Page 34 of Legacy of Chaos

The thought had barely formed when, finally, Blade took an unsteady step back. Chest heaving, he swayed on his feet, his shoulders hunched, blood dripping from his fist.

Stryke looked up, his head wobbling, a crooked, pained smile on his split, swollen lips. He said something that made Blade surge forward, fist high, poised to strike a devastating blow.

“No!”

As if Blade had heard her through the window, he stilled. Seconds passed, marked only by her pulse pounding in her ears. Finally, Blade stepped back and dropped his fist to his side. She thought she caught a brief glimpse of remorse in Blade’s expression before he shook his head, pivoted on his heel, and strode inside the building.

In the courtyard, Stryke slowly slid down the wall until his butt hit a paver. His arms seemed to weigh a ton as he flung them loosely across his knees and threw his head back, eyes closed. He didn’t appear to be aware that blood still streamed down his chin, disappearing under his black collar and staining his silk tie.

Well, he deserved it.

She turned away from the window but halted after two steps.

Dammit. She couldn’t leave him like that. And she doubted he’d appreciate it if she told Kynan or one of his parents to check on him. He definitely didn’t need some rando finding him, taking pics, and publishing them on social media or selling them to the tabloids.

Just five minutes ago, she might have been the one taking the pics and selling them. But at some point during that epic beatdown, she’d stopped enjoying the punishment he deserved for his role in her parents’ and Shanea’s deaths.

Maybe she should at least see if he wanted a Band-Aid.

Calling herself seven kinds offleeshim—idiotin her species’ language—she slipped out into crisp night air that carried the savory aromas of a nearby restaurant and the faint hint of blood.

Stryke’s head rocked forward. He blinked. Cursed. “Cyan.” He dropped his head back against the wall. “What do you want?”

“Iwantto be inside at the party, but I saw what happened and felt obligated to see if you needed anything. Glass of water? Bandage? A doctor? You look like you could use some stitches. And facial reconstruction surgery.”

Because, yikes. She was pretty sure that left cheekbone shouldn’t be where it was, and if he didn’t have half a dozen orbital fractures, she’d eat a petri dish teeming with e. Coli.

“I need to be left alone.” His words were mushy, spoken between lacerated, swollen lips, but he somehow still managed to sound like an ungrateful asshole.

“Gladly.” She spun around, grinding her heel into the stone. “Have a nice evening.”

She started for the door, her shoes clacking loudly in the quiet night. What a jerk.

“Wait.”

Fuck that. Feeling like afleeshimfor trying to help, she picked up her pace.

“Cyan.”

Nope. She was almost to the door. He could sit there and rot.

“Please.” His tone was sharp and frustrated, and if not for the underlying note of sincerity, she’d have kept going.

Through the window, she saw people clapping and dancing to one of Grace Obert’s songs. Looked like fun. She could be in there, drinking champagne, maybe dancing with Parker, or, more likely, sipping bubbly in the familiar comfort of her lab by herself.

Or she could be out in the cold with a giant jackass.

Sighing, certain she was making a mistake, she swung back around to him. “What?”

He looked in her direction, but she wasn’t sure how well he could track her. His left eye had swollen to the size of a plum, so he was probably blind in that one. The other eye had fared better, but the nasty gash on his brow kept a steady stream of blood flowing into it. He attempted to wipe his face with his sleeve but mostly just smeared the blood around.

“Would you…?” He inhaled slowly, and she couldn’t tell whether he was pained by having to ask her for something or by bone fractures. The way he wrapped one arm around his chest said his ribs hurt as badly as his face. “Would you help me get home? I can’t see very well.”

Damn him. The thin thread of vulnerability in his voice cut through her annoyance. She glanced through the window again, once more weighing her options.

Finally, she shrugged. “You’re lucky I don’t like champagne that much.” She gestured to the party inside. “Is there anyone you want me to deliver goodbye messages to?”

His bitter laugh startled her. “No.”

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