Dylan listened to Aiden’s feet crunching over the gravel. I’m sorry.
Conner laughed, throwing his head back like he was about to howl at the moon. “Your boyfriend’s got no balls.”
Dylan resisted the urge to lunge at him. “Your pack. Make them back off.”
“Scared you can’t take us all on? Didn’t you brag you could do that?” Conner sneered.
Dylan smiled. “I want them all conscious to see this.” They wouldn’t be the only audience. A few other kids hovered around the edge of the gravel pit, afraid to come closer but wanting to see the fight. There were probably more behind Dylan. Should’ve sold tickets.
Conner growled and flicked a hand. The other werewolves backed away. “No magic,” Conner repeated.
“No magic,” Dylan agreed. The hot ball of anger inside him shifted to anticipation, and he widened his stance just a bit.
“Kick his ass!” the beta shouted.
Conner rushed at him, and although Dylan had to keep a tight hold on his magic, the sensation that washed over him felt like freedom. Conner swung and Dylan dodged to the left. He punched Conner in the stomach, then darted out of the way.
With one arm pressed against his stomach, Conner glared. “Lucky hit.”
Draw this out? Make it a game? Or make it clear to Conner and everyone watching that no one stood a chance against him? Dylan thought of the months this had dragged on, of the look on Aiden’s face every time Conner came over. The look on Hanna’s face. The smell of their fear.
Dylan lunged, catching Conner’s fist when he brought it up. With his free hand, he punched Conner in the face. Conner staggered and Dylan held him by the captured fist. He hit Conner again, a sweet, dark feeling filling him.
It wasn’t as good as burning, but it was getting close.
Blood dribbled from Conner’s nose. Eyes unfocused, he tried to pull away.
One of the werewolves shouted, “Come on, Conner!”
Conner swung with his left. Dylan caught that hand too. They stared at each other, inches away.
“Fuck you,” Conner growled.
He tried bring his knee up, but Dylan blocked that as well. He shoved Conner away, and as the alpha stumbled, Dylan hit him in the ribs. He felt something crack and Conner cried out.
Every time Conner made threats. Every time he picked on Hanna or sent his lackeys to do the job. Every time Dylan had to hold back for Aiden’s sake, anger had stuffed down to grow in the darkness of his heart.
Dylan punched Conner’s face again— left, right— and Conner fell. He managed to catch himself on his hands and knees. Dylan kicked him in the head and the older boy collapsed on his side. Blood tricked from Conner’s mouth and both nostrils. Dylan used a foot to push him onto his back and dropped down to straddle him.
Fire coiled inside Dylan, eager to be let out. It would be so easy to let it have its way. No one would have to worry about Conner ever again. Dylan took a long, slow breath. No. He tightened his mental grip even as he brought his fist down on Conner’s cheek.
“Never bother Aiden again.” Punch. “Never bother Hanna again.” Punch. “Never even look at them.” Punch. “Do you hear me?” Punch. He said it again, shouting, “Do you hear me?”
Conner made no response. Dylan noticed his eyes were closed, body limp. Bruises darkened his face. Dylan stood and took a few steps toward the pack. Their eyes were no longer yellow and they stank of fear. One of them flinched, and as he glared, all of them dropped their gazes.
“This. Is. Over.”
Dylan turned his back on them and walked out of the pit.
* * *
Aiden made it halfway home before he had to take a break. He leaned his bike against a tree and panted. Had they started fighting? Would Dylan lose control and burn Conner? Even if Aiden sometimes had fleeting thoughts that Conner deserved a punch in the face, he didn’t think violence would make anything better. And he didn’t want the werewolf to get seriously hurt, or…
Dylan wouldn’t kill him, would he? A sick chill rolled through Aiden. As angry as Dylan was, all it would take was a little slip for him to do a lot worse to Conner than he’d done to Aiden the night of the incident.
If Dylan killed someone, his punishment would be much worse than it would have been for letting Uncle out. And Mr. Johnson couldn’t cover it up.
Aiden grabbed his bike and hurried down the sidewalk. He had to get someone to go down there and stop the fight. His parents? No, they wouldn’t be able to do anything. Dylan’s mom would be able to stop him. She was strong enough to take on Dylan if words weren’t enough.
Aiden reached his house and set his bike against the garage. Pulling out his phone, he searched through his short list of contacts until he found Dylan’s house number. As it rang, he got more nervous. What if he was too late? What if Conner was dead? What if the rest of the pack had gone after Dylan and all of them were lying burned on the ground?
“Hi, Aiden,” Dylan’s mom said. “Dylan left as soon—”
“He’s getting in a fight. He challenged Conner to a fight at the gravel pit, and they’re there right now. You have to stop them.”
“Oh no. I’m leaving right now.” The background noise shifted like she was moving. “I’ll have his dad stay here in case he comes back to the house.” She partly covered the phone and shouted for Dylan’s dad, and they had a short conversation before she got back on.
“Are you with them?” she asked.
“No. I… I ran home.” Shame made his face hot.
“Good. Stay safe. We’ll take care of this. Bye.” She hung up.
Aiden stared at the phone for a moment. Here he was again, calling an adult to stop Dylan from doing something stupid and dangerous. Despite the promise he’d made months ago, Dylan hadn’t changed much at all.