Chapter 30
"WHAT'S IT TO YOU, ASSHOLE?"
This fool is looking to get his damn head ripped off. I don't give a flying rat's ass that he's insulting me, throwing up that fake bravado though most of it fled the second I marched in here with murder on my mind.
He crossed a line going after Jace. That too at Bigmouth's beck and call. I could take his hands, but that would create unnecessary problems between Marcana and Crescent Hill. No need jeopardizing a generational alliance because the guys and I are barely able to tolerate one idiot.
Blake cries out in pain when my fist connects his with broken nose for the umpteenth time. Blood splatters across his face, my fist, and the bleacher steps. My knuckles are raw and blood-covered, slick with his blood and the pinheads of mine that leak out from split skin.
It isn't enough to calm me down. Blood swishes in my ears, my heart pounding loudly. Adrenaline pumps my veins, the taste for violence, to give into the rage of the animal half is far too sweet on my tongue.
Call it an unfair fight because while Blake has a higher pack rank than me, he's no match for my brute strength and hand-to-hand combat skills.
He's all bark and no bite – a dog that's tough shit behind the gate only to cower, whimpering with its tail tucked between its legs when there's no barrier of protection.
Jordan Dalton is the gate that keeps his ass safe but without his daddy's sway, Blake is nothing.
He caved too quickly for my liking in the face of brute strength. He put up a fight, landed a few punches but spent more time protecting his face. Little did that do.
Blake growls, baring his teeth, flashing canines.
He collects another punch to the face, another sickening crunch of fragile cartilage in his nose as the back of his head cracks against the bleacher step.
Blood spurts. He coughs and gags, spitting out a mouthful of blood that dribbles down the side of his face which is a complete mess.
Swollen in some parts. One eye punched clean shut. The bruising is horrendous.
My best masterpiece yet.
I never take pride in beating someone weaker than I am, but he should've never put his hands on Jace.
Blake grins a bloody-toothed smile as though the condition he's in is worth pissing me off. Then, his lips twist and he spits again, blood and saliva splattering against my cheek. Disgust and rage swells, the gross thing sliding down my cheek.
"Fuck you, dickhead," he sneers.
Tightening my fist around the front of his shirt, I lift him and slam him back down.
Blake grunts, delirious with pain. His gaze loses focus then zeroes in on my finger pointed in his face.
Slipping a hand around his throat, adding enough pressure, his face glazes over in fear that I might crush his windpipe.
It would be too easy.
"No," I start, "fuck you, Blake. I don't care who your daddy is or what your rank is. Fuck with Jace again and I'll fucking kill you in front of your mother, your father, and your sister. Am I understood?"
Blake growls, his unspoken threat angering the living shit out of me. I backhand him – hard – knocking loose a tooth that goes flying out of his mouth and skittering across the bleacher step. My lip curls in agitation.
Insolent bastard! He should've been nothing more than a cum stain.
"Have I made myself clear, Blake? The last thing you want is to piss Marcana off. The last time someone did, it took them over a decade to get their shit together. I'll give you one warning. Stay away from Jace and maybe, I'll consider sparing your worthless ass."
I can hope that one warning will be enough to keep him at bay but knowing Blake's tendency to be a general asshole and nuisance to society, I doubt he will heed it.
I might have to give him a chance or two – see how far he'll take things because I know that asshole won't let this slide – before I snuff him out permanently.
Hopefully, it doesn't come to that. Either way, I won't hesitate. I like to think I'm fair – giving him ample warning to figure his shit out. I'd hate to start to a feud between Marcana and Crescent Hill but for Jace, I'll gladly do it.
My pack is known for not fucking around with mates.
Leaving the piece of shit to recollect his bearings, I grab Jace's bag on the way out, flexing my hands open and closed, wincing against the sting of cool air on busted knuckles.
My fingers ache from all the punches. The thumb of my left hand pressed to my right palm and my index finger against the back, I massage away the pain, wriggling my fingers to relax the muscles.
