Ignited

Book 3: Sense Thieves

by Corrine Jackson

Genres: YA Fantasy; YA Romance

Synopsis

Nobody hides forever. Ever since Remy O'Malley discovered her dual identity as a Healer and a Protector, she's kept alive by staying one step ahead of both sides in this centuries-old war. Now someone's trying to draw her out of hiding, using her kidnapped father as bait. To save him, Remy will need every friend she's got. But as new alliances form, old bonds fray. Her boyfriend Asher is losing his powers, becoming more mortal every time she touches him. Meanwhile, Remy finds herself growing closer to Asher's brother Gabe, even as a family tragedy drives her sister Lucy farther away. On a rescue mission to London, Remy decides she's tired of being the hunted. It's time to end this war once and for all, as Protectors and Healers alike hurtle towards a final, violent confrontation that not everyone will survive. Praise for Corrine Jackson's Touched "A taut page-turner. . .Teens will thrill to the romantic tension of an attraction so destructive the couple can barely touch." --VOYA "The characters are so realistic; you can't help but imagine yourself as one of them. Thrilling and chilling!" -- RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars

Release date: June 24, 2013

Publisher: Kensington Teen

Print pages: 369

Sample

I hid in the alley, painted in shadows and praying that I hadn’t stepped in whatever caused the putrid scent burning my nose. Across the street, a lone pay phone—the first one I’d seen in the last hundred miles—stood under the glaring spotlight of a street lamp. Two more minutes, I promised myself. Two more minutes of cowering, and then run for the phone.

Warm fingers pressed into my back, seeking comfort and offering it at the same time. My half sister, Lucy, waited behind me, and I could feel how she shook. These last four months we’d lived like hunted animals, and I knew what horrible thoughts might be running through her mind. At seventeen, she might only be a year younger than me, but our lives had been very different. I’d grown up used to violence, but this was all new to her.

My fingers trembled around the knife I gripped, and I used a cloth to wipe my warm blood from the blade. I lifted my thin T-shirt to tuck the weapon into the back of my jeans waistband and pressed a hand to my stomach when the torn muscles protested. The part of the plan where I had to be injured sucked.

“Well? See anything?” Lucy whispered into my ear, peering around me with wide brown eyes. Her heart-shaped face glowed white against her curly black hair, and she looked small and scared.

I shook my head and tucked a loose blond strand back under my ski cap. My body had frozen some time ago in the frigid January air, and I shoved my fingers into my bulky coat’s pockets to thaw them. Then I dug for courage like it was buried treasure. One way or the other, this call would decide what path we would take next. We just had to make it out of this alive first. “It’s time. Wait here. If anything happens or Asher signals, you run. You hear me?”

My husky voice sounded harsher than normal as I tried to swallow my emotions.

“Got it, Buffy.”

She stumbled over the joke, her voice flat, but it didn’t matter. That my sister could attempt to joke about me being as strong as Buffy nearly killed me. I could be brave for her. I lifted my chin, imagining my spine made of iron rebar, and looked down at her one last time. Then I stepped out of the shadows and onto the sidewalk where anyone could see me. Nothing happened. No Healers or Protectors jumped out at me.

Maybe we really had given them the slip two days ago. Florida had been too close. A Protector had gotten his hands on Lucy. If Asher hadn’t managed to take the guy down, I might have lost my sister. We’d been lucky that he was alone. We couldn’t seem to lose our enemies for long, but we couldn’t fight back, either, when they overpowered and outnumbered us. They held all the cards as long as they had my father. If he was still alive.

I looked both ways down the deserted street. Maple, Alabama, could be called many things, but never a party town. Home to a whopping 863 people, the town had one stoplight, a gas station, a diner, and a few small businesses lining the main street where we stood. Everything had shut down around six, as people went home to their families. As far as I could tell, Lucy and I were the only ones out on the street. Well, the two of us, and Asher, who hid somewhere nearby.

Earlier today, our trio had crashed for a few hours at a tiny motel sixty miles down the highway. Then we had packed our few belongings into the car, knowing that we might have to run in a hurry after I made this call. There was a very good possibility that our enemies were hidden, waiting for me to come out into the open. I shivered again, and then rolled my shoulders back.

