The BMW stopped in the middle of the road. “Get in the car!” Mom shouted.
He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He walked around the front and slid in on the passenger side.
“There’s blood on your face,” she said, an edge to her normally calm tone.
Dylan wiped at his cheek. Something wet and sticky smeared across it.
“And on your hands.” She turned back to the road and started driving.
Dylan grunted, dropping his bloody hands in his lap. He felt great. He felt terrible. Dark, and angry, and empty, and free.
“I heard you were going to get in a fight with Conner. Obviously it’s over.” She turned to head back to the house. “How badly hurt is he?” She got frustrated with him a lot, but she was rarely angry. This time she was angry at him.
“I knocked him out. Maybe broke a rib. And his nose.” He stared out the window, thinking about how good it had felt. Guilt crept through his insides. It shouldn’t feel this good to hurt people, but Conner had it coming. Dylan didn’t regret it.
Mom made a low sound in her throat. “Did you leave him there, then?”
“His friends were there. They’ll take care of him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Well, that’s something.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the house. Dylan got out as soon as the car stopped, and she was right behind him.
Dad opened the door. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Dylan tried to walk past him. Dad blocked the doorway. “No,” he said. “You’re not going to stomp up to your room. You’re going to sit, and we’re going to talk about this.”
“Fine.”
Dad moved out of the way and Dylan went to the sitting room. He dropped into a chair, arms crossed.
“What were you thinking?” Mom asked. “The police have questioned you, the wardens have questioned you, and now you knock out a friend of the first person to go missing? Do you have any idea how bad this looks?”
“I don’t care.” He’d held back too long and things had only gotten worse. Now at least he’d done something about it.
“That’s the problem, Dylan,” Dad said, glaring down at him. “You don’t care, not even about yourself. You’re risking your future.”
“I don’t care,” he repeated.
Dad sighed and looked between him and Mom. “So he knocked this boy out?”
“And possibly broke his ribs and nose, or so Dylan said.”
“That would explain the blood,” Dad muttered. “You didn’t burn him, did you?”
“No. I promised I wouldn’t. It was a fair fight.” Dylan fought a smirk. “No magic at least.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“You’re getting more and more out of control.” The edge had left Mom’s voice, and she was back to her concerned tone. “I thought you would have learned something after burning Aiden—”
“Leave him out of this!” Anger and guilt tangled up inside him. Aiden had told him not to go through with it, had almost begged him.
“No, I won’t,” she went on in that infuriatingly calm voice. “It all goes back to the same thing. You need to learn to control your anger. You’re getting stronger all the time, and the next time you lash out at someone— a friend or an enemy— you could kill them.”
Dylan stood and threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what to do! If I try to bottle it up, it just gets worse. Conner’s been bothering me for months. Picking on Aiden and bullying Hanna. I held back for Aiden’s sake. I can control it, but not forever.”
Mom took his hand. “I can help you, but you have to let me. I know we’re not exactly the same, but I remember what it was like to be angry at the world.”
“I’m here for you too,” Dad said. “I’m not dragonkin, but I was once a teenage boy.”
Dylan wished he could fly away and leave everything behind.
* * *
Everyone got out of the way when Dylan walked into school the next day. There were plenty of whispers, and he pretended not to hear them. Now everyone had a reminder of how dangerous he was. Dylan wasn’t sure if he liked it or hated it or somehow felt both at the same time.
He went to his locker. No note. No one shoved him in the hall. Dylan went to his homeroom, thinking about what a nice change this was.
“Dylan, the principal wants to see you,” the teacher said as soon as he stepped through the door.
Damn it.
No need to ask what it was about. “Fine.” He spun around and headed for the principal’s office, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Would the police be there again? The wardens?
Ms. Nejem had a cool expression when he walked in. “Please close the door.”
He did it without arguing. At least they were alone.
She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk. “I got several calls last night and this morning. It seems you got in a fight with Conner Mays and put him in the hospital.”
Dylan sat. “Yeah. Outside of school, so it’s none of your business.”
She leaned forward, frowning. “It is my business when parents are afraid for the safety of the students in my school. This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten in a fight, nor is this the first time you’ve sent a fellow student to the hospital.”
Right. That time in fourth grade with the older kid. “Conner’s been threatening and bullying my friends for months. He deserved it.”
Her frown deepened. “And it’s your place to hand out justice? I assigned a hall monitor to watch both of you.”
“So then Conner just sends his friends to do his dirty work. You gonna watch all of them? I took care of the problem.”
A faint hint of incense and spice drifted through the room. “You beat a boy unconscious, broke two of his ribs, his nose, knocked out three of his teeth, and cracked his cheekbone.” The scent got stronger. “Now I have his parents calling for your blood and several others agreeing. They want you arrested and handed over to the wardens.”
Was it really that bad? Would they lock him up, or worse? “It’s not like I killed anyone,” Dylan muttered.
“And thank God you didn’t.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to give you a chance, Dylan, but I’m at my limit. You’re suspended indefinitely. I’ll have to discuss this with the PTA to see if they’re willing to let you back in. Someone will escort you to clean out your locker, and I’ll call your parents to take you home.”
So there it was. He’d finally done something bad enough to get kicked out of school. So much for graduating and helping Aiden find his other family. Dylan stood, almost knocking the chair over. “Fine. No one ever wanted me here anyway.”