Slipping outside, Jace's scent – something musky and entangled with faint traces of coconut I've come to associate with him – hits me in the face. He sits at the base of the steps leading down to the tiled platform below, staring off across the field.
The sun has all but disappeared behind the trees on the other side, painting the sky in orange and dark blue. The trees are silhouetted against the sunset, stadium lights flickering on by their timer, illuminating the football field and running track.
There's a light breeze. Cool against my skin. The bulb at the front of the gymnasium blinks on, casting us in white light.
Jace shifts, turning to look at the light, his gaze shuttering when it lands on me instead. A smile starts to lift the corners of his mouth, but it vanishes when he sees my hands.
I expect to see horror take hold of him but like on Tuesday, he doesn't seem fazed by how violent I can turn once the heat of the moment passes. I saw the terror on his face earlier when he realized I wasn't bluffing. I'm not sure what I looked like in that moment but scared him.
Yet, it doesn't stop him from showing his concern and worry, the line of his lips narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. Like moth to flame, I take that as an invitation, walking down the steps as he stands.
Dropping his bag on the last step, I head to the taps on the side of the building. Jace's quiet footfalls follow, and then he's hovering at my shoulder watching the water rinse away the blood on my hands. The skin around my knuckles is broken, angry and red. Water stings open flesh.
Wiping them on my jeans knowing that by the end of tomorrow these minor wounds will be gone, I turn, putting my entire focus on the boy beside me.
Without a word, he reaches for my hands, sucking in a deep breath while assessing the damage, hesitant fingers careful to avoid my split knuckles.
"Is Blake...okay?"
"You're worried about that broken condom accident?"
For the life of me, I can't understand why he'll ask about Blake. Call me petty, but it's a Daniels' trait that runs heavily among the males of my family.
Case in point, my father once ordered a subordinate Were to be locked in the holding cells for making a sexual comment toward my mother.
It was during the months of the year when temperatures drop, the nights bitterly cold.
He was kept without food and clothing, forced to survive on half a cup of water per day, a worn out blanket his only refuge from the biting cold with a mild wolfsbane brew in his system suppressing his Were abilities.
For those seventeen days and nights – for the seventeen words in his comment because my father is that extra – that subordinate lived in utter misery.
When I barged into the gymnasium, red colored my vision at the sight before me. Blake restraining my mate while Harper struck him repeatedly. And Katy fucking Durnst filming the fucking thing.
Instinct kicked in, consequences be damned. The feral animal inside took over, two words ringing in my head: Protect mate.
I make a mental note to ensure that video is taken care of. First, I need to decide whether I'll use it or destroy it.
Jace's lips twist and my eyes track the movement. Images of that night at my house, outside by the pool rush in. The warmth of his body pressed against mine, the taste of his lips – sweet and soft, the way they melded to mine.
I'll give anything to have another taste. No matter how little.
He shakes his head, the action shoving those thoughts aside.
It's difficult at first to pay attention to anything other than his lips, his beautiful green eyes under furrowed eyebrows, the flush of his cheeks.
It makes me want to pull him close, kissing away whatever holds him back from giving us a chance.
We'd be so good together.
"I don't care about Blake." Candy-apple green eyes sweep over me, tracing my face for injury. The concern I see there packs a wallop and when he says, "I hate that you could get in trouble because of me," I can no longer hold back.
Those words twist something in me, bringing a shift because those assholes came here with the intention to hurt him, but he's worried about me.
Gripping his wrists, I pull him forward, slipping my hands to the small of his back and behind his neck. The kiss swallows his soft moan, and I groan into his mouth because he fits so perfectly in my arms.
When his hand slides up my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, I deepen the kiss, my tongue delving in. I'm so close to losing my mind at how delectable he is.