Now or never, Remy.

I marched into the street, walking straight though it sent spikes of pain to my stomach. My steps echoed, and the sound encouraged me. That meant I would hear others approaching if they tried to sneak up on me. I cast another glance around when I reached the phone. Something crashed nearby, and I jerked in reaction, wincing at the pain. A cat screeched, and I shook off the bout of nerves. Then I picked up the receiver, dropped some coins in the slot, and dialed the number I knew by heart.

I counted three rings before a male voice answered. “Hello.”

Memories crashed and tumbled into each other at the sound of my grandfather’s deep voice. I once thought we could be family, but François Marche was incapable of loving anyone.

“Hello?” he repeated.

I swallowed, suddenly mute.

“Remy.” He almost purred my name, the confident bastard. “I wondered how long it would take you to call. You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

Four months. It had been four months since I’d seen him, heard his voice, watched him threaten my family. My nails formed half-moon indentations in my palms when my hands tightened into fists. Please let my father be alive.

“Franc,” I choked out.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

The fake concern reminded me of how naïve I’d been, taken in by this huge hulk of a man towering over six and a half feet tall with crazy white hair and a booming laugh. My grandfather called me “sweetheart” in his old voice, the charming voice, as if he hadn’t destroyed my life.

I buried my rage, keeping my tone light. “I’m a little tired from ditching your guys so often, but I can’t complain. How about you? Sacrificed any Healers to your friends recently?”

If the Healer community he led knew how he’d betrayed them to the Protectors, they might rise up against him. Franc rationalized that sacrificing a few of his Healers to the Protectors would save the larger community.

Franc sighed. “I do what I have to. It doesn’t have to be like this, Remy. You could stop it all.”

Take their place, he meant. Unlike full-blooded Healers, I wouldn’t die from the things the Protectors would do to me. I could be their rechargeable battery. Bile swam up the back of my throat as I pictured Asher the night we rescued him from my grandfather. Tortured, broken, hopeless. That would be my life if I caved to my grandfather’s demands.

“Never,” I whispered with revulsion.

“Think about it. Nobody else has to die.”

Disgust and fury sharpened my words. “I have thought about it. I’ve had nightmares about it since the day you suggested it. You remember that day, right? Because I do. By the way, how’s your stomach?”

Franc had tried to force me to kill my father, but I’d escaped using the greatest weapon I had—transferring my injuries to those who hurt me. The last time I’d seen my grandfather and his Protector allies, they’d been bleeding out from a stomach wound I’d inflicted on myself.

“Healed,” he bit out when I wondered if I’d gone too far bringing up the past. “You’re more powerful than I gave you credit for. You caused me a lot of pain.”

Smug satisfaction curved my mouth.

“You’re lucky I’m not a man who believes in petty revenge. I don’t think your father would survive what I’d do to him.”

I gripped the cold metal ledge beneath the phone to stay upright. I had to try twice before I pushed the words past the golf ball wedged in my throat. “He’s . . . He’s alive?”

Four months ago he’d kidnapped Ben, my father. My Protector blood came from Ben and, despite using them against me, Franc hated Protectors. I’d almost lost hope that my father could be alive after all this time. Hope swelled inside me in one giant, yawning ache. Don’t hope yet, Remy. He lies.

“Franc?” My desperation grew. “Please,” I begged.

“He’s alive,” he said softly.

Thank God. The relief threatened to burst out of me, and I covered my mouth to contain it. Moisture seeped through my T-shirt, and I bent at the waist to ease my burning stomach. Soon I would grow faint from blood loss. Just a little longer.

Franc’s deep voice coaxed and cajoled. “You could be with him tomorrow. Come home, Remy. Come home, and I’ll let him go.”

If I believed him, we could end the misery of these last months. My father could return home to Blackwell Falls. My sister could go back to her life and school and her boyfriend, Tim. They could start over in our small town. I wanted to give that to them.

As if he sensed my wavering, my grandfather rushed on. “Your mother wouldn’t want this life for you. She would want you to help us.”

Big mistake on Franc’s part, thinking a mention of my mother would influence me. Anna had let my stepfather beat the shit out of me for years.

