Read Traitor, Book 1 of The Turner Chronicles Page 69
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Aaron woke to a serious amount of discomfort. If he were anywhere else he would have said he hurt like hell, but this was a doctor's surgery. According to the tens of dozens of doctors who had cut on him in the past, he never suffered pain, only discomfort.
Humming contentedly, Doc Gunther stood beside the operating table while he removed blocks and unfastened straps. When he saw Aaron's open eyes, he winked. "Guess what? You survived. I hope these are what you wanted pulled out of you because I won't do any more than I already have."
Shifting uncomfortably, Aaron accepted two items that Doc picked up off a side table and passed over. One was a blood smeared piece of electronic equipment. The other was a small lump with the impression of his spine in it. C4. Still sitting on the side table was a ball of twisted up and blood coated wires.
"Is that it?" Gunther asked.
"Yeah."
"Good. I'll leave you here then. I have to see to the boy you destroyed earlier today."
Aaron was too drunk and too hurt to leave the office so he slept on the operating table that night. The next morning Kit came, took him home, and laid him on the bed.
One day later, despite his wound, Aaron pulled himself from the bed and stiffly walked down to the smithy. Once there, he collected the steel shot Jorrin had made for him and took it home. Kit watched while he pried open shot shells and poured out buckshot. His back spat fire into his brain.
"What are you doing?"
"Experimenting. Beech's shield stands up to a hell of a lot, but it does eventually fail. I thought I might make it fail sooner if I tried something unusual."
"Watch your language around me," Kit commanded. "I am your wife."
With a bit of creative packing Aaron discovered that he could fit fourteen pellets in each shell, on average. He worried while he loaded because most of the pellets were slightly tear shaped, which meant that their flight pattern would be erratic. Well, no matter. He would just stand close to Beech when he shot him.
The steel knives had made more pellets than he thought they would, but he only made thirty shells, figuring thirty would be more than enough. If he could not kill Haarod Beech with that many shots, he would not be able to kill him at all. Hell, if he managed to get off more than three or four shots he would be lucky. After all, he did not have even a tenth of the speed Sarah had owned.
Well, they would either do the job, or they would not. He had nothing else to attack Beech with but anger and hate.
"You're bleeding again," Kit said. "We need to change the bandages."
Thinking about Beech, Aaron sat still while she tended to him. When she finished he took a bloody rag from her hand and swiped it across the top of half a dozen shells. Those would be the ones he used first. He would attack with his blood and hate, as well as with powder and steel.
By late that evening the shells were loaded and crimped.
Aaron wanted to leave for the hunt immediately the next morning, but good sense told him to wait until he felt better. He was weak, and his system was brittle. It would not do for him to get sick and die before he had a chance to kill Beech. Besides, as feeble as he felt now, he was probably incapable of doing anything fatal to the man.
He did, however, try to transport. Picturing the Manor, he built the images in his mind. The dining room seemed as clear as when he had last stood in it a month earlier. The image was there, but the internal feeling would not come. He almost felt it. He reached, but it was--gone.
Aaron wasn't surprised. His was not a strong Talent. A few components inside the transmitter had given him a boost. Now that it was gone, he had nothing to draw on. His unsupported Talent could not do what he wanted.
Time to experiment.
He picked up a box sitting by his side. Brown paper wrapping bearing Cathy's name peeled away beneath his fingers. After pulling away the inside newspapers, he drew forth a lead wrapped object. The lead tape peeled away for two inches before it tore, showing the smallest hint of a crack through the wrapping.
Already, Aaron felt power tickling his Talent. He dug at the tape until he pried up a corner, and then he slowly pulled until its last inch separated from the wrapping.
His Talent palpitated. Power leaked from the revealed cracks in the wrapping, seeped into his body.
"Can you feel anything?" Kit asked anxiously.
Surprised, Aaron jerked his head up. The sensations going through him were so intense that hairs stood up on his arms. Looking at her arms he saw that her hair was curled and tangled. She showed no signs of feeling the Talent Stone at all.
"Yeah," he said, whispering softly. He breathed in deep and released a shaky sigh when another surge of power ran through him. This probing, this infusing, was better than sex. His skin tingled. His breathing grew rapid and ragged.
Removing the box cover, he quickly lifted the metal object inside. A sensual kiss raced through him.
"Use your Talent to seal it to you," Kit said pointlessly because Aaron's Talent was in full flare. He felt it reaching and caressing.
He turned his eyes to Kit and saw her leaning closer to observe his Talent Stone. "I never asked. Why are your Talent Stones shaped like a horseshoe?"
Gently caressing its curved shape, Aaron pulled the magnet to his lips and kissed it.