The man I’d glimpsed at the bar, just before he’d turned into a dog, stood in the front yard. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall and close to three hundred pounds. Even with his hands loosely in the pockets of his dress pants, his biceps bulged beneath his shirt. I swallowed hard and eyed his neck. The width of it competed with the width of his jaw. He was built for fighting. My heart skipped a beat at the same time my stomach plunged to my toes. His precisely combed dark hair and pressed slacks were obviously meant to mislead his opponent. Was there any chance for us?
My gaze drifted to the older man who stood beside the fighter. He’d put the chokehold on the beast once before. However, he didn’t look like he would offer any help this time. His light grey gaze studied me, and I felt a hint of hope and sorrow from him, an odd combination of emotions.
Focusing on the fighter once more, I tried to come up with a plan.
The man’s dark brown eyes flicked to my hand, the one wrapped around Ethan’s, before meeting mine. Something in that glance had me stepping protectively in front of Ethan.
“Isabelle,” the man’s low voice sent a shiver of dread through me, “let the boy go.”
He was right. Ethan wasn’t involved in this. They wanted me.
“Ethan, this time listen.”
I released his hand and gave him a nudge before sprinting at the man. Instead of trying to hit him—something he was sure to anticipate—I dropped. Balancing on my hands, I kicked out a leg and hooked him behind the knee with my calf. As he buckled, I used the hold on his leg to pull myself up behind him.
He landed in a three-point stance with his head bent as if in prayer. I twisted and grabbed a piece of rusted metal from a nearby pile. Ignoring the jagged edge that bit into my palm, I swung my ghetto weapon at his head. But he was too fast. He turned, caught my wrist, and tugged forward. He pulled me off balance, and I landed on his knee like a little girl on Santa’s lap.
Our gazes locked. My breath heaved in and out as my stomach cramped with fear not my own. Crap. Ethan. I heard him struggling with someone. He hadn’t run.
The man’s eyes didn’t waver from mine, and I realized he wasn’t moving. Neither was I. I still had another hand free. I needed to pull more—
“You’re bleeding.”
The man’s steady voice confused me. Why didn’t he sound angry?
I could feel Ethan’s fear, worry from three of the people, and annoyance from another, but nothing from the man holding me by the wrist. I hated not feeling anything from him. I couldn’t steal what I couldn’t feel. How could I fight him?
As he stood, pulling me up with him, his fingers trembled around my wrist. A weak hold? I swung with my left arm. Not a strong swing, but it was better than just standing there. He caught that wrist, too, leaving me no choice. If I couldn’t pull emotion from him, I’d pull from everyone else.
I breathed in Ethan’s fear, the group’s worry and impatience, and the neighbors’ desolation and hopelessness. Carefully, I pulled what I needed without reducing Ethan to an immobile puddle. Again and again, I stole from them. The man watched me breathe in and out. The emotions expanded within me, a ball of raw power. My insides hardened. My muscles twitched. The man before me frowned as he studied my face… my rage.
A quick twist freed my right hand. He didn’t try to reclaim it, and I narrowed my eyes at him. What game did he play?
I breathed again, taking everything I could and stomped on his foot. He flinched, and I pulled my other hand free. My skin tingled painfully. Too many emotions swirled within me. I struck out and connected with his face. His head snapped to the side. My wrist crunched. It should have hurt, but I was too full of everything else and didn’t feel anything. He frowned. I swung again, but this time he blocked it with an open palm. His warm fingers curled around my fist for just a moment. I pulled back and tried again.
He blocked each strike, moving fluidly with me. The pressure behind my skin eased. It was like I was back in the play yard with Ethan. A small smile broke free with that thought.
The big man’s dark eyes drifted to my mouth, and his expression changed. He caught my next swing and pulled me forward. Off balance, I fell against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His chest expanded against mine as he breathed deeply.
Shocked, I wrenched on his ear and slipped out of his arms. Then, I did the most girly thing I’d done in a long time. I slapped him. With my cut hand. It left behind a bloody handprint.
He stared at me a moment, then reached up and touched his cheek. He looked at his hand, at my blood smeared on his skin, and his whole body began to tremble. Vaguely, I recalled seeing him do the same thing a moment before Brick had hit me in the face.
I backed up a step. He didn’t try to follow. I backed up three more and risked a quick look behind me. The two guys loosely held Ethan. I understood why he didn’t try to break free of their weak holds when he glanced at me, to the man, and back at me again. He had watched me take down some crazy huge men in the past. No doubt he’d figured out the mountain before me wasn’t the same as those guys. The mountain wasn’t normal.
The older man who’d stood aside and watched us fight heaved a sigh.
“Carlos…” he said.
