“Good plan,” I encouraged. “You won't be missing anything.”
“Yeah, I keep telling Rodney he got a flat on purpose—the rivalry between jocks and geeks, you know… yes, I'm calling you a geek,” she teased him.
“Well, I want details later,” I told her.
“Yeah, yeah… oh my Oreos! Let's get some ice cream!… No, you can turn up here and go back. Please?… I'll pay you a buck for gas. Come on…”
She must have won, because in seconds she told me she had to run and freeze her brain. I rolled my eyes and wished her luck.
After I ended the call with Lee, I started looking through my contact list, searching for Toni. I'd been so absorbed in my call to Lee that I hadn't noticed someone come up behind the tree, until Micah slipped around the trunk to stand beside me.
“Hey,” he said, looking pleased with himself for finding me. It was all over his face, his aura, his words. “You ditch your date already? Can't blame you. I just did the same thing. I hate clingy women.”
I looked up from my phone, taking an instinctual step back when I realized just how close he was to me—and leaning closer. “Um, Micah?”
He grinned, and his skin carried a yellow sheen from the single porch light. “Yeah, beautiful?” he whispered, his voice husky and his breath layered with alcohol.
I cringed away from him another step, but he followed me, one hand steadying him against the rough bark. “Micah, you're drunk. I'm going inside now, okay?”
“Come on, beautiful. The night's so beautiful.” He chuckled, and his gleaming eyes revealed his amusement at his self-perceived creativity. But it was amazing how fast amusement turned to leering. I'd seen that look on him before, but it had never been this strong. My stomach clenched, and my posture stiffened warily.
His voice was dull, his eyes hard. His aura was growing redder with each passing breath. “You really tore Aaron up, you know that? But his reaction… it only made me more curious to see what you were capable of. To see what made him miss you that bad. I've always wanted to get to know you better, beautiful…”
I snapped my phone closed and wordlessly turned away from him, heading back to the house. I needed to check on Patrick, and I needed to get away from the wasted quarterback.
His hot fingers snaked around my wrist, jerking me to a stop. Something popped painfully, and a broken gasp escaped me. My hand suddenly throbbed, and I wondered if he'd sprained it with his iron grip.
I whirled around to face him, but I didn't try to tug my arm free—I was afraid of hurting my wrist even more. My eyes were slits, though, and I think he was a little taken aback by my angry expression. “Let go of me,” I said, trying my best to sound threatening.
His momentary surprise passed, and something like excitement took over as his dominant emotion. His hold only tightened around my aching wrist, and his eyes were gloating. “Make me.”
My breaths were coming faster now, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. I did the only thing I could think of doing: I employed the basic training that Patrick had tried to impart.
First, I forced my phone into my pocket, freeing up a hand. Micah watched me with fascination. The second my phone was safely tucked away he reached for my fingers.
I was faster. I straightened my hand and slammed it just below the crook of his elbow, hopefully sending a shock through the arm that was imprisoning my wrist. Then I twisted my caged hand fiercely, hissing through my teeth in pain as I jerked it through the weakest section of his fist—where his thumb and forefinger met.
I staggered back a step but stopped when I realized it had actually worked. I'd freed myself. From the big shot quarterback.
He looked as shocked as I was. After all, I was a lot smaller and not exactly the athletic type. But his already red aura turned livid, and I knew I'd insulted him in more ways than one.
“You shouldn't have done that, beautiful,” he said heavily.
I glanced around, but the people in the yard were focused on other things. I wasn't going to get help from them. Besides, they were all buddies with the quarterback. It's not like they would have stood up to him.
So I turned and ran, darting for the house. I was sure that if I could get to the kitchen, Jaxon would talk some sense into the drunk football king. That's all I had to do—make it into the kitchen.
I felt a sickening yank on my hair before the excruciating pain registered on my scalp, deep in my head. Sure, the twins had pulled my hair all their lives, but this was totally different. I almost fell to my knees from the shock of it. I might have, if Micah hadn't yanked me back and wrapped an arm around my stomach, pinning me against his hard body. He was still pulling my hair, and I cried out without meaning to.