“Why did you take my father?” I asked.

“You already know why.”

He wanted to control me and the powers I’d inherited with my mixed Healer-Protector blood. And he wanted to experiment on me. Healer powers descended through the women of our bloodline, but Franc wanted to change that—he wanted to create male Healers. Something in the air shifted, and I glanced around, the hair prickling on my arms. “I have to go.”

I started to hang up and he shouted, “Remy, wait!” I paused, and he added, “He’s alive because I believe you’ll come to your senses. But I won’t wait forever. Think about that.”

How had I missed the kind of man he was in those months I’d lived with him? I would never forgive myself for exposing my family and friends to him. I hung up on his threats and hunched my shoulders while I leaned against the phone booth. My breath puffed clouds into the air, and I shuddered. Anyone watching me would think me overcome with grief, but another kind of pain plagued me.

It didn’t take long for them to show themselves. Asher’s quiet whistle—three low chirps—signaled their arrival. One chirp for each man. Their footsteps echoed like mine had, thudding heavily. Healers then, like we’d hoped. Protectors could have attacked without warning, and these men sounded bigger and heavier than me. Lucky for us, the men of the Healer bloodline had no powers, despite Franc’s efforts. My heart pounded in anticipation, but I remained hunched over.

Warm breath lifted the hair at the nape of my neck in a moist gust, and I shivered.

“Remy,” a man said.

I looked over my shoulder. Three twentysomething men of varying sizes circled me, blocking escape. A stocky brunette with arms wider than my neck and a tattoo of a snake circling his neck. A whipcord-lean blond held a lethal-looking knife, but his hand shook as if he feared using it. He had to be shorter than my five-foot-ten height by at least six inches. The last man looked familiar, and I guessed I’d seen him in Pacifica when I stayed with Franc. Bald and sporting the ugliest goatee this side of the Mississippi, he lacked muscles and a belt to keep his jeans up. But then, he didn’t need to be muscle-bound with a gun in his hand.

Goatee-Man eyed my tall, skinny frame with disdain. “That was a stupid move calling your grandfather. He’s had a trace on that line for months.”

I twisted around. “I know.”

I dropped my hands to my side, allowing my coat to fall open. Their eyes fell to my waist. Blood stained my navy cotton T-shirt a deep violet. The blond’s eyebrows shot up. Snake-Tattoo took a huge step back, and Goatee-Man froze. Too late. My energy snapped through the air in a burst of red lightning that struck all three men. Wounds opened at their waists, the injuries duplicates of the stab wound I’d inflicted on myself in the alley twenty minutes ago. The injury would stun the men, but not stop them indefinitely.

I aimed to kick away the gun, but my body rebelled against the use of my powers with quaking knees and a thready pulse. Lucy appeared beside me, hooking her shoulder under my arm. I had six inches on her more petite frame, but she held up under my weight.

“Got you,” she said.

“Lucy, the gun!” I warned.

Goatee-Man raised the weapon. I swiveled to put my body between my sister and him. A grunt sounded behind me, and I turned. Asher had stripped all three men of their weapons and knocked them to the ground so they lay spread-eagled on their stomachs. My boyfriend hadn’t regained all the weight he’d lost in the months Franc held him hostage, but he possessed enough Protector strength and speed to take down a few powerless male Healers with ease.

Asher shoved a foot in Goatee-Man’s back. “Okay?” he asked me, the British lilt in his voice more pronounced than usual.

His question was our shorthand for Are you okay? and Can you heal yourself? I nodded. I’m good. Asher heard my thought, and the muscles in his face eased slightly at my reassurance.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Lucy muttered to the men.

In addition to the Protectors, my grandfather’s men had stalked us for weeks, tracking us from town to town. We’d hidden in a series of vacant homes, getting by on cold canned food and rare naps. Then Florida happened two days ago, and it had become clear that our strategy of running and hiding wasn’t working anymore.