My feet slid back a few more steps. Carlos’ eyes drifted to the hand at my side. Though I knew better, I glanced down at it, too. The slap had caused it to start bleeding in earnest, and a drop fell from the tip of my middle finger to the ground.
“Isabelle, stop,” one of the women said from behind me.
I rolled my shoulders. I couldn’t take them all in a fight. If they were regular people, maybe. And I couldn’t drain them, not with Ethan already weak and within range. What did that leave me?
“Isabelle, I promise, we’re not here to hurt you,” the same voice said.
“The world is full of promises waiting to be broken,” I said.
I’d learned the truth of that at a young age. Even the promises made with the best intentions could crumble because of circumstance. I thought of the note and of Ethan as I took a deep breath, ready to pull everything in.
“The more you pull, the tighter you feel on the inside.”
The words stopped me. I finally turned and eyed the speaker. She was the one who’d knocked on the door. She looked young and had vivid blue eyes that contrasted with her dark hair. She was also the one who leaked desperation and fear. Were they using her too? I thought not. The russet-haired man beside her hovered protectively close.
“Fighting helps.” She stepped closer. “But if you pull too much in, your nose starts to bleed.”
She was right. I’d learned that when I was still young, before I’d met Ethan. I couldn’t remember now what had made me angry with my parents, but I could remember what I had done to them and how my nose had bled afterward as I’d bent over their slumped bodies on the floor.
They know what you can do.
The phrase repeated in my head. I would not be used to hurt people like that. Adrenaline pumped through my veins.
“No.” The word echoed off the houses.
I gave Ethan an apologetic look, and he immediately closed himself off. I hoped it would save him.
I pulled harder than I ever had before. First, the four by Ethan collapsed to the ground. Then, the older man went to his knees, his surprised gaze on me.
The man before me remained unaffected while Ethan slowly started walking toward the car. My friend’s steps were measured and unsure. Yet, to save us both, I’d need to take more.
The man stepped toward me and lifted his hand. I pulled again as he reached forward.
“Stop… Isabelle… you’ll hurt…” The dark-haired girl’s head hit the dead grass, and her eyes rolled back.
My skin tingled as if all of me had fallen asleep and was just starting to come to. But he didn’t stop. Curling my hands into fists, I wondered if I finally had enough to down him.
His fingers touched my cheek, then gently wiped my upper lip. I jerked back from his touch and saw the blood. My blood. I sniffled, realizing my nose was bleeding. That wasn’t good.
His eyes bore into mine for a moment, then he stepped aside. Stunned, I watched him lift one of the girls from the ground then straighten with her in his arms. He walked toward the backyard, carrying her.
Ethan’s car roared to life, pulling me from my shock. The big guy wasn’t going to fight me.
I ran for the car and got in. Ethan didn’t wait for me to close the door. We peeled away from the yard as the man stepped around the corner empty-handed. My last look was of him bending to pick up the other girl.
****
“Hands up, now,” Ethan said. He paced the small space of our room, moving what he could out of the way.
My head hurt, and my eyes didn’t want to focus.
“Now, Z!” He swung at me. I automatically blocked.
“Stop. Wait,” I said. “I can’t…”
He swung again and connected with my arm. My already tight skin throbbed.
“Stop being a girl and get those hands up.”
I jabbed at him, but he dodged my pathetically slow move.
“Again,” he said. His hits were more like nudges. He was trying to piss me off, and it was working.
I shifted my weight with my next swing and hit his arm. Long ago, I’d stopped aiming for his head or vital spots when we sparred. I didn’t want to hurt him, not in a permanently damaging way, anyway.
“Come on, twinkle-toes. Dance. Move. Do something more than swing those little toothpicks you call arms.”
Scratch that. He was going to lose some teeth. I swung harder, aiming for his mouth. He laughed. Jerk. He continued to block each pathetic blow. My swings were too loose.
Focus. I shook my head and stepped back to roll my shoulders.
“That’s my girl.” His soft voice and sad eyes told me just how worried he was. He’d kept his emotions tightly blocked the whole drive, but now they were starting to slip.
We fought quietly in the motel room for thirty minutes before my nose stopped bleeding and another thirty before my skin stopped throbbing. It still ached, but I called a stop regardless.
“We can’t stay here,” I said, moving to the bathroom. I grabbed a hand towel for each of us, tossed one to him, and used mine to wipe the sweat and blood from my face.
“I don’t know what they are, but I think we need to listen to that letter.” The towel muffled my words.
“All right.” He snatched the keys up from the table. “I’ll get what we need and be back in four hours.”
I laid a hand on his arm as he passed, stopping him. His gaze met mine. I had no words for how much his simple agreement and willingness to help meant to me.
“Just come back.”
He nodded and left.
Still in my running clothes from that morning, I went to the hotel’s meager exercise room and hogged the treadmill for the next hour.