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Hunter grabbed Chris’s arm. “Hey, man, I’m talking to you—”
Chris rounded on him. “Let go of me.”
Becca felt the air flicker, or move, or something, like the humidity was a mere prelude to a storm. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she shivered.
Hunter must have felt it, too. His stance shifted, as if he was bracing himself. “I want you to leave her alone.”
“News flash: I was leaving. And I really don’t give a shit what you want.” He gave Hunter a solid shove, enough to dislodge the other boy’s grip.
“Yeah?” Hunter shoved him back. “Need some convincing?”
“Hey! Stop.” Her voice was squeaking, so Becca tried again. “Stop it.”
It bought her a moment of hesitation—from Chris anyway. He drew back and gave Hunter a wicked smile—but Becca saw the way his hands curled into fists. He jerked his head her way. “You going to pee on her next? Mark your territory?”
“Nice,” she snapped. “Look, guys, this is stupid—”
Hunter cut her off, his attention focused on Chris. “I don’t know what your problem is—”
“You,” said Chris, heat in his voice. He got up close to Hunter and shoved him again—just a little more roughly. “Right now you’re my problem. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Hunter shoved him back, harder. “I know enough.”
“Guys.” Her heart pummeled her rib cage. “Stop.”
Hunter didn’t even glance at her. He spoke low, right into Chris’s face, punctuating his words with a shove for every sentence. “I know Becca gets hurt every time she’s near you. I know you put her in danger. And I know you’re too selfish to give a crap what happens to her—”
Chris punched him.
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—”
