Awakening (Elementals Book 1)

by Sara Preucil

  Tara slung Aidan’s left arm over her shoulders and wrapped her right arm around his waist, careful to avoid his wound. As the “L” on the digital display lit up, Tara had a thought. There were bound to be armed guards on the other side of the door, and the least she could do to aid Keegan was to try to knock them off their feet.

  The doors slid apart as she raised up her left hand. In front of her, Keegan did the same. Screaming, she let loose her fire in two long, flaming jets. Around Keegan’s shoulder, Tara glimpsed about half a dozen guards scattering, hurrying to dodge Keegan’s flames. Two of them were not successful. Their screams sent a chill down Tara’s spine. She wondered who they were, if she knew them.

  She felt her resolve slip briefly, but then Aidan swayed, leaning more of his weight against her, and all hesitation left her. She had to focus. Letting her emotions and instincts do the work, Tara held her hand out toward the floor, fingers shaking as she let the energy flow.

  The guards who weren’t writhing in pain from severe burns—or completely still and smoking—were beginning to collect themselves just as the room started to shake. A couple of them lost their footing and fell to the floor; the others covered their heads as dust particles and debris began to rain down from the ceiling.

  “Let’s go!” Tara shouted.

  Keegan moved out first into the dust cloud, and Tara followed, trying to support Aidan as best as she could. It was evident in the amount of weight he dumped across her shoulders that he wouldn’t be able to stay upright for much longer.

  Tara led Aidan as quickly as possible, given their contrasting frames, across the lobby. Keegan spun around them—hands outstretched and ready to attack—to guard them from behind.

  They reached the glass doors as Keegan let loose more projectile flames. The heat given off the roaring fire was intense against Tara’s back. She was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

  She pushed open the doors with difficulty, and she and Aidan spilled out on to the sidewalk. Keegan appeared at their side. Quickly, she bent down and grabbed Aidan’s other arm.

  As Keegan hoisted him up, he let out a painful moan, the sound clamping around Tara’s heart. She ducked back under his other arm and the three of them hurried down the sidewalk.

  “This way.” Tara directed them between two buildings down an alleyway that connected to the street beyond. They hurried down the lane and cut across the street into another shadowed alley that bisected two brick buildings.

  They were only a block away from the Jeep.

  All of a sudden, Aidan’s legs gave out and he slumped, knees splashing into the contents of a puddle as they hit the asphalt.

  “I—can’t—” he panted, holding his hands to his side.

  “What do we do?” Keegan hissed.

  “His phone.” Tara knelt down and fished out Aidan’s phone from his front pocket. Easily, she found Dylan’s number and hit “send,” bringing the phone up to her ear.

  “Hello?” Dylan answered, cutting off the first ring.

  “It’s Tara. Aidan’s injured, and we can’t make it to you.”

  “Where are you?”

  Tara heard the Jeep’s engine come to life. She gave Dylan the street name. “We’re only a block away, in the alley.”

  “We’re coming.” He hung up.

  A few seconds later, the Jeep appeared in the mouth of the alley. Dylan threw open his door and sprinted toward them. He swooped down next to Tara, took Aidan by the arm, and with much more strength than she could have summoned, he lifted Aidan to his feet. Keegan took his other arm and, together, they essentially dragged Aidan toward the waiting Jeep.

  “There!” Someone shouted from behind them, and Tara wheeled around to see three armed men filing into the mouth of the alley.

  “Keep going!” Tara shouted over her shoulder at Dylan, who had paused at the man’s voice. He obeyed, and Tara swung back toward the men.

  They raised their guns.

  “We have John and Dina Olsen.” Tara called, thinking on her feet. “Harm any of us and you’ll have to explain to the chancellor that he lost two of his head scientists.”

  Her threat did its job, causing the hesitation she had hoped for. The men paused, looking to one another for direction.

  Taking advantage of their confusion, Tara threw out her hands to the brick walls that lined the alley. Reaching through the space, she tried to focus on and connect to the particles of earth in the baked clay.

