her. “They wanted to create that killing virus? A weapon against Talented.” She closed her eyes. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  “No.” Dem shrugged. “I’m not certain why they didn’t just remove you from the project.”

  Sanah opened her eyes on a bitter laugh. “Because it was mine. I took over after my parents died. It was my lab, my parents’ work, my notes. They couldn’t take it, not without outright stealing it, or killing me.” She nodded to herself. “So they planted someone on my team, had them work around me. The one thing I couldn’t figure out was how the virus was used against you. I destroyed every sample.” Anger was wiping away the horror now. It had to be Frain, she thought. He had to have stolen samples, copied the genetic sequence. He was the only one she’d trusted enough to give a master key.

  She covered her face with a hand. I am such a fool.

  You made a mistake. You trusted the wrong person. That just makes you human.

  “All of those people, Dem. All of those women.” She hadn’t let herself think about it, not really. At first, the guilt had swamped her, and she’d been too afraid someone would feel it and pick up on her secret. Then, when she’d finally told Cannon and Dem, she’d been terrified of their response. But now the crushing weight of all those deaths was just too much. Because I wasn’t paying attention, she thought. She tried to hold back the hot press of tears and failed. A sob escaped.

  She turned and walked stiffly away in the small space of the room, trying and failing to control her emotions. She felt the brush of Dem’s mind against her shields at the same moment that his hand touched her shoulder.

  Sanah.

  That was all he said, but the emotion behind her name was too much. She’d never anticipated acceptance from Dem, not after their conversation earlier. His arms came around her and he held her while she cried.