Free Captivated (Talented Saga #3.5) by Sophie Davis Page A

sweaty
from my previous matches. But before I embarrassed myself by doing
just that, the referee blew his whistle.
    The shrill noise erased all the
lingering questions about who this opponent was, the one everyone
was so interested in watching me fight. In truth, it didn’t matter.
This kid was my final hurdle in achieving the goal I’d been working
towards for years; I had to beat him.
    Seven minutes and my fate would be sealed.
    We began circling each other, each
of us waiting patiently for the other to strike first. Ordinarily I
would have forced him to make the first move, but I was eager to
demonstrate my sparring abilities, and to wipe that smug grin off
of his face. I struck out with a well-placed kick to his left side.
The blow was deflected with a lazy swat of his hand. Anger caused
my blood to boil. Was he toying with me? What, was I not worthy of
his full efforts?
    Fueled by my annoyance, I
attempted a second hit, this time a jab to his shoulder. Again, the
arrogant twit deflected the blow with as much effort as it would
take to swat a pesky fly. He wanted to
play it that way, fine, I thought
indignantly. Hadn’t he been watching my other matches? Didn’t he
realize I was not some little girl trying to play with the big
boys?
    I reached out with my mind,
latching on to his. Well, at least, I tried to latch on to his. His
brain waves were unusual, not like any I’d ever encountered. I
couldn’t decipher his Talent. He wasn’t a morpher like the others,
that much was certain. I cycled through the other Talents, trying
to get a handle on his.
    Sensing my distraction, the guy
pressed his advantage. A crushing force hit me square in the chest,
knocking the wind out of me. I stumbled, using my telekinetic
powers to right myself, so I didn’t end up flat on my
back.
    The watching crowd cheered and I
had to refocus in order to block them out. Once again, my opponent
took advantage of the situation, advancing towards me with slow,
methodical steps. Unlike me, he was in no hurry; he had nothing
riding on the outcome of this fight, save his pride.
    I glanced at the digital clock
counting down the time: six minutes, two seconds.
    An uncomfortable thought occurred
to me, my opponent hadn’t touched me. The strike to my chest wasn’t
the result of physical contact; he was a strong telekinetic.
Something about that realization didn’t sit right, though. If he
were a telekinetic, then his brain patterns should be familiar. I’d
sparred with quite a few during my classes, and none of them
projected the strange signals that he currently was.
    “What is your deal?” I thought bitterly.
    My opponent froze, a bewildered
expression overtaking the self-satisfied one he’d had plastered on
since sauntering to the center starting ring. This time, I took
advantage of whatever temporary confusion he was suffering from.
Summoning all of my strength, I threw him across the room, watching
as he landed on his butt before sliding several feet and coming
within inches of hitting the far wall.
    “Now I’ve got you,” I thought, charging after him and hoping that I
could reach him before he regained his composure.
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” an angry voice responded in my mind.
    Startled by the mental
communication, I lost focus. Next I knew, my feet were yanked out
from underneath me as if an invisible rope had wound around my
ankles, and been pulled by the wielder. I hit the mat with a thud,
my head bouncing on the unforgiving surface. The pounding between
my ears dulled his mental voice as he said, “You aren’t the only one who can play mind games.”
    The next instant, he was over top
of me, strong hands pinned my shoulders to the ground. I struggled,
but the kid was stronger than his lithe build suggested.
    “Get off of me,” I sent, putting all my will into the
command.
    For a brief second, his hold
slackened, allowing me enough time to wiggle free. I rolled to my
right, sweeping my leg out in the process. Either my