Unable to think of any other way to release the building flames, he opened his mouth and breathed fire in the man’s face. He jerked his arms free when the man screamed and twisted away, kicking the man’s knee to send him to the ground, where he kept screaming and writhing as the flames spread.
Max fought his gag reflex at the smell of burning meat. He looked at the car near the curb, his flames surging again when he saw the driver watching with a sneer. “Aradia!” he yelled.
She chirped and wind rushed around him, gaining enough strength his shirt snapped from side to side. He brought his hands together and aimed his palms at the car like a fucking anime character, but there was no time to find a better pose. Fire erupted from his hands, and with thehelp of Aradia’s wind, a horizontal fire tornado spiraled through the air. When it hit the car, it immediately took root and reached towards the sky.
The man who’d grabbed him was still on the ground, still on fire, but no longer moving. Max turned to Quinn, surprised to find him already struggling to his feet. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, though he was pale and leaned most of his weight against Max when he offered his shoulder. But he was up and moving. “Can you drive?” he asked, voice tight with pain.
“Yeah.” Max filched the keys from Quinn’s pocket as the Firebird exploded in a spectacular fireball and the smell of burning gasoline. “Fucking assholes,” he muttered, before getting Quinn to the car and into the passenger seat. He paused long enough to let Aradia back into her pouch before getting in, then peeled out of the parking lot without buckling.
“Where’s the nearest hospital?” he asked, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Go home.”
“Quinn—”
“Max,” Quinn said, voice sharp. “I’m fine. I don’t need a hospital, promise. Just get us home.”
Max snarled against the press of the bond, but he didn’t have the focus to spare to argue.
Quinn was on his phone, smearing blood across the screen as he typed message after message, his phone chiming almost constantly with the responses.
A firetruck flew past as Max turned onto the main street, followed by two police cars a moment later and an ambulance a minute after that. He kept checking the mirrors for any police coming for him, or one of his father’s men tailing them, but it seemed they were in the clear.
“Shouldn’t we have stayed there?” he asked, belatedly realizing they’d fled the scene of a crime.
Quinn snorted. “Pretty sure you killed those guys. Even if it was self-defense, the Order would have swooped in by the time they got you to the station. I’d rather be in our own territory by the time they realize what the fuck is happening.”
Max frowned and glanced at Quinn, the color already returning to his face, and it didn’t look like fresh blood was soaking his shirt anymore. “How are you still conscious?”
“I’m a shifter,” he said, still texting.
“No,really?” he snapped sarcastically, grinding his teeth as he checked the mirrors again. Was that black SUV following them, or was he being paranoid?
“We heal fast,” Quinn replied, but Max hardly heard him.
The light ahead turned yellow and he stepped on the gas, passing through the intersection as it turned red. He glanced back and breathed a soft sigh when the SUV stopped instead of trying to keep up.
He didn’t stop looking for an ambush the entire twenty-six minutes it took to reach their neighborhood, and even then he didn’t get a decent breath until the garage door screeched closed behind them.
He slumped against the steering wheel as the adrenaline vanished, leaving him cold and shaking. He heard Quinn curse and get out of the car, and then an eternal minute later the driver’s door opened.
Caius pulled him out of the car and picked him up in a bridal carry before heading inside. “Are you hurt?”
Max shook his head and buried his face against Caius’ chest, fisting a hand in his shirt. He was distantly aware his fingers were still tacky with blood and swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. It was his fault Quinn nearly died. He should have rescheduled his finals. Of course his father would have ransacked his room and snooped through everything on his computer. He’d used the university portal to schedule his finals, and the login was saved.
Aradia stirred in her pouch, wiggling out of it and tucking herself against Max’s neck. He blinked and lifted his head as someone tugged at his hand.
Lukas sat on the coffee table in front of him, attacking the blood on Max’s fingers with a hot, soapy cloth, glaring at them like he wanted to rip them off. “Who did this?” he snarled.
“Lukas,” Caius said, his voice calm, but Max felt the anger beneath it.
Lukas’ lips twitched into a sneer before he forced out a slow breath, easing up on his scrubbing.
“My father’s men,” Max said. “They shot at us and grabbed me.” His voice hitched, and he slumped against Caius when arms tightened around him. “I burned them. ’M pretty sure they’re dead.”
“Good,” Lukas growled, finishing with Max’s hands and sitting back as Quinn joined them.
