The high voltage zap he dispenses to both of my arms short-circuits my entire nervous system, causing my knees to buckle. Jude releases me, and I hit the ground.
My father just tased me? I try to stand, but the spasms in my leg muscles make it impossible. I struggle to shoot a sarcastic remark at the man towering above me, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, but my tongue fails me.
Another grunt and a cry of surprise pierce the air. I turn back to Dylan in time to see Troy lying on the ground. Jack and Matt move in from opposite sides. Dylan sinks his elbow into Matt’s midsection. Matt hunches over, gasping. Dylan reaches for Jack, grabs him by the arm, and spins around. He flips Jack over his back and slams him onto the ground with so much force the earth shivers beneath me.
Dylan scowls as he whirls around to face Matt, who is upright and swinging. Matt tries to fake Dylan out by lunging right. Matt’s fist connects with Dylan’s face. Blood spurts from Dylan’s mouth as his face jerks to the right. Matt punches Dylan again and again. Dylan stumbles to his knees, disoriented. Matt goes in for another attack.
“This is insane!” I pull my legs under my body and struggle to push my body upright. “Help me up! Call Matt off of him!”
Jude’s gaze never leaves the fight. “Your lack of faith in your partner is disappointing. If you were focusing, you would know Dylan is restraining his powers.”
No. Dylan’s going to lose this fight. Jack, Matt, and Troy had it out for Dylan last year. It’s clear they’re still out for blood. I groan and tell myself to look away, but I can’t. Instead, I crawl. Can I make it across the field and roast Matt before he kills Dylan?
Matt’s fists continue to pummel Dylan. My trembling arms barely support me as I pull my body along. My muscles quiver and seize. My face connects with the grassy earth.
Damn Jude! Then it hits me. What did Jude just say? Focus? I aim my hands toward Matt. All of my anger and fear condense within me. I wait for the heat, for the electricity to fill me. I visualize a human fireball. Nothing comes. I focus harder, extend my arms until my muscles ache. My powers are dead. I cry out in frustration.
My stomach flips with a sickening twist as Matt is about to drive his knee into Dylan’s face. Suddenly, Dylan jumps up, tackles Matt around the midsection, and slams him into the trunk of a tree. Matt flops to the ground, gasping for air.
Jude’s feet appear in my peripheral vision. “Dylan has incredible strength.” His voice swells with pride. He pulls me to my feet. I teeter on unsteady legs. “Enough distractions. It’s time to resume your training.”
Once again I wonder how Jude’s death would affect Dylan. If Aiden were here today, I could ask him.
“Think fast.”
Before I register Jude’s words, he hurls a baseball-sized fireball, which slams against my arm. Heat sears my skin.
I clutch the burned skin as I stumble backward. “Are you insane?”
“Relax. Inspect your arm.”
I’m about to insult him on his parenting when he nods.
“Look at it.”
I hold up my arm, which doesn’t hurt as much as it did when the fireball first hit me. The deep red mark on my skin fades just a little. There’s no swelling or blisters. How is that possible?
“This can’t be real.”
“Another benefit of being a demon. You’re welcome.”
You’re welcome? I hold my arm up to show him. “You burned my hair off, Jude,” I snap.
“Are you paying attention now?”
“You could’ve just asked the question. You didn’t need to burn me.”
Jude takes one step toward me. “Check the attitude, Lucy, or I’ll show you the kind of training I endured when I was your age. Suffice it to say I doubt you would survive.” His steely tone sounds dangerous.
Goose bumps race down my arms and legs. He won’t really hurt me, right?
“Now that you’ve experienced what it feels like to be hit with a fireball, you want to avoid being hit by another one.” Jude holds his palm up and a fireball appears. “Think of the two D’s. Deflect or dodge.”
Jude hurls the fireball at me, and I fall to my knees. Stars dance across my vision upon impact, and pain shoots up my thighs.
