Starborn (The Order of Orion Book 1) Read online

  Starborn

  Order of Orion: Book One

  Samantha Jane

  Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Jane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  Cover photography from Shutterstock.com and Dreamstime.com

  For my family, who encouraged me to reach for the stars

  Contents

  Houses Of Starborn Ability

  Prologue

  1. Lucas

  2. Willow

  3. Lucas

  4. Willow

  5. Lucas

  6. Willow

  7. Willow

  8. Lucas

  9. Willow

  10. Lucas

  11. Willow

  12. Lucas

  13. Willow

  14. Willow

  15. Lucas

  16. Willow

  17. Lucas

  18. Willow

  19. Lucas

  20. Willow

  21. Willow

  22. Lucas

  23. Willow

  24. Lucas

  25. Willow

  26. Lucas

  27. Willow

  28. Lucas

  29. Willow

  30. Lucas

  31. Willow

  32. Lucas

  33. Willow

  34. Lucas

  35. Willow

  36. Lucas

  37. Willow

  38. Lucas

  39. Willow

  40. Willow

  41. Lucas

  Epilogue

  Also by Samantha Jane

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  STARCROSS

  Eve

  Granger

  Houses Of Starborn Ability

  Mercuria—the gift of telepathy through thoughts, memories or emotions.

  Luna—the gift of communication with animals.

  Marsa—the gift of telekinesis.

  Sola—the gift of foresight.

  Pluta—the gift of sickness and/or healing.

  Jupita—the gift of environmental manipulation with weather, fire, electricity or earth.

  * * *

  Prologue

  Lucas

  Lucas Black lowered his gun as his target crumpled to the ground. Out on the street, the crush of city workers rushed past, scarcely noticing the fallen man. Those who did barely hesitated—helping him to complete another mission for The Order of Orion. Silencers made his job a damn sight easier too. The slight snap of the shot had been swallowed by the din of traffic and the wild rhythm of nearby street performers playing metal drums.

  The Order had observed Fromberg’s miserable life for a fortnight. An investigative journalist, with no friends or family, he’d been a solitary figure. Easy to track. Cigarettes and his work at The Detroit News had dominated his life, but it was his obsession with his latest story that had catapulted him straight onto their hit list. Secrecy was vital. Chances couldn’t be taken.

  “Sweet shot, Black.” Granger stood beside him watching the scene unfold. “But I wish you’d give me a chance. It’s been four months.”

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to complete a mission. Give it time.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Nothing prepares you for a kill order. It never gets easier. Trust me.”

  “I can handle it. You need to trust me.”

  Lucas grunted his reply. Granger was a pain in the ass, but he reminded Lucas of himself years ago, when he too had craved retribution.

  But the similarity ended there.

  Granger hadn’t had his heart ripped out. Granger didn’t burn with grief and revenge. No, the rookie had signed up to become an assassin because he was an arrogant twenty-three-year-old chasing glory and female adulation within The Order. Things Lucas had never sought or claimed. He was seven years older than Granger, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

  As he stared across the street at his latest kill, there was nothing but emptiness inside him. A woman had finally stopped to help. She screamed and glanced around in panic. Gunshot wounds were hard to miss.

  “Time to go.” He threw the semiautomatic pistol into a nearby dumpster and jumped into the passenger seat of the white hatchback they’d lifted a few hours ago. Revving the engine, Granger rocketed down the street, narrowly missing the corner of the dumpster.

  “Easy. Don’t bring attention to us.” Lucas glanced over his shoulder. Meticulous planning and clandestine operation methods were the cornerstones of The Order, not gung ho gangster action.

  “So, Tom Licari is gonna go down as the trigger man?” asked Granger.

  He shrugged. “Fromberg’s been investigating Licari’s links to the motorcycle wars and it’s Licari’s gun.”

  “Using our abilities to eliminate him would’ve been less messy.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Eliminating targets is easy. But leaving a zero footprint isn’t. All kill orders need to be completed by ordinary human means. It’s our way.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Stealth is our friend.”

  Lucas chose to look out the window instead of dropping a right hook into Granger’s face.

  Driving through the seedier part of downtown Detroit, they passed liquor stores and shop fronts with barred windows. Granger eased the car to stop in front of their hotel. Run down and unwelcoming, it was in urgent need of a face-lift, just like the surrounding area. Frequented by hookers and the desperate, the hotel had an air of furtiveness that suited their mission.

  “Dump the car and don’t get noticed.” Lucas unfolded from the hatchback, pulled his black hoodie up and made his way into the hotel.

  A female hotel attendant, safely encapsulated behind a glass barrier, sat a little straighter when she spied Lucas. “Hi, sugar. You need anything?”

