Free Silent Warrior by Lindsey Piper Page B

a Tigony’s ability to amplify any source of electricity would’ve been damn tricky in that claptrap electric chair waiting to happen. And of course the long-lost Garnis—speed and senses that bordered on mind-boggling.
    But an Indranan’s telepathy? Sharing it with Silence? All well and good for turning those napalm pistols against each of his debtors’ goons. If Jawahar had killed his birth twin, he’d have become even more powerful by uniting two halved gifts into one. They also took their siblings’ minds into their own. Twice-blessed or twice-cursed—the value of the nasty deed depended on who you talked to.
    Hark only knew they were more likely mad than not. They weren’t called the Heartless for nothing.
    He had no idea how to prepare, let alone with a partner. He liked his brain intact—not the consistency of snot—and he liked his secrets to remain secret.
    Another crackle of gunfire. Some sort of explosion. The lights gave up trying.
    “Fine,” he said, his opinion quickly changed. “Stay out of my head and I’ll stay out of yours.”
    But that wasn’t how it worked.
    Their minds touched instantly.
    He saw a girl of maybe twelve, restrained by anonymous guards. Her face was wrenched forward to watch as a fellow Sath was burned to cinders before what was left of his skull was chopped clean off. Then a woman, killed by equally gruesome spears and the cutting blow of a Dragon-forged sword.
    Hark didn’t just see the image; he smelled the wood and burning flesh, heard the cheers, felt the guards’ remorseless hands. And he felt what Silence had felt—no, what the girl named Orla had felt.
    Satisfaction.
    An idol. The shape of the Dragon. He caught the glimmer of black rock as it reflected the desert sun. Obsidian? He’d seen it before. That same glimmer. But he was pulled back to the story Silence told without words.
    I would’ve suffered as a Sath virgin.
    Hark resisted a shudder. He couldn’t think of anything worse.
    No wonder she’d run—Silence, the woman who seemed impervious to everything. She hated running so much that she’d made the Asters’ compound her home for five years. She hated it as much as he hated the dark and the quiet.
    Why, Hark? Tell me.
    They had no time.
    “Concentrate,” he said aloud, although his words were as far removed as the sun.
    Rather than probe, they united. They were Sath. Thieves. They used Jawahar’s gift to search the rabbit warren to find Hark’s hunters. Nine. Three were easily overpowered. They had weak minds and itchy trigger fingers. Hark could practically taste the copper on their tongues as they awaited their first kills. He’d never thought of enforcers as being novices, but they had to start somewhere. Likely they hadn’t thought to start by turning their weapons against one another. The hot electric petroleum scent of napalm bullets filled Hark’s nostrils, followed by the tang of blood and a trio of screams.
    Silence took out a pair of men by forcing their unwilling legs to charge out a window. Hark gripped her hand and mentally tugged her free of their consciousnesses as they smacked the inky pavement six stories down.
    Don’t be in their heads when they die. I’m not Indranan, but I sure as fuck know that much.
    Her mind glowed with thanks.
    Four men left. Their feet banged heavy boots on the floor, which happened to be the basement ceiling. Hark had a sense of déjà vu as he heard it with his own senses and saw the action through the Indranan’s telepathy. He’d throw up before all this was over.
    Don’t be a pussy , came Silence’s reproach.
    You’re cranky.
    They grounded one another in the only thing they could still feel— really feel. The grip of their two hands.
    That certainty was ripped away. Hark’s head was still a tangle of too many synapses, but he knew when he’d lost Silence. He whirled to find that Jawahar had used a loosened chain to snake Silence’s feet out from under her. She collapsed to all fours. Her