“That's better,” he grunted. “Come on, beautiful. Show me what Aaron's missing…”
He bowed over me, and in that heart-stopping moment I realized that this was really happening. He was going to force me to kiss him.
And then we weren't alone anymore. Aaron grabbed my arm with one hand and with the other he shoved Micah's face back, not caring where his fingers landed. “What are you doing, man?” Aaron demanded hotly, shoving roughly. “Let go of her. Now!”
My eyes were burning from the pressure on my scalp. It felt like all my skin and hair was being ripped out. Quite suddenly I was released; Micah pushed away from me, desperate to escape Aaron's fingers that were sliding into his eyes.
I blinked rapidly, my heart pounding quickly. My breathing wasn't normal either, but at least the stinging in my eyes stopped there and didn't produce any tears. Aaron wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close up against his side even as he swiveled around to shield me from the enraged quarterback.
Micah was cursing loudly, cradling his face in his hands. “Dude, my eye!”
Aaron didn't back down, even though Micah was considerably bigger. “I don't care if you're drunk—you don't do that! Especially not to my girlfriend.”
“She's not your girlfriend anymore,” Micah said vehemently, his head finally coming up while his hands dropped. His one eye was extremely red and watering like Niagara Falls. I almost felt bad for him. But not really.
There was no remorse in Aaron's locked jaw. “Stay away from her. Or I'm going to give you the beating of your life. Got it?”
“Kate?”
His voice was small, even a little sluggish, but it was so close I wanted to cry in relief. Aaron let me go as I twisted around to make sure it really was Patrick. I watched as my Guardian stepped off the porch and quickly crossed the distance to us.
He face was still a sickly gray, and his eyes darted rapidly between me and Micah. I don't think he'd seen much—not as much as Aaron had, I was sure—but he must have pieced things together. His eyes still harbored twinging pain, but there was anger there too—and fear. Fear for me.
I took the last step into his arms, and he embraced me carefully, eyes still focused on the glaring football player. His body felt limp against mine, and I knew his violent sickness had taken its toll. “Patrick, are you all right?” I asked in a whisper.
“I'm fine,” he muttered, for me only. His arms suddenly tensed around me. “What about you?”
“I'm fine,” I copied him. “I think I'm ready to leave.”
He nodded once, swallowed hard, and glanced to Aaron. “Thank you.”
Aaron just jerked his head aside, dismissing the thanks. His aura was almost overwhelmed with anger and shame.
We had an audience now. Jaxon was on the porch, his girl right next to him, and all those people that had been kissing? Well, we had their attention now. Aaron's loud voice had done that.
Micah saw the scene that had been created, and he was flushed red. I didn't need to be a Seer to see that he was personally offended. He zeroed in on Patrick's sweat covered face, and he grunted. “So you don't fight your own battles, huh? You let someone else take the risks for you? Afraid you'll get knocked around in front of your girl?”
Patrick didn't say anything. B
ut his whole body was coiled so tightly; I'd never felt him stand this rigidly.
“Knock it off, man,” Aaron growled, eyes slicing like blades into Micah's body.
The quarterback didn't seem to notice. He was still centered on Patrick. “I've seen you, being all friendly with the retards every day. Do they make you feel important? You realize that that's not the real world, don't you? This is real, right here, right now. Just because a bunch of idiots worship you doesn't make you any better than them.”
Patrick's hands were shaking—from anger or sickness I didn't know. But was he getting paler? Was it rage, or was he going to be sick again? A combination of both?
“Patrick,” I whispered loudly, staring up at his stone face. “Let's go. Come on—you're sick.” My voice broke on the last word, but at least that got him to look at me. He studied my face, saw the fear there, and misinterpreted it. I was afraid for him. What was happening to him?
He thought I was afraid of Micah.
Micah snorted loudly. “Oh no, Patrick isn't feeling well. I guess that excuses a guy from a fight now.”