“That certainly qualifies as a dodge, but it’s not the most effective.” Jude stands still as a stone as he raises his palm and presents another fireball. Before I have time to move, he hurls it at me. I scream out as flame burns through my shirt and scorches my shoulder. “When you land on the ground, you have no leverage. You’re stuck and an easy target. It’s better to squat or shift low, lunge from side-to-side.” He pauses to see if his instructions sink in.
Psycho. I bite back the word before it spills from my mouth.
Jude nods. “Let’s try it again.”
I grit my teeth and push myself onto my feet. This sucks.
The fireball balancing on Jude’s palm catches my attention. Without any verbal warning, the fireball comes at me. I resist the urge to fall to the ground and instead veer to the right.
“Crap!” Hair sizzles against my ear, and I bat it out before it singes my skin. The smell nearly causes me to wretch.
There’s no time to dwell on that before Jude sends two successive fireballs my way, forcing me to lunge to the left, then back to the right again. He has me practice that maneuver until my thighs scream with fatigue.
“Another defensive tactic is the drop and roll,” he says.
“I really need a break,” I tell him as I struggle to catch my breath. Sweat trickles down my back making my skin itch, but I’m too tired to scratch it. “And some water.”
Jude takes several steps toward me. “If Seamus were here, would he grant your requests for a break and some water?”
I make a face, not caring if Jude sees it.
“Drop and roll is an effective power move.”
If Garret kills Jude, then I would be free of him. Oops. Then I’m a goner, too.
“Can you demonstrate?” I ask with a straight face, hoping he won’t pickup on my delay tactic.
“I can.” With a wave of his hand, Jude invites me to throw a fireball at him. I grin, only too happy to oblige.
Jude drops to his knees and immediately rolls to the left three times, then leaps to his feet. Without being asked, I hurl another fireball at him. He repeats the maneuver, this time rolling to the right.
Jude lands on his feet and brushes off his hands. “Your turn.”
He launches a fireball at me as if he’s pitching for the major leagues. My cry of surprise gets lodged in my throat as I drop to my knees and immediately roll to my right. My aching thighs refuse to cooperate, and instead of leaping up from the ground, I wheeze my way upright.
“Let’s try that again. This time with a little enthusiasm.”
I catch the smile on his face as he lobs another fireball at me. My father’s a nut job.
There’s no masking my cry this time. Fiery pain erupts from my knees as I connect with the ground. Dots dance across my vision, and I whimper as I curl and roll to the left. It takes several moments before I manage to climb back to my feet.
“It looks like you get a short day today,” Jude announces.
I shield my eyes from the sun and spot Dylan walking toward us, his chest puffed out and a sly grin on his face. Jack, Troy, and Matt follow behind him, limping and sullen.
“Team Dylan wins.” He jerks his thumb toward the mutts. “I’ll need some stiffer competition next time.”
I don’t understand. Although Dylan’s face is bruised and there’s blood smeared along his jaw, he doesn’t seem tired at all. He doesn’t look happy, though, and that cocky grin is as grim as when we first arrived.
Once inside the house, I grab my bag and go to the bathroom to change. My hands are caked with dirt and scorch marks. No blood. I turn my hands over, intrigued. On the days when I’m throwing fireballs, my skin turns a dark red. I threw only a couple fireballs today. Jude explained the red skin is my body’s protect
ive mechanism kicking in, so the heat from my own fireballs won’t hurt my hands.
I’m glad Jude keeps clothes here for me, so I don’t have to train in my good clothes. My shirt is burned in a dozen places. My jeans are ruined, too. True to Jude’s word, my wounds heal quickly.
As I pull on the clean jeans I arrived in, I notice my legs are red, too, like they’re sunburned. Same with my arms. The burns marks are gone, though.
I jump as someone knocks at the door. “I’m in here. Go find another bathroom.”
“It’s Dylan. Open up a second.”
I open the door a crack. “This house has to have more than one bathroom.”
He laughs and pushes his way in. “It’s not like you’re naked or anything.” He closes the door behind him.