  “Freeze!” One of the men had returned his attention to Tara, his gun pointed firmly once more at her.

  Tara held her hands out still, but made it look like a surrender as she waited. And then she felt it. A tiny sensation came to her hands, like invisible strings attaching each finger to the walls.

  The man began to lower his gun.

  Tara snarled, clawed her fingers, feeling the invisible strings resist, and pulled her arms inward toward her chest.

  Bricks flew from the walls, diving at the men from both sides of the alley. The man who had pointed his gun at Tara caught one in the side of the head and collapsed.

  Tara spun, not knowing how effective the bricks were against the other two, and not wanting to wait to find out. The sound of bricks breaking against the asphalt echoed behind her as she hurried to catch up with the others. They were already at the Jeep; Dylan was muscling Aidan into the back. Tara jumped into the back next to Aidan, and Dylan shut the hatch after her.

  Aidan was lying down as best as he could in the cramped space. His head and torso were flat on the floor, his legs were bent, knees pointing up. Tara settled herself at his feet.

  She glanced up to see Keegan unceremoniously yank John out of the middle seat. He landed on his bound hands on the asphalt. Keegan stepped over him, slid onto the seat, and slammed the door shut just as Dylan jumped back into the driver’s seat.

  The engine was still running, so Dylan only had to slam the gear into drive, and they were off.

  Tara fell back with the sudden acceleration, catching herself before she hit the back window. She looked down at Aidan. His face was ashen and damp with sweat. Both hands, stained red, were clenched over the bullet wound.

  Removing her coat, Tara pulled her sweatshirt off. She folded the sleeve twice over to make a thick square of fabric, and then gently lifted Aidan’s hands from his stomach. She unzipped his hoodie, fear trickling into her as she saw the large stain of blood on the white t-shirt he wore under. Slowly, she lifted his shirt, peeling the fabric back carefully. When she exposed the wound, a dime sized hole from which blood pumped steadily, she pressed her sweatshirt sleeve down over it, holding it firmly in place with once hand.

  “We need to go to the hospital.” Tara called to Dylan.

  “Not here, we can’t risk it,” he replied, taking a sharp left turn.

  “Seattle?” Keegan suggested.

  “That’s too far,” Tara argued, trying to stay calm, but her voice broke nonetheless.

  “Burlington?” Emmy asked.

  “That’s a straight shot from here. If they figure out one of us was wounded, they’ll think to check there next,” Dylan reasoned.

  “Are you sure they will know we are even headed to a hospital?” Emmy asked as they hit a pothole. The sudden bump caused Tara’s hand to push harder against Aidan’s stomach. A groan escaped his lips.

  Tara recalled the blood smear Aidan left on the elevator wall. “Yeah,” she answered. “They’ll know.”

  “Anacortes, then?” Emmy suggested. “It’s not on I-5 and out of the way enough that they might not think to look for us there. At least, not right away.”

  “How far is it?” Keegan asked, peering over her shoulder to look at Aidan.

  “Forty-five minutes, give or take.”

  Since no one could come up with a reasonable argument or better alternative, it seemed settled. They fell into silence as Dylan found the southbound freeway ramp, and they left Bellingham behind them.

  Carefully, Tara placed her free han
d, now trembling from shock or adrenaline or both, on top of one of Aidan’s knees to steady herself. The other hand still pressed firmly to her makeshift bandage. She felt his hands come to rest on top of it.

  She looked at his face once more, her breath catching to see his dark eyes pinned on her.

  Time and space shifted in front of her eyes, and for a moment, she was Briana looking down at an injured Eagan. Even the wound was in the same spot. Tears swam, blurring the image of the soldier. She blinked, and he was Aidan once more. Bullet instead of knife wound.

  Is this what it is to have your soul attached to another’s? She wondered. Were they doomed to live out the same fate every lifetime they met? Would he be taken from her as soon as she found him? Tara squeezed his knee.

  No.

  I will not lose you this time, she thought fiercely.

  “Hold on,” she whispered.

  Aidan gave her a weak smile. “I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, lass.”