  Without a glance, he continued through the tired-looking lobby. Her not-so-subtle offer was of no interest to him. He scanned the corridor carefully before entering his room. It paid to be vigilant. Hovels like this one bred rodents—of the human kind.

  Threadbare mismatched furniture greeted him, but thankfully the room was undisturbed. He moved to stand beside the window, which afforded a delightful view of a brick wall from the building next door. Scanning his palm over his tablet device, he logged in for orders. A photo of Fromberg flashed up under their current orders and he checked it off as completed.

  Scrolling down, he found their next order. Capture two emerging Starborn from a psychiatric hospital, and eliminate their psychologist, a Doctor Willow Trilby.

  He clicked on the related documents and perused the psychologist’s file; twenty-six years old, recently moved to Nova Scotia, lived alone. He followed the links to a web page with an article from the University of British Columbia, Canada.

  A photo showed her accepting a PhD. A ridiculous feather cap sat on a mop of flame-red curls and bright blue eyes stared into the camera. Lucas sucked in his breath.

  He rechecked the mission brief.

  Four red letters. KILL.

  There was no option for elimination through memory erasure. The Order of Orion had deemed her PhD research into the paranormal a high threat to their discovery. As with Fromberg, chances couldn’t be taken. Orders needed to be followed. Sometimes this job was a complete bitch.

  1

&nb
sp; Lucas

  Lucas peered through the scope of his long-range sniper rifle to better see his target. Her long red hair made her easy prey. Even in the miserable afternoon rain so typical of Nova Scotia, she stood out like glowing embers in gray ash.

  “How much longer do we have to wait?” Granger crouched beside him under a large white spruce tree. “It’s been days. She’s alone in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’s a slam dunk. I’m sick of being freaking wet.”

  Lucas didn’t bother to look over at Granger, and instead kept his gaze trained on Trilby as she gathered firewood from the large woodpile at the back of her cottage. She wore floral pajamas and ridiculously large white fluffy slippers.

  “We don’t do anything until I say so.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Lucas frowned. “You’re keen. I understand that, but watching and not rushing in Rambo-style gets better results.”

  Granger snapped off a twig and jabbed it at the wet forest floor. “Why have that rifle if we can’t use it?”

  “Noctem. If they arrive first and try to capture the Starborn then we have permission to engage. Otherwise, we wait until we get a good opportunity for a clean kill that’ll look like an accident.”

  Granger let out a long drawn out sigh. Within a minute, he was talking again. “Lucky she’s hot. A nice bit of ass to watch even in that getup.”

  Lucas gripped the rifle tighter. “She is our target, not one of your playthings.”

  “She’s still hot. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the hunt. A cute little mouse is more fun for this cat. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “Nothing. I’m just sick of your fucking talk.”

  They both watched her walk into the tiny cottage and close the door against the approaching night. Lights illuminated the cottage and suddenly they had a clear view of her movements through the building’s windows. She filled her coffee pot with water at the kitchen sink and then set it back into her coffee maker. It was a mundane activity, and on the surface she hardly seemed a threat. But dig down, and Doctor Willow Trilby was their number one enemy.

  Her psychology research into paranormal abilities at Halifax’s Queensgate Psychiatric Hospital was getting dangerous. She was close to discovering that two of her patients had Starborn ability and stumbling upon The Order of Orion’s two-hundred-year-old secrets.

  The sound of Trilby’s phone ringing saved them from any further discussion. He pulled out his Order issued tablet device and swiped the screen to intercept her cell phone.

  An official and somewhat pompous voice informed her that the hospital board was lifting her twenty-four hour suspension and that she needed to report to a Doctor Barclay tomorrow morning. Trilby thanked the caller and hung up.

  Lucas stared at Trilby through her living room window. The forest was pitch-black now and she stood out in the cottage as though under spotlights. She still held the phone in her hand and he watched as she dialed a number. He made sure he was patched in and waited to see who answered.

  “Professor Laidley,” answered an elderly male.

  “Professor, it’s me, Willow.”

  “Willow, how are you? Any word from the hospital?”

  “Yes, they’ve just called.”

  “And?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

  “They’re letting me keep my job but I need to adhere to strict new supervision arrangements.”

  “Thank God. And your research?”

  Trilby’s voice cracked. “On hold.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll keep the funding. They’re just being cautious. But what in God’s name possessed you to access health records you didn’t have authorization for?”

  “Eve.” Trilby’s voice trembled.