The plan to use my grandfather to lure the men in had been Lucy’s idea, and Asher had gone along with it, much to my surprise. Usually, he vetoed any strategy that would put us in danger, but he hadn’t hesitated this time. Desperation and fear had infected our trio these last months, causing us to take chances we normally wouldn’t have. We’d needed to know whether Ben was alive so we could plan our next move. It didn’t hurt that we could use this to put some space between our hunters and us.

I wavered on my feet, a little light-headed from blood loss. I can’t believe I have another stab wound because of Franc.

Asher frowned at my bitter thought and ground his heel until the man he held down cried out. I slammed my mental walls up to block Asher from my mind. He didn’t need my thoughts inflaming his hatred of the men.

“Now what?” Lucy asked.

“I saw them get out of that truck.” Asher gestured down the road at a vehicle I couldn’t see. His Protector vision beat out my twenty-twenty eyesight, and he could even see in the dark, so I believed him. He handed me the gun. “We can use it to move them. Wait here. I’ll go get it.”

“Ash—” I started, but he had already shifted into a run, the blur of his body barely visible. I sighed. “He forgot the keys.”

“You’re a traitor to your kind, turning your back on us for a Protector,” Snake-Tattoo practically spat at me.

I knelt down so he could see my face. My quiet voice sliced through the air. “He is my kind. Or didn’t Franc share that bit of news?”

His lips pressed together like he didn’t believe me.

These men had probably never heard of someone like me with both Protector and Healer blood. Nobody had, which was why both groups hunted me—either to kill me or to use me.

“My grandfather isn’t who you think he is. Ask him what really happened to Yvette.”

The blond’s eyes widened at the mention of the dead Healer’s name. Healer energy acted like a stimulant for Protectors, temporarily allowing them to feel the sensations of touch, smell, and taste that they’d lost decades ago. Franc had given Yvette to the Protectors as payment for their services, and they had tortured her to death to feel human for a few moments.

Snake-Tattoo looked away, and I gave up on convincing him. My grandfather had fooled them all into thinking he was their patron saint. I rose, wobbling a little as blood rushed to my head.

“Asher would make a killing as a thief,” Lucy observed with a wry smile. She pressed her scarf to my waist to stanch the blood flow.

I followed her gaze and watched a truck speed toward us. Okay. My boyfriend knows how to hot-wire a car. He pulled to a stop a few feet from us, and Asher and Lucy worked together to move the men into the truck bed with a combination of force and threats. Until I had time to heal my injury, I wouldn’t be lifting anything heavy. Asher clambered into the back of the truck to watch the men, while Lucy climbed behind the wheel and I took the passenger seat, holding the scarf at my waist.

Lucy drove toward our designated spot, an abandoned barn about five miles out of town. The scenery consisted of farmland and more farmland. We took a dirt road part of the way, and I bounced in my seat, almost crying out when my stomach screamed in agony. A trio of moans sounded from the back of the truck, and I guessed the men were wishing they’d driven a vehicle with better shocks.

“What are you waiting for? Heal yourself already,” Lucy said.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Not until we’re away from them.”

Healing myself or anyone else weakened me further. We couldn’t afford for me to be out of commission. First, we had to take care of the enemy.

The headlights shone on the barn a few minutes later. The structure leaned to the right, and weather and hard use had aged the wooden walls to a pale gray. If it had been painted once upon a time, the color had chipped off long ago. The place looked like it would fall down any minute, but it would serve our purposes. Crops stretched into the distance with no other buildings in sight. That meant nobody would stumble across the men while we made our getaway.

I jumped out to swing the huge door open, and Lucy pulled the truck into the empty space inside. As soon as she hit the brakes, Asher launched out of the truck and dragged the men from the bed by their feet. They hit the ground on their backs, one by one, their heads bouncing off the dirt. They moaned in pain, but it had no effect on Asher’s stony expression.

I shuddered at the violence in his movements. He’d changed since my grandfather’s men had held him hostage this past summer. Lately, he alternated between rage and sadness, growing more and more distant. He’d been tortured for weeks before his brother, Gabe, and I had rescued him. Maybe it was too much to expect Asher to treat these men with compassion when they’d happily hurt him all over again if their positions had been reversed. Still, the easy violence in Asher’s movements frightened me.

