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Becca jumped. He might as well have hit her—shock knocked her back a few steps. He’d taken Hunter by surprise, too. The other boy almost went down.
He recovered pretty darn quick.
The twins were out of the car before she registered the sounds of the doors opening. She had half a second to worry whether Hunter could hold his own against three guys, and then Chris’s brothers were pushing them apart.
Wind swirled through the space between them, lifting debris from the driveway and reminding her she only wore a tank top and yoga pants.
The instant that breeze touched her, she felt power riding the wind, like silk streamers from the tail of a kite, flicking against her skin before whipping free to look for more interesting targets. But once she realized the power had just as much substance as something solid, she discovered she could grab hold and follow it to its owner.
Nicholas.
He felt it, too. He’d been the one to block Hunter, but his head whipped around to look at her, as if she’d grabbed the edge of his coat and given a firm yank.
Was this how Chris told them apart? She’d never felt their abilities like this—maybe something had happened on the bridge to give them more potency. Chris had mentioned that strength came with numbers, that tense situations stole their control.
Chris still looked ready to fight, his shoulders high, his fists locked. She could hear his breathing from here. But Gabriel was blocking him, a hand on his shoulder, speaking low. Talking him down.
Then her heart slowed enough for her to catch what he was saying—or maybe the wind just changed.
“... you want to beat the crap out of this guy, we’ll do it. But really, man, for what? Chris, I warned you about this chick. We could probably come back any morning this week and find a different one... .”
Each word hit her like a fist. Her insides felt like dry ice, so frozen it was starting to burn.
Wind whipped across the driveway, harsh and fierce enough to scrape at her cheeks. There were no streamers now, just rage in the air.
“Get out,” she said. She could barely hear herself over the wind. She was shivering and it was probably lucky her voice was steady. “All of you. Just get out.”
Hunter took a step toward her. “Becca. Let me just—”
“No.” She had enough anger to share with him. He’d picked this fight. “I’ll get my own ride.”
Then she leapt onto the porch, flung the marked door wide, and threw herself into the foyer.
And without a backwards glance, she slammed the door on the wind and the whole lot of them.
Becca rode the bus. She half expected Quinn to be there, but her friend must have gotten a ride from her mother.
Becca hadn’t done this since sophomore year, and she hoped she wouldn’t get another chance. The vehicle was crowded with freshman boys who must not have learned to shower in the morning yet. She hunched against a window with her English Lit book. She was supposed to have read two chapters of Anna Karenina the previous night, and she hadn’t even cracked the spine.
You should have had Mom write you a note.
She should have. But her brain was shot.
To think she’d almost liked Gabriel. What a dick.
Then she remembered the way he’d tamed fire until Chris got her to safety.
The way he’d almost gotten himself killed.
This was too confusing.
Hunter was right: Trouble followed Chris around like he kept it on a leash. But that didn’t mean Hunter had a right to chase the guy off for offering her a ride to school.
Becca was dreading English, wondering how she’d meet Chris’s eyes after Gabriel’s little monologue in the driveway. But he must have skipped—his seat stayed empty.
World History would mean Hunter and Chris in class together—one of whom was supposed to be her partner. Would Chris skip two classes in a row? She almost ditched, but Hunter caught up to her in the hallway.
There was a bruise on his cheek, faint but present. “I’m sorry,” he said.
