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Michael couldn’t wrap his head around this. His youngest brother had been in the woods? Had been running? They’d been standing behind the porch sensing Chris?
What do you feel?
Not danger.
It hadn’t been Chris every night. Michael was sure of it.
Mostly sure.
No, he couldn’t be sure at all. It hadn’t been Chris the first night, but Michael didn’t go around checking beds every night. His brothers were sixteen and seventeen years old. They knew better than to sneak out of the house, especially now.
Yet he was staring down at his little brother while someone else held him at gunpoint.
“Hunter,” Michael said slowly. “Put the gun away.”
“Not until he gives us a good answer.” Hunter cocked the gun.
Chris threw himself at Hunter, driving the other boy to the ground, slamming his wrist into the wet sand. Something heavy skittered along the beach until Michael lost track of the gun in the darkness. Hunter swore and tried to swing a fist, but the trip underwater must have taken something out of him, too. Chris was on top and had leverage—not to mention power. Water crawled up the sand to flow around them, then retreated.
Casper barked and whined, prancing in the surf, waiting for a command.
Chris braced an arm against Hunter’s neck and leaned in. His voice was low and lethal. “Don’t you ever put a gun in my face again.”
“Hey,” said Michael. The water flowing around his knees was ice cold. “Stop. Chris, let him go.”
Hunter’s voice was strained and breathy. “Aw. Poor Chris. Scared?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.” Hunter struggled to get an arm free. “You’re the one turning on your family.”
Chris lifted Hunter to slam him back against the beach. “The only person who ever turned on my family is you—”
Casper barked and surged forward.
“Hey.” Michael grabbed the dog’s collar. He needed to defuse this. Soon, before Chris lost control of his power and the water posed a threat again. The earth was feeding him strength now, so he put a hand against brother’s shoulder and kept his voice low. “Hey. Come on. Chill out. Let him up.”
Chris hesitated, his breathing rough and rapid over the slow roll of the waves. Michael waited. The twins, Nick and Gabriel, had always had each other, but when Chris was younger, he’d looked up to Michael. Some of that closeness had faded since their parents had died, leaving Michael riding that fine line between brother and parent, but Chris would listen to him.
Usually.
Hunter’s eyes shone darkly in the starlight. He didn’t move, but Michael could feel his tension through the sand.
After an eternal moment, Chris’s arm shifted. He eased the weight against Hunter’s neck. Michael let out a breath.
Then Hunter jerked free, swung a fist, and punched Chris right in the throat.
Chris collapsed in the water—but it was his element, and it fed him strength immediately. Hunter tackled him, but Chris was ready. He let Hunter’s momentum carry them into deeper water.
And then they were fighting in earnest.
Michael sighed. Casper whined.
When they got going, sometimes Michael just wanted to say f**k it and walk away. He was tempted to do that now. His joints ached and his lungs burned. He hadn’t slept in days.
Wind blew in from the water to make the trees rustle, bringing the scent of saltwater from the bay. He gave the dog’s collar a tug. “Come on, Casper.”
Michael went for the weapon first—because he didn’t want to take the chance of Hunter getting his hands on it. He asked the sand for the location and found the gun a short distance down the beach.