Lucy gathered the handcuffs we’d stashed earlier that day and helped Asher bind the men to posts a few feet away from each other. We’d also stored water for the men, and I placed a few bottles within reach of each of our prisoners.

“You can’t leave us here,” Goatee-Man said. “You can’t leave us to die.”

“Because you intended to show us so much mercy?” Asher asked.

A chill spiraled its way down my spine at the way he curled his hands into fists and stared at the man. Asher’s energy buzzed in the air, his lack of control raising the hair on my arms.

“Let’s go, Asher.” Please, I thought. My stomach hurts.

Almost immediately, he snapped to attention. “Okay, mo cridhe. We’ll go. Lucy, do you mind driving?”

“I’m on it,” she said.

The three of us headed for the barn door, ignoring the men as they yelled. After we’d put a few hours’ worth of distance between us and them, we’d call in an anonymous tip to send ambulances their way. We passed through the entry, and Asher swung the door closed behind us, slapping on a padlock that we’d picked up at the hardware store. Then we circled around to the back of the barn where we’d stashed our latest transportation—another truck, except this one was older and more beat up than the one we’d left in the barn. The last owner hadn’t even bothered to apply a coat of paint to the gray primer, and dents lined every side of the body. It had been easy to steal because nobody would want it.

Asher tossed the keys to Lucy, and I climbed in the middle to make room for Lucy on one side and Asher on the other. A few minutes later, we rumbled along the dirt road back to town. At least the engine worked.

We hit a particularly bad dip as we turned onto the gravel road, and I moaned. An arm cradled my shoulders, and I looked up into Asher’s eyes as we passed under a street lamp. Normally, their color—a clear, forest green—distracted me, but we hit another bump and my eyes crossed at the fresh onslaught of pain. Asher’s forehead wrinkled in concern. He traced a finger across my brow and brushed my hair behind my ear, letting his hand come to rest under the thick waves against my neck. His breath warmed the skin there when he leaned close and whispered, “Let me help.”

It had been too long since he’d looked at me like that or touched me with tenderness. The love that had once blazed in his eyes had been banked or burned out for months. He’d been through hell at my grandfather’s hands, so I’d given him space, hoping and praying that he would return to me. I waited and savored every accidental touch and rare embrace.

My fingers curled around his wrist, as I closed my eyes in concentration. Then I lowered my guard to let him in. With a little time, I could heal myself from most injuries or illnesses, but borrowing a Protector’s energy hurried the process along. A second passed, and I felt it. Asher’s energy floated over me and into me, and pins and needles prickled under my skin. I used his power, manipulating it to seek out my injury. I pictured the wound and imagined the torn edges of the skin tugging together. Flames licked my skin, burning me from the inside out. Left on my own, the healing process caused me hypothermia, but when I borrowed a Protector’s energy, heat scorched through me. His power receded, and my eyes flickered open.

Asher’s dark brown hair fell over his forehead. It had grown back into a tangle of waves, hiding the scar his torturers had left on his scalp. The night Gabe and I had found him, his hair had looked as if a knife had been taken to it. Asher’s smile faded as I reached up to touch it, and he removed his arm, blocking me. He shifted toward the door, putting an inch of space between us. His physical and mental retreat cut deep when he raised his mental walls. I should have been used to the rejection after all these months, but every time he pulled away the pain rippled through me. I dealt with it as I always did—by pretending the pain didn’t exist—and Asher pretended along with me. I was afraid of what would happen if we acknowledged the cracks widening between us.

Now able to think past my injury, I shifted to meet Lucy’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror. Without preamble, I said, “Dad’s alive. Franc said he’s okay, and I think he was telling the truth.”

Lucy’s breath caught, and she gripped the steering wheel. She looked afraid to let hope in. I didn’t blame her, but I hated seeing my happy sister so changed and sad.

“We’re going to get him back, Luce.”

Her knuckles spread on the steering wheel so my fingers could slide between them, twining our hands together. “Promise?” she asked.

“Promise.”

No matter what, I thought. I owed her that.

We drove several hours before we stopped to send Franc’s men help. Asher wanted to wait longer, but I insisted. I wasn’t exactly of a mind to champion the men, but I didn’t want them to die because we’d left them bleeding. That would make us like them, and I didn’t want that.