It's maddening. He doesn't seem to know what he does to me or how difficult it's been to try to ignore him, trying to stay away. The bond isn't completely severed. It won't be unless he says those gods' awful words to accept the rejection.
And then, the spell breaks.
That perfect moment of madness shatters when he pushes, breaking the kiss with a soft pop of our lips. He covers his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Oh god!"
"Don't you dare say it was a mistake," I fire in warning, my body suddenly cold when he slips out of my grasp.
"I shouldn't have let you kiss me," he whispers.
I cock my head to the side. "Was it so terrible?" A sly grin lifts the corner of my mouth, satisfaction settling in my stomach at the red flush that ravages his cheeks. Arousal slams into me through the bond, mixed with regret and fear. And then, there's hurt.
Loads of it. So much that it kills my smirk.
My fingers flex, the urge to pull him back and soothe those feelings away stronger than I could imagine. He's hurting so much and I wish he would tell me.
Tears glisten in his eyes when he looks at me again. "I'm sorry, Sky. I'm so, so sorry. You deserve better than this...than me."
Softly, bereft, because I can't stand the thought of him in distress, "Baby, why won't you tell me? Whatever you're dealing with, I want to be there for you."
A choked cry tumbles out of him. He turns away, hiding his face. Before I think better of it, I'm closing the distance between us, hugging his waist. His back presses flush to my chest, my lips skimming the curve of his neck.
He slides a hand over mine, the other lifting until his fingers brushing along the edge of my jaw, then over my cheek. His eyes are closed the entire time, his breathing soft, the rise and fall of his chest steady.
"I care for you so much. You're on my mind more times in a day than you have any right to be.
I've tried staying away but it's too difficult to ignore you, to pretend that I don't feel what I do.
I can't help myself. I hate the idea of you in any type of distress.
Whatever you're going through, whatever you're so afraid of, you know I'll listen. What's got you so scared, Conner?"
He doesn't respond right away. Several beats of silence pass between us, him in my arms, his fingers idly tracing the line of my jaw and cheek as though he's using me as some kind of anchor.
His emotions clash violently, and without him saying anything, all I could is hold him until the storm subsides.
It doesn't. If anything, it grows wilder.
Then, in a whisper, his voice thick with emotion, "You'll get hurt if I tell you."
I press a kiss behind his ear, my stomach fluttering when he leans into my touch. "Then hurt me. Hurt me as much you have to because you don't have to face it alone."
He whips around so quickly, the sudden gush of cold air replacing his warmth almost too much to handle. Jace stares up at me in disbelief.
"No! I don't want that at all."
"But it frightens you."
"It's my burden to bear, not yours. It's...It's why we can't be together because you'll end up getting hurt and you don't deserve that.
" Green eyes flit up, filled with anguish that nearly knocks the wind out of my lungs.
"I know what you want, Sky, but I can't give that to you.
That's why I'm asking you to please let me go. It's easier this way."
I tilt my head, studying him. "Easier? For you or me?"
He looks away, a flush coloring his cheeks. Regret and shame bombards me giving rise to my own anger all over again. Not exactly at him but he is partially responsible for it. If only he weren't so stubborn.
"I don't want to hurt you and that's what'll happen if we go any further."
"And if I refuse to let you walk away from me?"
He shakes his head, eyes glistening. "You don't have a choice."
"Bullshit!"
"This isn't up for debate," he fires with such sudden conviction that it silences me. "I'm not exactly giving you a choice because at the end of the day, this is my life. I get to decide who stays and who goes."
Stunned, I blink. His words send a sharp-shooting pain stabbing through my chest. "And you've decided that I should go." It's not a question because though he can't look at me, he feels that it's the right thing to do.
"I have."
Nodding, I close the distance between us once more, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. His body shudders, a soft sound on his lips like he's holding back tears. He leans into the kiss, staying put for as long as the contact lingers.
"If that's what you want," I murmur, pressing one more kiss to his skin. "Get home safely, Conner."