“Can you believe how trashed those guys were?” He gloats, leaning against the wall.
“It was so weird. Jack came at me, grinning like a crazy person and something inside of me…”
He cocks his head, and suddenly, our eyes lock. I try to look away, but can’t. His energy seeps into me, spreads through me.
“Something came to life inside of me. It took over. I don’t know any other way to explain it.”
I feel myself grinning like a crazed hyena right along with him.
“That guy used to scare the crap out of me. He’s bigger than me—all of them are. But today…it never occurred to me to back down or to be afraid. I slammed him onto the ground before he realized I had him off his feet. I’ve never been able to move that fast…never had that kind of power.”
The thrill of his fight courses through my veins. My body trembles with exhilaration.
“We went round and round like that. I tried every move Aiden taught me. But these guys fight dirty.” Dylan’s eyes grow wide, and I can’t tell if it’s with awe or fear. “This is going to sound messed up, but the harder they came at me, the more charged up I felt.”
I’m guessing if one—or all three of them—was here now, Dylan wouldn’t hesitate to engage in a re-match.
“The biggest bullies we know are no longer a threat,” I say. A fit of laughter bubbles up inside of me.
Dylan closes the distance between us. I hold my breath as he reaches for me. A smile plays on his lips as he strokes my cheek. Then he uses his fingernail against my skin.
I turn to the mirror and frown. I missed a couple of soil smudges on my face. Jude wins Dad of the Year again for shooting fireballs at me, causing me to land face-first in the dirt. I grab the fluffy, white washcloth off the sink and hold it under warm water.
“Ugh. I look gross.” I stare at my reflection as I scrub at my skin. There’s no washing away the blush coloring my cheeks, however. What was I expecting him to do?
“You look like a girl who just kicked somebody’s ass.” Dylan takes the washcloth from me and tosses it in the sink. He takes hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’d think you’ve been training for years. I was pretty impressed.”
I inhale sharply as warmth spreads through me. My pulse quickens, more out of embarrassment than anything. “You must’ve missed all those times I landed on my butt. Or my face.”
Dylan takes my hand and holds it palm side up. He caresses my skin with his thumb. “Your secret weapon. You have no idea how jealous I am.”
His touch makes me nervous. The room grows warm, and yet I’m overcome with the need to move closer to him. Much like my need to hurl fireballs, it builds quickly, urgently. I don’t understand this. I can’t control it, and honestly, I don’t want to.
Dylan pulls me against him—or did I lunge at him?—and his mouth crushes against mine. My breath hitches as energy rages between us, something I’ve never felt before…or maybe I did. The night Dylan and I torched Jude’s tree. I felt it then. But this is stronger. The heat between us sizzles. We’re pressed so close together that we’re one, but it’s not enough.
A sudden memory pierces my thoughts. The night Marcus and I sat together on the front steps of the three-flat. He sang a French song about plucking feathers from a bird.
I shove Dylan away.
“Come on, Lucy. This is amazing. You and me.” Dylan leans in and presses his lips to mine. My body betrays me, leaning into him.
What am I doing? I push against Dylan’s chest. He laughs and pulls me toward him again. Does he think I’m playing around? I push him again, but it does little good. Panic bubbles up inside of me. I don’t want this. I pull my hand back and slap him as hard as I can. A red mark forms immediately on his cheek.
Dylan’s eyes widen as he takes an uneven step backward. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
I fling open the door and flee from the room.
Chapter Twenty
Dylan Douglas
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. What was I thinking? I wasn’t, and that’s the problem. I close the door after Lucy and splash cold water on my face. What the hell was that? It was hot, sure, but kind of insane, too.
Closing my eyes, I’m right back there, feeling her lips against mine. She was kissing me back. It made me lose my head. I’ve never felt desire like that before. Not even with my ex, Rachel, and I didn’t think it got any hotter than Rachel.
But the look on Lucy’s face before she ran out of here. Disgust? Guilt? Betrayal? Who am I kidding? It was probably all three. There go my chances of getting her away from Marcus.