A couple of the football players gathered behind Micah chuckled. I wondered how they dared to take sides, since they obviously hadn't seen what had happened. I guess popularity really did count for something.
Aaron spoke through his teeth. “Micah. Knock. It. Off.”
Micah grinned at Patrick's intense eyes, saw that he was so close to snapping… He lifted two fingers in demonstration, skin almost touching. “I got this close to her lips, man. And boy, was she tasting good.”
Patrick's chest rose and fell; his eyes were locked on Micah's face over my head. “Patrick,” I said firmly. But there was an unstoppable waver in my voice, something I couldn't control.
Normally I wouldn't have been worried about him in a fight. He'd been fighting Demons for centuries. He'd been in more dangerous situations than anyone else I knew. But he hadn't been sick back then. I didn't know what was wrong with him now, but I knew that I didn't want him fighting. Not with Micah, not with anybody.
He didn't seem to hear me, and he certainly wasn't looking at me. His arms pulled back from around me, his hands curling around my upper arms. He carefully forced me to step aside, causing a chain reaction of jeers from the gathered spectators.
Patrick released his hold on me, but I was grabbing his arm, holding him back despite my throbbing wrist. He still wasn't looking at me. He had eyes only for Micah.
“Patrick, stop it,” I ordered. “Don't do this.”
He looked at me at last, and something was burning in his eyes, something that I'd never seen there before and couldn't even begin to define. The sight of it startled me, and I released him unthinkingly, knowing that unidentifiable emotion would haunt me until I could learn what exactly had caused it to burn inside him like that.
Patrick turned back to face Micah, who was swinging his arms and twisting his neck to loosen up. Aaron hadn't backed down either—he and Patrick were now standing beside each other, both of them tensed for the oncoming fight. I stood helplessly on the side-lines—my mind racing with thousands of thoughts, my heart hammering with a thousand emotions.
And then Jaxon thrust himself between Micah and my protectors, his expression incredulous. “Come on, guys—really? We're totally not doing this.”
“Pick a side or back off,” Micah snarled, his aura overwhelmed with anger and excitement. He viewed this as a chance to prove himself, even though he was supposedly among friends. Egotistical males…
“You and Aaron are not duking it out in my backyard,” Jaxon insisted, looking wildly between them. He must not have been as intoxicated as I'd first thought. His emotions were a lot clearer than the other football players in the yard.
Micah shrugged with impressive force. “Not after him. I want the cocky Irishman.” His gaze fell on me, and his smile widened. “Then I want her.”
The air seemed to change. Patrick and Aaron were already tightened to the point of breaking, so they couldn't visibly react to his words. Aaron's red aura practically made up for Patrick's lack of one. Jaxon looked completely floored, like he couldn't believe this was happening. They were all reacting to Micah's tone, his clear intentions…
But it was strange for me, because I could read his aura. I knew he had no feelings for me, that any attraction he'd felt was completely gone right now. He just wanted to use me to prove a point. Maybe if Patrick could have seen that, he would have acted differently. Maybe he wouldn't have. There was no way to know.
I blinked, and I almost missed it.
My Guardian's fist was planted in Micah's face, the space between them crossed in a single lunge. I think Patrick's speed took everyone by surprise, and as Micah groaned and clutched for his nose, doubling over in sudden pain, I almost thought that blindingly fast strike would be the end of the fight.
But after a half-second pause—a brief moment of shock—the backyard seemed to explode with sudden movement.
The four football players that had been hanging back behind Micah leaped forward, some offering theatrical yells. I might have laughed, if they weren't going after people I cared about. Two rushed for Patrick, and the remaining ones moved without hesitation for Aaron, who'd made his allegiance only too clear.
Jaxon was caught somewhere in the middle, but I was relieved to see him wrap his arms around one of the players swinging at Aaron. Aaron didn't seem to notice his friend's help—he was ducking a wildly thrown punch from one of his former teammates and then barreling headfirst into his bulky opponent's stomach.
