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“Congratulations, Darien!” she fumed, the echo of her words volleying sharply against the old buildings lining the road. “You just got me excommunicated.”

“That was kind of the point.”

“You’re a fucking asshole!” she spat.

“And you’re a fucking bitch.” Darien’s hands curled into fists.

Valary crossed her arms. “Really?” she scoffed, an aggravating half-smile on her lips.

All Darien could see in that moment was this Warg threatening Loren, cornering her in his goddamn dining room, as if she owned the place. This bitch’s head would look a lot better ripped off her shoulders and mounted on his wall. “You entered my house without permission and mentally assaulted my girl. So yeah, really.”

The Warg arched a brow. “Your girl,” she scoffed. A cluck of her tongue raked across Darien’s skin. “Right. As if I’m supposed to believe that your flimsy relationship is going to last. It’s not my fault she couldn’t handle seeing the truth—”

“What you and I had was nothing,” Darien snarled, closing the distance between them with three pounding strides. Max kept pace with him, watching in case he had to intervene—in case Darien’s Surge pushed him to do something he didn’t mean to do. “It was cold and empty sex. If you think that gives you some sort of claim over me, you are dead wrong.”

“That’s fine.” Valary sneered up at him. “Go ahead and think that—I don’t care. But you’ve always had commitment issues, Darien. And you’re kidding yourself if you think that you can suddenly change. I mean, look at you.” She waved a hand in his general direction, as if everything could be explained by his appearance alone. Darien felt his jaw tighten as she looked him over from head to toe, her stare like the scalding touch of fiery coals. “Claiming Randal’s throne after you said you would get out of slaying the first chance you got.”

Darien’s arms trembled, his blood shifting from a simmer to a rolling boil. With a baring of his teeth, he hissed, “You don’t know me at all.”

The Surge wasn’t knocking anymore—it was pounding. Banging on his skull until it cracked open and bled, ripping his thoughts into a shredded pulp that scattered into the wind.

Valary continued, “I do know that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You’re a mirror image of your disgusting, loser father—”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Darien’s voice was a roar that clapped through the night. Valary flinched, but he didn’t care. “NOW!” The blood in his head was louder than his voice. His whole body was trembling like he was being tased as a Surge ripped his soul apart, leaving no part of it untouched. He couldn’t breathe.

He. Could. Not. Breathe.

“This isn’t over,” the Warg stammered. She was barely more than a flickering aura as the Sight replaced his regular vision.

Darien felt, more than he saw, Max step up to his side. “You’re threatening the wrong person, girl.”

“Whatever.” Valary turned and marched away. The words she muttered were nothing but insults that bounced across the driveway, each one amplified by the Surge.

The world was too big. The ground swelled toward his knees, and when he stared out at the ocean, he felt detached from reality, a bubble bobbing through a dream. His breath was coming in shallow gasps that made his lungs feel stretched out, and he couldn’t blink away the black.

“You want me to drive?” Max asked.

Darien didn’t hesitate to reach into his jacket pocket, nearly ripping the stitching as he fished the keys out and tossed them to Max.

So much for going back home. He couldn’t go to Loren now, not without draining some of this rage from his system. It was too dangerous—he wouldn’t chance it.

There was a motorcycle ripping down the street toward them, the deep bass rumble of the engine thundering through the night. The sight of the bike caused the bestial storm of Darien’s anger to crackle with a warning—the kind he usually heeded by getting far away from anyone he even remotely cared about.

But it didn’t matter this time, because this was exactly the thing he needed, and it was being served to him on a silver platter.

“That Malakai?” Max’s question floated to Darien, but he was so lost, he barely heard it.

Darien stalked out into the dark road, stepping right in the motorcycle’s swift path. The screeching of tires shredded the air as the driver attempted to downshift, braking so frantically the back wheel caught on loose gravel and fishtailed.

As soon as the bike skidded close enough, tires squealing, the whole vehicle lurching, Darien grabbed hold of the handlebars.

With an angry roar, he whipped the vehicle to the left, throwing it across the road.

The motorcycle and its rider flew through the air and struck the ground with an ear-splitting crunch that ripped through the silent night, the engine shutting off from the collision. Horns blared and lights flashed as several car alarms in the area were triggered by the disturbance.

Darien was moving before Malakai had finished spinning. Bits of metal and the pieces of a shattered headlight clattered across the ground.

Malakai had just pushed himself to his feet, leather jacket and jeans torn and full of gravel, when Darien reached him.