Maybe.
I’m her ride home. She wouldn’t risk asking Jude for a ride, not when she’s trying to keep him away from her uncles. What can I do to make her see I’m a good guy, still the same old Dylan?
After I scrub off the dirt and blood and change clothes, I track Lucy down in the kitchen where she’s drinking hot tea. Her gaze lands on me like a deer in the headlights. A very scared deer.
Pain twists in my gut like a knife. I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, glancing around the room for Jude. If he heard this conversation, he’d probably skin me alive then set me on fire. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” It felt great. I don’t regret it. Sorry, but I don’t. But I have to go easy. Lucy can handle herself against Jude and all sorts of scary, but when it comes to sexual stuff, I get the sense it terrifies her.
Lucy scrapes her chair back, delivers her empty teacup to the sink. Then she crosses the kitchen and pauses, a good five feet between us. “That won’t happen again. Ever.”
The look in her eyes knocks the wind out of me. Cold and distant.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy Walker
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Selima waves Marcus’s hand away and hops over the railing. She surveys the roof. “I’m sure it’s been a lot to take in with Garret and Camille showing up out of the blue.”
“You could say that,” Marcus replies evenly. He turns and gestures to me. “This is my girlfriend—”
“Lucy!” Selima flashes me a dazzling smile and shakes my hand.
I gasp as her grip nearly brings me to my knees.
“Selima!” Marcus takes my hand and inspects my throbbing fingers.
Selima cringes, her face flushing red. “I’m so sorry. I…I don’t shake hands with many humans these days.” She touches my shoulder. “Is anything broken? I will heal her.”
“I’m okay.” I force a smile and attempt to bend my fingers. “You said my name as if you knew about me.”
“Camille told me about you. I couldn’t wait to meet you.”
I wonder what Camille said about me. Did she refer to me as demon spawn? Cheater can be added to the list now, too. The kiss with Dylan flashes through my head and my shoulders sag. Marcus doesn’t need more disappointment.
I shake off thoughts of Dylan and focus on Selima. I stare at the nose and eyebrow piercings, dark brown hair cut short and spiky, heavy black eyeliner rimming almond-shaped eyes. She’s dressed in black from her tank top all the way down to her combat boots.
After my last run-in with Camille and Garret, I can�
�t help but be suspicious. I check her fingers for claws and try to get a look at her teeth.
I glance at Marcus, whose hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He shifts from one foot to the other, eyeing her.
“Not what you were expecting?” she says with a throaty laugh.
“You and Marcus look nothing alike,” I blurt out. “Are you really brother and sister?”
“We have different mothers,” Marcus murmurs.
I notice he keeps his distance from her. His expression remains closed off.
She blows out a long breath and smiles. “My little brother’s pretty broody. What’s up with that?” She waits for me to agree.
I give her a wide-eyed stare instead. “Do you know Garret attacked Marcus recently?” And I kissed another guy?
Selima’s upbeat mood fades. “I did. I’m sorry about that.” She reaches for Marcus.
He stands stone still, his hands tucked away.
“Can you tell me what happened? I heard Lucy hurled a fireball in the kitchen and trashed the place.”
My mouth drops open.
Marcus chuckles bitterly. “Of course, Garret would tell you that part. If you’re here on his behalf, you should go.”
Selima holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. Please don’t send me away. I’m here because I want to meet—and get to know—my brother. There’s no alternative agenda.”
Marcus raises his eyebrows. “You swear?”
“I swear.”
The moment feels heavy with intention. It reminds of all those times Momma and I made pinky promises. Momma rarely kept hers.
Marcus relaxes and turns to me. “She’s good. Protectors can’t lie.”
A vision of Garret about to sink his dagger-sharp teeth into Marcus’s neck has me leery about the virtues of protectors. “Why are you here?” I blurt out.
The corners of Selima’s mouth curve up. “To meet my brother, like I said. I was hoping to meet you, too.”
“Who sent you?”
The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series Page 11
