Read Online No Peace for the Damned by Megan Powell - Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Powell
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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. Charles jumped back and clutched his hand to his chest. “What the hell?” he yelled.
“I don’t think so,” added Marie. She stepped forward to block me from Charles. It was a sweet move, actually, even if she was a raging bitch.
“I have to get the cast off. You can cut it off yourself if you want, but I can’t do anything with that huge thing on your hand.”
Marie snatched the knife. I tensed. She glared at me then handed the knife to Jon. It took forever for him to remove the damn thing. They were being so careful. I poured another drink and had it half finished by the time Charles rested his hand palm-up on the table. The others stood at his back, watching. I reached across the table. Charles flinched before I even touched him.
Oh, come on
.
“You have to hold still,” I said. He scowled at me but took a deep breath and braced himself. I gently rested one hand on his forearm then hovered my fingers over the worst of his breaks. He flinched. Before he could pull away again, I lowered my fingers and focused my power into his bones. He gasped and jerked as if electrocuted. Marie and the others closed in behind me. I didn’t stop.
Through gritted teeth a strangled cry escaped him. “Stop it!” Marie shouted right at my ear. I slowly turned to face her. She took a step back.
Finally, it was done—the bones healed around the pins from his surgery. I released him and he sagged to his knees, cradling his hand to his chest. I stepped around the table and lifted my drink.
With a toast to the others I said, “You’re welcome. Now let’s start some training.”
…
Charles’s hand was perfect. And after a couple of days of watching me fight, the scowls faded to reluctant respect. Unfortunately, it didn’t last.
Theo lunged for me, armed with a stiletto. He spun, then leaped forward again in a move we’d practiced at least a dozen times. He missed, but his hand grazed my waist under my tank top. The moment our skin touched, power exploded between us. An electric current
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. Charles jumped back and clutched his hand to his chest. “What the hell?” he yelled.
“I don’t think so,” added Marie. She stepped forward to block me from Charles. It was a sweet move, actually, even if she was a raging bitch.
“I have to get the cast off. You can cut it off yourself if you want, but I can’t do anything with that huge thing on your hand.”
Marie snatched the knife. I tensed. She glared at me then handed the knife to Jon. It took forever for him to remove the damn thing. They were being so careful. I poured another drink and had it half finished by the time Charles rested his hand palm-up on the table. The others stood at his back, watching. I reached across the table. Charles flinched before I even touched him.
Oh, come on
.
“You have to hold still,” I said. He scowled at me but took a deep breath and braced himself. I gently rested one hand on his forearm then hovered my fingers over the worst of his breaks. He flinched. Before he could pull away again, I lowered my fingers and focused my power into his bones. He gasped and jerked as if electrocuted. Marie and the others closed in behind me. I didn’t stop.
Through gritted teeth a strangled cry escaped him. “Stop it!” Marie shouted right at my ear. I slowly turned to face her. She took a step back.
Finally, it was done—the bones healed around the pins from his surgery. I released him and he sagged to his knees, cradling his hand to his chest. I stepped around the table and lifted my drink.
With a toast to the others I said, “You’re welcome. Now let’s start some training.”
…
Charles’s hand was perfect. And after a couple of days of watching me fight, the scowls faded to reluctant respect. Unfortunately, it didn’t last.
Theo lunged for me, armed with a stiletto. He spun, then leaped forward again in a move we’d practiced at least a dozen times. He missed, but his hand grazed my waist under my tank top. The moment our skin touched, power exploded between us. An electric current
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