I saw all of this from the corner of my eye, because my gaze was focused almost exclusively on Patrick. He saw the two players coming at him, and he crouched into a defensive position. I might have felt sorry for the unsuspecting bullies who'd pegged him for a weakling. But I was too worried about Patrick being overwhelmed to feel anything but mounting apprehension.
Patrick dodged the first punch easily, and then he lifted his leg in a powerful but fluid kick to one player's gut. The teenager gasped at the surprise impact and curled in over himself. Patrick returned to the defensive position in time to bat away a second thrust with a well-practiced arm, and then he brought in his free fist and slammed it into the other guy's face. Blood spurted, and he grabbed wildly for his injured nose, thoughts of punching Patrick gone in that moment.
By now Micah was recovered, and he came up behind Patrick, shoving himself on top of his unsuspecting back and pushing them both to the ground. They hit hard, and I instinctively stumbled back a step. Things were happening too fast—I didn't know what to do. I realized distantly that I wasn't even breathing.
Aaron's face was splattered with blood, his shoulder plowing into the football player attempting to tackle him. Jaxon was taking a punch, but already responding by head-butting his sudden enemy.
I felt completely helpless. Now I understood how all those girls in the movies felt. Fights happened too quickly—if you weren't an initial target, it was really hard to find something to do. Still, I didn't understand how those girls found the breath to scream.
Micah's knee was driven mercilessly into Patrick's back, pressing him more firmly against the ground. One palm crushed Patrick's skull deeper into the rocky earth. The quarterback was breathing heavily, shoving once more against the body beneath him before he called out curtly for someone to help hold the struggling Guardian down.
The two enraged guys that Patrick had already struck out at came forward, expressions terrifying. Their girlfriends were watching, and they were not willing to be played as fools again. They stepped closer, and the one that Patrick had kicked drew back his leg before throwing it into Patrick's undefended side with all his might. Patrick couldn't even draw up his legs and curl around the injury, because Micah was pinning him so effectively.
I couldn't see Patrick's face, because his head was forced away from me. But I heard his pained groan against the earth—saw his clenched hand shake in agony beside his turned head—and I suddenly
had command of my body. I'd never done anything like this in my life, but it was surprisingly easy. Instinctual.
I ran at the guy who'd kicked Patrick, ran right at his back. Without actually telling myself what to do, my legs bent and lunged and I was jumping on the large football player. My arms latched tightly around his neck, pulling him back and choking him. My legs locked around him too, making it look like a strange variation of a piggyback ride. But I didn't care what it looked like—the only thing that mattered to me was stopping this guy from hurting Patrick again.
Was this how guys felt all the time? Did they have to constantly battle this drive for a fight? If so, I pitied them. I couldn't think clearly at all. I just wanted to hit something.
The football player I strangled staggered back a few steps, and his bruising fingers clawed at my arms, fighting for freedom. I only tightened my hold in response and gritted my teeth, ducking my head against his back when I felt us sway dangerously. I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be crushed by a beefy football player.
I heard Aaron shout my name, but he might as well have been in China. I could feel us falling, and I knew that I was going to be the luckless one on the bottom. I swung my legs out, hoping that I could somehow land on my feet and balance us out.
Nope.
We hit hard. My head rebounded painfully against the unforgiving ground, and I gasped loudly, startled by the pounding sensation that swept through my entire body. I was being smothered, and I swear his elbow dug into my rib cage intentionally, driving out the rest of my air. My eyes watered, and my mouth hung open in shock.
Ow.
The guy rolled off of me in a short second, though it felt a whole lot longer than that. My pain hadn't even fully registered yet. There was just a throbbing ache everywhere and a sharper burn where his elbow had intruded forcefully.
And then his weight was gone, and I lay gasping on the ground. The football player whirled around to defend himself, realizing belatedly that I was a girl. I could see from his aura and his suddenly wide eyes that he was shocked at my gender, surprised to learn that he'd hurt me. He didn't have a chance to apologize, though, because Aaron was shoving into him, pushing him away from me.
Demons Page 18
