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Gabriel shook his head. “I lost them.” Then he put his hands against the ground to struggle to his feet.
Michael rushed forward to help him.
Gabriel shoved him away, a motion full of so much fury that he knocked himself back to the ground. “Get off me.”
The rage in his voice forced Becca back a step. The heat in the woods seemed to flare, singing her skin.
“Yeah, yeah.” Michael caught him under the arms and pulled him the rest of the way to a standing position. “You’re so tough.”
“Shut up.” Gabriel fought him, wrenching free of Michael’s grip to shove him away again. “Shut the f**k up.” He punched Michael in the chest with both fists. “I hate you.”
Michael fell back, but his arms were tight, his hands clenched at his sides.
Becca skittered back, out of the way. She could barely breathe. The heat in the woods was almost unbearable.
“I f**king hate you,” Gabriel said again, his voice fierce. “First Mom and Dad—now Nick—now Chris—” His voice broke, and he struck Michael in the chest again. “You killed that girl. We should have let them take you—we should have let them—”
God, Becca could feel his anguish through the heat, tightening her chest.
Michael was moving forward, reaching for his brother. “Gabriel—”
“Don’t touch me.” Gabriel hit him again, his voice thick.
Michael caught his wrists and held them.
Gabriel fought him, wrenching his hands free to strike at his brother, over and over again, driving Michael back through the underbrush. She could hear every hit, could feel him pulling power from the heat in the air to add force to the blows.
“I hate you,” he said with every strike, his voice breaking. “I hate you.”
The violence stole what was left of her breath. She stared, digging her nails into the tree she’d grabbed for support.
Then Michael caught Gabriel by the back of the neck, and she knew Michael was going to knock him out, or throw him down, or retaliate somehow. The fury in the air was electrifying, crackling along her skin, begging for release.
But Michael pulled him close and held him there, too close for Gabriel to get a good swing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft, rough, almost lost in the air. “Let me help you.”
Gabriel went still. His breathing was ragged. There were tears on his cheeks.
Then he was struggling. “Fuck you.”
Michael tightened his grip. “I’m sorry.” His face was close to his younger brother’s. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” Gabriel sniffed and gritted his teeth and looked past him. “I don’t care. You don’t care.”
“Goddamn it, Gabriel!” Michael shook him. “I loved them, too.”
“So what? Mom and Dad would have wanted to fight—they would have kept us safe—they would have—”
“I’m trying!” Michael drew a breath, and his voice sounded strained. “Okay? I’m trying.”
Gabriel said nothing. The air hummed with power and emotion, and Becca clutched tight to her tree, afraid to move, to upset the balance.
Then Gabriel’s shoulders drooped. “It was my fault.” He spoke low, almost too quiet to hear. “It was my fault they broke the deal.”
“They were looking for a reason to break the deal.”
“They sent a Guide. We didn’t tell you—”
