Then he looked at the others. “But Thane and Maro…they take it to another level.”
Then it began.
Fast.
Brutal.
Thane moved like a wolf, fluid and lethal. Maro fought back with blunt, overwhelming force. Blow for blow. Thane ducked under a swing, driving his fist into Maro’s ribs, but took an elbow to the jaw in return. Blood spattered the ground, the air sharp with sweat and breath and rage.
They were evenly matched. Though Maro was bigger, Thane was faster.
He fought differently.
When Maro finally stopped—panting, blood streaking his cheek—he gave Thane a macabre grin with bloody teeth showing. He just nodded once, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned away.
Thane stood still for a moment.
His teeth were stained red and there was a cut on his lip. One eye was already swelling shut.
Then he limped toward her, his chest rising like a storm trying to calm itself.
Faolan instinctively took a step back.
He froze.
“Don’t be scared of me,” he said quietly, desperately. “Please. Don’t be—” His voice cracked on the last word.
And that, more than the blood, more than the fists, broke her open.
Because she realized she wasn’t scared of the violence, knowing that neither of them would ever hurt her.
She was scared of how much she wanted to be his again.
Back upstairs, Faolan cleaned Thane up in silence.
She dabbed at the blood with antiseptic-soaked gauze with a little too much enthusiasm. He winced, but she didn’t apologize.
“I liked you better when you brooded and didn’t brawl,” she muttered.
“I didn’t start it.”
“I suspect you never start it.”
He tried to smirk, but it was ruined by the split in his lip. “But I always finish it.”
“You’re lucky I’m not taking you in for disorderly conduct.”
“I’m lucky you still speak to me. And I am all for you putting handcuffs on me…”
She didn’t reply, though her glare would have incinerated him on the spot.
Chapter 41
Dinner was pizza from a local place—greasy, hot, and delicious.
They sat around the living room, Faolan curled into one end of the couch, Thane on the floor by her legs, leaning against her knee like he was trying to make a point to Maro.
Zel had taken over Spotify. Lirian poured wine into small paper cups. Maro said nothing, just sat in the corner, eyes occasionally drifting to her. His face looked as rough as Thane’s. Earlier, he had complained about how Lirian was overtly rough patching him up.