  A laugh rose in her throat, distress distorting it so that is came out as a half sob. She rested her forehead against the top of his other knee.

  “Tara?”

  “Hmm?” Tara propped her chin up on Aidan’s knee. His smile had disappeared, replaced by a somber expression.

  “I’m sorry about your dad.” At first Tara thought he was referring to John’s harsh words earlier, but then she realized that Aidan was talking about her other dad. About Niall.

  “It’s okay.”

  But Aidan wouldn’t be so easily consoled. He shook his head, grief twisting the strong features of his face, which was steadily growing paler.

  “Aidan,” Tara said with more force. “It was an accident. It’s okay.”

  He stopped shaking his head, most likely because it was too painful for him to continue. Looking steadily at Tara, he let out a sigh. Tara could almost see the horrible weight that he had been carrying around for nearly one hundred years lift from his chest.

  “It’s okay,” she repeated and set her forehead back down against his knee. Tara closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the squeeze of his hands over hers every once in a while, just to let her know that he was still there.

  Chapter 52

  Nearly an hour later, they pulled into the hospital parking lot of the small island town.

  “There’s the emergency entrance.” Emmy pointed out of the front passenger window to the red lettering next to the doors.

  Tara patted Aidan’s knee. “We’re here.”

  Aidan gave her a weak smile, he had managed to stay conscious during the entire drive, although now he appeared even more pale and clammy. The bundled sweatshirt sleeve that Tara was still pressing to Aidan’s wound was now entirely soaked through.

  Dylan parked the Jeep along the sidewalk in front of the emergency sign; he, Emmy, and Keegan scrambled out. Keegan ran inside, saying something about a wheelchair. Dylan hurried to the back, opened up the hatch, half climbing in to help Tara ease Aidan out of the vehicle. They got his legs out first, and with Tara on one side and Dylan on the other, they hoisted Aidan to his feet.

  He sagged, immediately leaning nearly all his weight against Dylan. They took a couple of agonizingly slow steps like this, totally supporting Aidan’s fell weight. Tara began to panic. This was taking too long, and every jostle had Aidan moaning and his wound freshly bleeding.

  But then Keegan appeared, her dark-red hair whipping behind her as she ran, pushing a wheelchair out of the sliding glass doors. She was being followed by a harassed-looking white clad hospital employee.

  “Miss, you can’t just take those!” The man called, hurrying after Keegan. However, when he saw her stop in front of the rest of the group—and the obviously injured Aidan—the hospital employee rushed over to help lower Aidan into the wheelchair, and then taking the handles, pushed him inside the hospital.

  Tara, Keegan, and Emmy followed after them while Dylan hurried to park the Jeep. Inside, they turned down a white-tiled hallway to the right toward a set of double doors. At the doors, the man looked back at them saying, “Sorry, I can’t let you back here. Waiting area is back that way.” He gestured back down the hall before disappearing with Aidan through the doors.

  Tara watched the doors swing shut, feeling numb. A small hand closed around her wrist.

  “Come on.” Emmy lightly pulled on her wrist, and Tara let her guide her back down the bleached-white hall.

  “I didn’t get to say…” Tara mumbled, glancing back over her shoulder at the double doors.

  “Tell him after,” Emmy said, reassuringly.

  At the end of the hall, they took a right, walking past various desks until they found the seating area. Dylan found them and plopped down on a couch upholstered in a fabric of burnt orange, and Emmy, releasing Tara’s wrist, snuggled in next to him.

  Keegan found herself a lime-green armchair near a small, gas fireplace.

  Noticing Aidan’s dried blood on her hands, Tara muttered, “Bathroom,” and went to find the washroom. She found it easy enough, and headed straight for the sink. She flicked the shiny lever up with the back of her hand and let the warm water flow over her stained skin. A woman appeared from one of the stalls and began washing her hands at the sink next to Tara’s. She gasped when she saw the blood on Tara’s hands, shot Tara a strange look, and then hurried out of the bathroom without drying her hands.

