No Peace for the Damned

something heavy and sensual in the air, but she didn’t trust herself.
    “You’re right. You have helped us,” she tentatively agreed, looking back and forth between Theo and me. “But we won’t be able to really stop your family unless you show us how.”
    Theo turned his head and glared at Heather. He didn’t say a word, but his thoughts snarled at her.
    Holy shit
…he wanted to defend me. Rough stubble shadowed his jawline as he ground his teeth. A slight crook in his nose warned of long-ago fights. It was a fabulously sexy profile.
    “Magnolia?” Heather said.
    Theo turned an arched brow to me. Oh, crap; he caught me staring. Heat flooded my face.
    “What?” I snapped, my voice cracking.
    Heather’s eyes widened. “I said, why not? Given what they did to you. So much horrible stuff that you had to escape. Why not help us defeat them?”
    Because you would use what I taught you to try to hurt me
. The words were on the tip of my tongue when Heather’s mind swept over me. She was nearly a decade older than me, had worked for the Network for years. Yet she was more naïve to the world than I had been an hour after my birth. I felt the weight of Theo’s stare. For some reason I couldn’t crush that naiveté. Not in front of Theo.
    When I didn’t answer, Heather shook her head and walked back toward the kitchen.
    Theo’s grip tightened on the doorframe. With Heather gone, the connection between us flared. I clung to the wall because I wanted to go to him. Wanted to touch him, taste him.
    His eyes twitched. Amid our overwhelming urges, something occurred to him. “Will you train us, Mag?” he asked softly.
    My stomach dipped at the sound of his voice. Before I could stop myself, I nodded. His gaze softened and he leaned toward me. The fluttering in my stomach stole my breath. I had to get away from him. Now. Or God knows what else I’d agree to.
    I cleared my throat twice then said, “I, um, need a minute.”
    He frowned. He didn’t want to leave. I could feel the effort it took to peel his fingers from the door. With a shake of his hair, he turned away. I waited until his footsteps were past the kitchen and out the front door. Then I shut the door and locked it tight.
    And cursed myself repeatedly.

Everyone arrived the next morning at sunup, ready to start training. All because I’d said yes to Theo. I’d stayed up half the night trying to talk myself out of the decision. But the moment I pictured his face I was helpless to resist.
    Thirteen had suggested I begin with my mental powers: telepathy, telekinesis, mind manipulation. Well, screw that and screw him. I needed a fight. And if I was going to do this, I was going to do it
my
way.
    Nothing like a little hand-to-hand combat to start your day off right.
    Before we could start, though, there was one little thing I had to take care of. With a deep sigh, I called out to Charles. He turned in the doorway to the backyard. The others were already outside. “You can’t train with your hand like that,” I said.
    He faced me full-on. He was tall enough to make the hallway look tighter than it was. His buzz cut almost touched the ceiling.
    “Thanks to you I don’t have a choice, do I?” he growled.
    “What’s going on?” Marie said from behind him. Several others had followed her back into the house. Fabulous. We’d have an audience.
    “Little Kelch here says she isn’t going to let me train because of my fucked-up hand.”
    OK,
so
not what I’d said. “Of course you can train,” I continued slowly, “I’ll just have to heal you first.”
    Silence and blank expressions.
    “You can really heal him?” Jon asked. I nodded. He looked back at Charles and shrugged. “So let her fix it.”
    “Are you serious?” Marie squealed. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but she’s the one who shattered his hand in the first place!”
    “Then she should be the one to fix it,” Jon said, his voice resolute.
    For a long minute they all just looked at each other. Finally, Charles stepped forward. Marie sucked in her breath. I stared at his cast.
    “Well?” he said.
    It was going to hurt. Badly. I’d only ever healed another person once before, but Uncle Max had screamed like a girl when he’d made me fix that gunshot wound in his chest. And then he’d punished me with the drugs that he and Father had stolen from the Chinese politicians who shot him. After a moment I shrugged. Screw it.
    I pulled out the sharpest steak knife I could find.