  “Willow, you’ve hired private investigators, been given access to foster care files. It’s all led to nothing. She doesn’t want to be found. You need to let go and move on. Go back to work tomorrow and make sure you take the second chance they’re offering.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Trilby had turned her back to the window but Lucas could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. Knew she wasn’t ready to let go. She placed the phone on the table and then hugged herself for a few moments. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her—not for her imminent death, because that was necessary—but for her fruitless search for her sister. He’d read about it in Trilby’s file, but hearing her pain as she spoke about her sister made it more real. Memories of his own family flowed through him. His gut tightened and for a few seconds he fought for control, trying to stay in the moment and not be taken back to those dark days. Clenching his fists, he reminded himself why he was here—to protect Starborn and their families from discovery. Trilby’s private search for her sister might be harmless, but her professional research into the paranormal wasn’t.

  “She’s a threat,” he said, surprising himself that he said the words out loud. “She’s found a link between patients with delusions of supernatural ability and high suicide rate.”

  “Shit…”

  “Yeah, shit. Our method of covering our abductions has gone statistical.”

  Granger’s eyes glittered. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s come up with a way to complete the order now. A gas leak should do the job.” He stood up and made a move toward the cottage.

  Lucas grabbed Granger’s arm, tugging him back. “I’m giving her one more day. Something about her warrants more observation.”

  Granger looked incredulous and then a sly grin spread across his face. “That something wouldn’t be about her hellfire hot body, would it?”

  Granger’s comment irritated Lucas more than it should have and he found himself firing back, “Do you always have to think with your dick?”

  “Yeah, I do. That’s the beauty of being a hot-blooded male. Maybe you’re finally doing the same. Too bad it’s for a kill order.”

  2

  Willow

  Willow changed into her fourth outfit for that morning, and was finally satisfied. The gray mid-calf length dress screamed serious professional. It was only material, but she’d wear it like armor for her return back to Queensgate Hospital. She needed any help she could get. Accessing restricted patient files and getting caught was a big deal. She smiled at her bedroom mirror, trying to look genuine and contrite, but it was difficult when disappointment and frustration tore at her insides. Turning up nothing, again, was crushing. Smoothing down her dress, she tried to rally her thoughts and emotions. She wasn't giving up on Eve. It wasn’t even an option. One day they’d be together again. Soon, she promised herself, it would be soon. She ignored the little voice that reminded her that this had been her daily vow for the last fifteen years and that she was still no closer to finding Eve.

  Sighing, she completed her professional image by scraping her long red hair up into a prim-looking bun and slipping her feet into sensible flat shoes. Her patients might wonder why she wasn't wearing her usual jeans, but they wouldn't hold this new look against her. And that’s who really mattered today. Not the bureaucrats who would joyfully rake her over the coals, but the lost souls she was trying to study and understand.

  Her research on delusions of paranormal ability though, wasn't just a professional interest.

  She walked into her living room and stopped to take in her obsession. Hundreds of printouts and newspaper clippings were taped to the walls. Every spare spot covered. It was a little serial killeresque, but she liked to see her research grouped according to paranormal sub-types. Telepathy, telekinesis, precognition, shape shifting, and of course vampires. On the supernatural websites recently, every man and his dog claimed to be a vampire. But she was more interested in finding people with metaphysical abilities.

  People like her. And maybe like her long-lost sister.

  She stared at the old Polaroid of Eve taped to the wall in the center of her clippings. For fifteen years she’d searched for Eve; hired private investigators, petitioned the courts, checked public records, only
to reach a dead end every time. Now the only avenue left was to find others born with metaphysical ability like herself. It was a long shot. But if she had this strange gift, surely her twin might too. A heart full of childhood memories and hope drove her forward. Made her do things that she wouldn’t normally do. Like illegally accessing health records. She reached out and peeled the Polaroid off the wall. She needed it close to her today and it fit perfectly into the pocket of her dress. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her laptop bag and walked out of the cottage ready to play nice with the hospital and grab the second chance they were offering.

  After a forty-minute drive in her old Mustang, Willow arrived at Queensgate Psychiatric Hospital. Located in the outskirts of Halifax, it was built in the late eighteen hundreds, making it one of the oldest private psychiatric hospitals in Canada. Four stories high, it featured Victorian archways and detail, and possessed a grim presence so common in old asylums. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the hospital and accepted the stipulations of her return to work arrangement as proposed by her line manager. An hour later she was regretting her decision. She didn’t mind the elderly Doctor Barclay having to scrutinize her work, but she did mind being in the same room as him when she knew he was packing a major hard-on behind his desk. Emotional telepathy could be a gift and a curse. When you could feel crazy lustful vibes radiating from an elderly psychiatrist, it was the latter.