After we called the Alabama police from another antiquated pay phone (and I’d changed out of my bloody T-shirt), Asher took the wheel. Lucy and I slept, leaning into each other and swaying with the movement of the truck. I woke when the engine shut off, the comforting roar fading into a deafening silence. I rubbed the grit from my eyes and looked around. We’d pulled off the highway at a truck stop. Harsh gray dawn light did nothing to improve the looks of the rundown café in front of us. The squat building sported dirty windows, and trash rolled through the parking lot like paper tumbleweeds.

It sucked sleeping upright, but I’d almost mastered the art. Lucy’s head snapped off my shoulder as she woke, too. I stretched, cracking the bones in my spine an inch at a time. I sneaked a glance at Asher under my lashes. Who would he be today? The distant stranger or the loving boyfriend?

“Where are we?” I asked.

We’d been on the road all night and a good part of the morning, putting as much distance between us and my grandfather’s men as we could.

“Somewhere in Arkansas,” Asher answered.

Exhaustion drained the color from his tanned face, leaving his handsome features dull. I couldn’t stop myself. I traced the growth of whiskers shadowing his jaw, and he dredged up a tired smile. He shifted and my hand fell away. It might have been an accident, except that it happened all the time. Avoidance hunkered down between us, a wedge that I couldn’t budge.

I knotted my fingers together and stared at them until they blurred. “We should call Lottie to check on Laura and then find a place to rest,” I said.

My grandfather’s men had run my stepmother down with their car when they’d been making their getaway with my father, and she’d been in a coma for months. Never good with head wounds, I hadn’t been able to heal her injuries. We’d been forced to hide her away in a Chicago hospital under a fake name, and Lottie, Asher’s powerful Protector sister, had volunteered to watch over her.

“That’s a good idea. I didn’t get to call yesterday,” Lucy said.

She tried for calm, but she couldn’t hide the ache in her voice. She’d led a sheltered life before my father had brought me to live in Blackwell Falls. Since then, she’d lost both parents and been forced to leave her entire life behind. Sometimes I thought she would implode, but she surprised me every day with her strength.

Asher nodded and tipped his head toward the diner. “Let’s eat lunch first.”

Lucy glanced at the restaurant and grimaced. “Yum. I think my stomach actually cramped just now in protest. I can smell the grease and bacteria from here.”

“Don’t be a wimp,” I teased her, sliding across the bench seat and exiting the truck after her.

“Yeah, you say that now, but wait until you have to heal my severe case of food poisoning.”

She continued grumbling as we crossed the parking lot. The diner wasn’t much better inside than out. In the middle of the room, a group of men sat along a long counter, sipping coffee and eying the ancient TV that hung over the window where waitresses dropped off orders and the short-order cook threw down dishes piled with steaming food. Booths formed a U around the bar, and most were occupied by truckers in flannel coats or the odd bedraggled traveler seeking a shot of caffeine before they hit the road again.

Our group waited to use the unisex restroom. I winced when it was my turn, knowing Lucy would freak out when she saw how dirty the small bathroom was. Sadly, it was better than some of the places we’d been to lately. Eating on the run meant grabbing food when and where we could, and home-cooked meals were a thing of the past.

How far we’ve come down from our life in Blackwell Falls, I thought. I missed our house with the sea glass in the windows and the view of the Maine shore.

I hardly dared to glance in the mirror, afraid of what I’d see. I’d given up on makeup ages ago because my appearance didn’t seem important in the scheme of things. My daily uniform consisted of jeans, boots, and T-shirts. Apparently, plain features, freckles, and crazy cotton Q-tip hair worked for some guys, because Asher had seen me at my worst and liked me as I was. At least I had my father’s height and navy eyes, something to remind me of him.

I exited the bathroom, stepping aside to allow Lucy to enter. I hesitated two seconds, long enough to hear her disgusted moan as she took in the filth, then I smiled before making my way to Asher. He’d chosen a corner booth overlooking the parking lot, a strategic spot that would ensure no one could sneak up on us. I sat across from him.

“I figured we’d call Lottie after we find a place to rest for the night,” he . . .