  Tara looked down at the scarlet pool that had formed in the poorly draining basin. She began rubbing her hands together, the action becoming more frantic as the blood seemed to want to linger. Her breathing spiked and tears started to well up as the series of events over the past few days began to stack up.

  First, she had decided to betray an organization she had been raised to follow; then she was shot (her semi-healed injury still caused her pain); then she not only remembered her past life, but realized that her soldier and Aidan were one and the same; next she wasn’t just part of, but planned, her parent’s essential kidnapping, during which they basically disowned her; and now Aidan, a soul she already had to live without once, was gravely injured himself, possibly dying in this very building.

  Completely and totally overwhelmed, Tara found that she could no longer hold it together. She began to sob, the force of which wracked her body as tears streamed down her face, mixing into Aidan’s blood in the sink.

  Minutes passed, and soon she began to regain control of her breathing.

  By the time nearly all the blood had been scrubbed from her hands and the water in the sink was only the faintest pink, the door to the bathroom opened. Keegan appeared in the mirror’s reflection, coming to stand beside Tara.

  “They’re open,” Tara said hoarsely, meaning the couple of stalls behind them.

  “Right.” Keegan took a step toward the nearest one, but then looked back at Tara.

  “I’m not giving up, you know.”

  Tara looked up at her through the mirror. “What?” She asked slowly, her addled brain couldn’t comprehend what the red-head behind her was saying.

  Keegan rolled her eyes. “Aidan,” she said pointedly. “I’m not giving up on him just because you two knew each other for, like, a second in another life.”

  Tara blinked and rubbed her eyes. “You know?”

  “Of course I do.” Keegan put her hands on her hips. “He told me about it last night.”

  So he knew before I did, Tara thought, feeling the shock of surprise.

  Keegan headed for one of the stalls, then hesitated and turned back to look at Tara. “He and I have known each other for years and have been through more than you know. I’m not letting some chance meeting ruin what we have.” Keegan glared at Tara with misty eyes, then headed into the stall, closing the door behind her.

  Tara stared down at the still running water, the runoff from her hands was now clear. She turned off the faucet. She wondered briefly if there was something she should say, but no words would come. She was a mess of jumbled warring emotions in an overly ex
hausted body. With a sigh, she dried her hands and left the washroom.

  When she returned to the seating area, Emmy’s dark eyebrows raised when she saw Tara’s face, no doubt noticing her red, puffy eyes. Mercifully, she gave Tara a small smile and let it slide, returning her attention to the hushed conversation she and Dylan were having.

  Selecting one of the lime-colored chairs, Tara sat down, curling her legs underneath herself. Keegan rejoined them shortly, reclaiming her original seat by the small fireplace. A pang of guilt went through Tara when she noticed that Keegan’s eyes were rimmed with red. Keegan stared into the flames, and after a moment, discreetly pointed a finger at the fire. The wispy orange flames grew and shrank, swirling in unnatural patterns. Tara watched her play with the flames for a while, appreciating the mesmerizing distraction.

  She grew drowsy as her exhaustion began to overshadow her other senses, and she quickly fell asleep.

  “Cops are here,” Dylan murmured, suddenly.

  Tara’s eyes sprung open; she sat upright.

  Dylan and Emmy were gazing past Tara to the hospital entrance. Slowly, Tara peered over her shoulder to see a receptionist pointing the two uniformed officers in their direction.

  “That didn’t take long,” Keegan muttered, dropping her hand and releasing the flames to their own devices.

  “Remember the story,” Emmy whispered as the officers—one intimidatingly tall man and a woman of average height, who nevertheless, appeared dwarfed next to her partner—approached them in a deceivingly casual manner.

  As they predicted might happen, they were asked one by one to follow the officers into a small room just down the hall from the waiting area. When it was Tara’s turn, she stood up on unsteady legs, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and followed them on stiff legs down the hall and into the room which—by the box of tissues—appeared to be a space used by social workers or other deliverers of difficult news. Tara sat down at the proffered chair, and across from her, the female officer sat in the only remaining chair. The tall officer stood in the corner of the tiny room.