Chapter 11 – Hellion
Hellion wasn’t sure what to feel. He was jealous as hell, but was he jealous of Wayla or Irishen? He didn’t know, and that made his blood boil. Both had kept secrets from him and now they looked so damn cozy together.
There was a wide space around him that was growing larger by the second as his power roiled in response to his feelings. He hadn’t been this out of control since… Well, since things blew up with Irishen. Fitting, really.
He snarled when the man in question got up, kissed Wayla’s hair, and walked over.
“What do you want?”
Irishen shrugged, looking too calm and relaxed. A tell for him. He could pull up a front better than anyone Hellion knew.
“Well?” he huffed.
“Just wanted to see if you wanted to chat.”
Hellion growled.
“And keep you from disturbing her lunch. Wayla needs to eat.”
That brought Hellion’s attention back to Wayla and he analyzed her properly. She was too pale and looked like she had lost weight even since the courthouse. Her cheekbones were sharper than a few days ago, and while her clothes were immaculate, they hung a bit too loose on her shoulders.
Involuntarily, he took a step in her direction, but Irishen shifted to block him. “Do not make a scene,” he murmured under his breath. “It’s bad enough that you idiots dumped her just before the attack. Her best defense came from Sinister, of all beings.”
Hellion blinked. Dumped her? What—oh yeah. With everything else going on and Hell politics imploding, he had forgotten. Or at least tried to forget. Images of Wayla crashing against the wall flooded freely now.
He hadn’t tried to hurt her, but he’d slipped and hit her as hard as he would hit Marc in training.
Marc, who excelled in shielding. He’d been beyond pissed, thinking there was something going on with his former lover and her.
Now it seemed that was a certainty and his feelings on the matter weren’t as clear cut.
Still, he wasn’t ready to make things worse with Wayla and they would get worse if he went over to her now.
Hell if he was going to apologize. And he needed answers.
Apparently, he wouldn’t get them right now because even he could see the Sleethill spawn was right.
She needed the fuel. But that only irked Hellion more.
Why was she looking so worn down? He still couldn’t sense her aura.
Why was that? Who the fuck was she, really?
So many fucking questions.
Hellion bit back another snarl, while Irishen waited him out and then, with a huff, Hellion spun on his heel and walked out.
Not only were there all those questions plaguing his mind, there was also the aftermath of her little revelation and rise in status.
And Hellion still hadn’t been able to figure out what Tharrexeus had tried to achieve with an attack on Tracthesian ground.
He couldn’t have thought that his little stunt would be enough to remove Hellion from his position, so why?
And why the hell had the Fire clans gone along with his plans?
No matter how much he dug, there just weren’t satisfying answers for his cousin’s antics. He would have to make a trip home soon and speak to his father. For that, it was better that there was a clear breakup between him and Wayla.
So he walked away from the cafeteria, but it felt like her gaze followed him. Accusing. Hurt. And she had looked so fragile.
Something burned in his throat as he thought about that.
Lucifer had sent fucking assassins after Irishen when he had found out about them.
A mere Ice clan prince was not prestigious enough for the Heir of Hell.
Not that Dad had ever indicated who would be good enough.
He had thrown a fit over every relationship Hellion had ever had.
What would he do if he ever suspected that his son had something to do with the stormbringer heir apparent?
“Think fast!”
Pure reflexes made Hellion twist out of the blow heading for his head. He rounded on Grant and let his fists fly. Grant matched his blows and delivered his own. Something was clearly eating away at the man, and Hellion welcomed the chance to let loose.
So, they were in the middle of the campus and gathering quite an audience, but maybe it was time to remind them all why they had been named Powerhouses.
Hellion kept his attack purely physical and so did Grant, but it was enough of a show that Hellion knew they’d made their point. Marc’s sharp whistle cut the match, and they both ceased at once. Grant clapped Hellion on the shoulder.
“Good.”
“Ha,” Hellion snorted, but he felt better. He noticed Marc’s attention veer from them and glanced over his shoulder. Wayla was standing in the crowd and Irishen was standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and whispering something into her ear.
Hellion’s mood soured again. He wanted to march over and demand that the two of them stop touching…
or something. He certainly didn’t want to push between them.
With a growl, he yanked his attention away from the pair and shared a glance with Marc.
It seemed that his mood had taken the same nosedive.
“Basement in five,” Marc said.
“Race you there,” Hellion replied and started jogging.
He had spent many, many, many hours in the basement with Marc lately.
Neither of them said it out loud, but every time someone mentioned her name, they found a reason to go pummel something.
And after seeing Irishen’s arms around her waist, Hellion really—really—needed to punch something.