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“We need help.” Whitney’s response brought my focus back to the moment. “Reinforcements. So, I got some.”

With a heave and a grunt, Gym Bro yanked the glaive out of his chest. It dissipated in the afternoon air and was carried away as a wisp of smoke on the breeze.

Everyone else remained posed as if the slightest wiggle would upset the tenuous peace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Loren said, barely breathing while the saber dented the skin above his Adam’s apple.

Whitney scoffed. “Youdidn’t ask for anything. You’ve been too busy pouting and pretending you couldn’t speak. I was getting to like you better that way. Less whiny.”

Loren released his grip on the girl hound. She shimmied out from between his legs and pushed herself to standing, glaring daggers the whole time. Whitney’s sword disappeared, and he stepped back, freeing Loren to stand as well. Gym Bro waslast on his feet, pressing his palm to the hole in his chest and grimacing.

I entered the mix, creeping up behind Loren and grabbing his wrist. The gashes on his face had started to close, but I wiped at the residual blood trails until he shook me off.

“We need to get inside,” Whitney said, keeping his voice low. “Everybody, move.”

The newcomer hounds obeyed, turning toward the trailer’s folding steps. Loren sidestepped and twisted his hand to grab hold of my wrist pull me roughly behind him. I staggered against the Airstream’s aluminum shell, pinned in place while Loren’s fingers cinched down tight.

“No going inside,” he told Whitney.

Whitney’s expression darkened. “You want your neighbors to see this?” He swept a hand in reference to our blood-splattered patio. “Call the police?” When Loren didn’t yield, the other hound snorted. “You might as well be sitting in prison when Nero comes for you. Trade one cage for another.”

Another growl rumbled out of Loren. I never saw him this uncontrolled, bordering on unhinged. It might have been sexy getting a glimpse of the big bad hell-wolf inside of him, but it stemmed from a dark place. Anger and fear had him in a chokehold, the same feelings that had kept him silent for days.

He set his feet, and his free hand moved toward the open air. He could summon his polearm in a flash and restart the fight, but surely he wouldn’t challenge all three of the others. Those were losing odds.

“No going inside,” Loren repeated. “None of you are welcome in my home.”

Whitney’s lip curled with a measure of the same disbelief that came over me.

I twisted my arm in Loren’s grasp, trying and failing to break free. “It’smyhome, too,” I reminded him. “Don’t I get a say?”

Talking to the side of his face was as good as talking to a wall. His attention fixed on the trio of hellhounds while his other hand continued to hover, fingers poised like a western gunslinger ready to draw.

“Loren.” I grabbed his arm and tugged. “Can we at least let them explain?—”

“Obstinate man,” Whitney spat, ignoring me as effectively as everyone else. “Have it your way.”

He spun on his heel, then made a beckoning gesture that called the other two hounds to heel. With separate, scathing glances, all three departed. Loren watched them go and only released me after they were well out of sight.

I rubbed at the sore spot on my arm as I moved around in front of him.

His features were pinched, and his dark eyes were wild, unfocused.

It unsettled me to see him so frightened, so out of touch with himself and everything around him. It was like he was somewhere else, and the distance I’d felt between us the past few days was more palpable than ever.

I reached toward him, needing to stop the panic playing on loop in his mind. I recognized it. I’d been there, recently in fact. Spiraling down, down, down…

“I’m safe, baby.” I moved slowly and spoke softly because I could see how frayed his edges were, and I didn’t want to unravel them any further. “You’re safe,” I told him, then cocked my head, wondering, “You know that, right?”

Before I could touch him, Loren flinched away, then turned and broke off at an inhuman pace, opposite the direction Whitney and the hounds had gone.

I thought about shouting after him, but the neighbors were, indeed, watching like groundhogs poking their heads out of the dirt. And there I stood in the middle of what had just been abattleground with no explanation for the pools and speckles of black staining the ground.

The old lady who lived across the walking path pretended to water her plastic flowers while casting over-the-shoulder glances my way. Whitney was right. She could call the cops; anyone could. Then we would have the forces of HellandEarth on our asses and no backup because my overprotective boyfriend ran them off.

Then he ran, too. From them? Or from me?

Either way, I wasn’t going to accept the silent treatment any longer. Whatever was wrong and whoever was at fault, I would find out, and Loren was going to tell me.