There were no answers to those questions, and no way he was going to voice them aloud. Because apparently, he wasn't just a monster, but a cowardly one at that.
All his life, he’d picked avoidance over confrontation. Even now, when the stakes had never felt higher.
As he sat there and watched Cassandra’s house, he suddenly caught a whiff of something in the air that shouldn’t be there.
Rolling down the window so he could get a clearer read on it, he smelled it again.
Blood.
There was no second-guessing himself, no taking his time to figure out what it meant, his logical mind flew out thewindow. Acting on pure instinct, Dragon was out of the car and running for Cassandra’s house without any conscious thought whatsoever.
While Thunder’s enhanced skill was speed, they all worked out every day, and they had all been given heightened endurance, able to better cope with extreme temperatures, handle no sleep, and go longer without needing food or water. He was at the door mere seconds after he’d first scented blood in the air.
Knocking wasn't even a consideration.
Again, he didn't have Steel’s enhanced strength, but he was a big guy, stronger than the average man, with hours of daily weightlifting under his belt, and he simply threw himself at the door and watched as the wood splintered around him.
As soon as he was in Cassandra’s living room, his gaze fell on the two shadowy figures, right by where he’d crushed his lips to his little rabbit’s not even twenty-four hours earlier.
Inside, the stench of blood was stronger, and he saw one of the figures was on the ground. The other stood above them, the blade of a knife glinting in the moonlight streaming in through the hole the broken door left behind.
Likely the only thing that saved Cassandra’s presence was his entrance.
The man standing above her faltered for a second when Dragon stormed into the room, and Cassandra wriggled back a little, so that when the man recovered and brought his weapon down, it missed everything vital.
Caught her skin, though, if the smell of blood growing stronger was anything to go by.
His little rabbit might be light and sunshine, but she was no wilting flower. She had six overprotective big brothers who had drilled her in self-defense training, he knew because he’dworked with her on building on those skills while she stayed with them.
Her own knife came down on the man’s shoulder, and he grunted in pain.
Nothing compared to what he was going to feel when Dragon was through with him.
Not needing a weapon to take care of Cassandra’s assailant, although his gun was in its holster on his hip, he launched himself at the other man.
The rage pounding inside him insisted that he make the man suffer, that he inflict as much damage as possible, that he torture him slowly to punish him for daring to touch something that didn't belong to him.
But there was a tiny whisper in the back of his mind that Cassandra was there.
She was watching.
Already she believed him to be a monster. What would she think of him once she discovered the depths of his depravity?
Somehow, Dragon managed to cling to some measure of control, and when his body collided with the intruders and he took him down to the floor, he slammed a fist into the other man’s neck, crushing his windpipe in a single blow.
Unable to breathe, the man stared up at him, and Dragon could scent his fear along with his acceptance. He knew he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. It would be a faster death than the man deserved, but the fact that he recognized his situation and was powerless to do anything about it soothed a little of his rage.
But the smell of blood was still strong in the room, and only one sluggishly oozing gash on the dying man’s shoulder. The rest of the blood was coming from Cassandra, and he found he could hardly stomach the idea of turning on the lights and seeing how badly she was hurt.
What if she were bleeding out?
She hadn't said anything, hadn't moved from where she’d been when he threw himself at her attacker. He knew she wasn't dead, but that didn't mean that she, too, wasn't dying.
If he’d gotten in there seconds too late to save her life, all because he’d been trying to respect her wishes and stay in his car when he knew she’d be safer with him inside the house with her, trying to convince her he wasn't completely a monster even though they both knew that he was, Dragon knew he would never forgive himself.
January 5th
2:30 A.M.
