Only a lunatic would be excited by this beast coming at them. If he put his mind to it, he could be the thunder of a god.
Then again, Jacinta must know, or at least sense, that he would never hurt her. This hardhearted alpha had wrapped her in a blanket of his protection, and he would become the devil unleashed if harm ever came to her.
Which made this situation dicey at best. Niamh wasn’t directly responsible for the bruises blotching Jessie’s face, her swollen lip, the lump on her head, or the scrape on her neck—those were the results of her training session with Damarion and the other gargoyles—but she’d allowed it to happen. Even urged Jessie to continue with the rough training. Austin Steele could very easily blame Niamh for letting harm come to Jessie. If there was one person in the world Niamh didn’t want to go toe to toe with, it was the uncrowned alpha.
“She’s okay,” Niamh said from right where she stood, not daring to go any closer. “It looks worse than it is.”
He stopped in front of Jessie, the muscles flaring across his back. His voice reduced to a low, rough, barely contained growl. “Who did this to you?” he repeated.
Niamh edged around the kitchen island, keeping that big block of wood between her and Austin Steele while she tried to gauge the situation.
He grazed the fingertips of one hand across Jessie’s black-and-blue cheek, and used the other to lightly trace her eyebrow, a cut marring its perfect arch. She flinched when he reached her discolored temple, and a shock of power bled through the room, his rage clearly on a very, very loose leash.
Despite that, Jessie’s eyes fluttered closed and a slow exhale tumbled out of her open lips, like she was relaxing within his touch. In contrast, Niamh’s knuckles had turned white as she gripped the edge of the island.
“We were training. It’s fine,” Jessie said, bringing up her hands to rest on his popping biceps. Her eyes opened slowly, hooded and lazy. The woman had no idea how much danger the rest of the house was in. “Austin, I swear, he gets it way worse, trust me. The guy is a saint for what he has to put up with. I’m getting better every day.”
“Damarion.” It was more of a growl than a word.
As if on cue, Niamh felt Damarion enter through the back door, followed by Earl. The rest of them would be filtering in after that, winding their way past the kitchen and heading to the showers. They might not stop in, but it wouldn’t matter—Austin would be able to see them through the arched kitchen entryway.
In this situation, one glance at Damarion would be all it took.
For both of them.
“It looks worse than it is,” Niamh said again. “He’s allowing her to all but cripple him. He’s conscious of her pain.”
His body tensed. She’d just aligned herself with the bad guys.
Bollocks.
“He is incredibly restrained until she hits him with the very worst of it.” Niamh thought about edging around the island a little more, getting closer so as to give her words a personal, comforting touch, or maybe even pat his arm, but she decided against it. His responding personal touch might be to crack her in the head. “The rest of them are joining in now, trying to help him fight her. She heals within hours. It really does look worse than it is.”
“Being flung around like a plaything in the air might look worse than it is, but this…” He turned slowly, his icy blue stare cutting right through her, making her bowels watery. This might get a whole lot worse before it got any better. “You’re calling this restrained? Has he so little control that mere pain prompts him to batter a beginner?”
“It really does look worse than it is—”
“She needs real-life lessons, Austin Steele,” Niamh cut in. “She needs to learn how to get back up after she’s been struck down.”
Austin Steele swung those meaty shoulders around, facing her now, his intensity and size daunting, even for her. His power sent nervous tremors through her body.
Maybe it was good Damarion was steadily walking closer, drawing ever nearer—it would take some of the heat off her.
“This is training, Niamh. She is a beginner. You don’t toss beginners around without protection. You’re treating her like you would an advanced fighter. Besides, if she’s used to getting physically knocked around every time she lands a good blow, she may flinch or hesitate at the worst possible moment. That could kill the element of surprise she gets from her magic. It could make her lose. And all because a sad-sack excuse for an alpha couldn’t handle pain when it really mattered.”
“I don’t think you understand what kind of pain we’re talking about—”
“I don’t give a shit what kind of pain we’re talking about,” he barked. “Ensuring her safety is worth handling whatever she can dish out. We heal, Niamh. We all heal, especially on Ivy House soil. If we black out from the pain, then we come to and start again. That’s the job.”
“Ah, but it isn’t your job, is it now, Austin Steele? Ivy House chose Damarion to draw out her power, not you. He has become instrumental in unlocking what is inside of her—slaps, air drops, tosses, and all.” Niamh noticed his shoulders slumping, just a little. Was that regret? She pushed her advantage, feeling Damarion walking down the hall, just about ready to turn the corner and come into full view. She had a chance to deflate Austin Steele’s sails a little before that happened. “Ye won’t set foot in the Council Room, but he is desperate to be accepted in it. Ye dislike that Ivy House gave you the magic and keeps summoning you, but he is eager for the chance to be a part of the team. This is his job, Austin Steele, not yours. When ye walked away, he stepped in to take yer place. You can’t lead while sitting in the back seat.”
Damarion turned the corner, not a scratch on him, already having healed from his training with Jessie. Whether it was true or not, and Niamh didn’t know, it looked like Damarion was inflicting more pain than he was taking. That wouldn’t go well.
Niamh kept from flicking her eyes that way, hoping she could keep Austin Steele’s focus on her.
“More importantly, Ivy House chose him because it must know Jessie can handle it. And she is. She isn’t flinching. In point of fact, getting return fire, so to speak, seems to surprise her every time. That’s probably not ideal either, but at least—”
Damarion stopped in the wide hall just off the kitchen entryway. “What’s he doing here?”
Niamh didn’t have time to answer the fool gargoyle.
Austin Steele spun on a dime, a blast of power rocking the room. He charged toward Damarion, all that rage and coiled power exploding outward.
Jessie’s eyes turned as big as the world; she was shocked out of whatever stupor she’d settled into. Earl had already reacted, though, diving between the two alphas and slamming into Jessie, forcing her out of the way.
“No, waaait—” Jessie yelled, falling to the side.
“Don’t let them at each other, Ivy House,” Niamh roared, grabbing a kitchen knife off the counter and dashing forward. If she had to poke holes in them to get them to slow down so Jessie could pull them apart, she would. With glee.
A white door flew out of the wall, closing off the kitchen from the hall. All these years, and Niamh hadn’t even known the door existed. It slammed home just as Austin Steele barreled into it. Any other door would’ve split beneath the onslaught, but this one didn’t even splinter. A dull thunk said Damarion had reached the other side and was trying to get through just as fiercely.
Light flared, followed by a shock of air. Austin Steele flew back, lifted off his feet by invisible hands and thrown. He crashed into the island, punching through the wood and cracking the tiles. Pots and pans contained within it clattered as he rolled out of the debris.
“Get him out of here,” Earl yelled, bracing himself over Jessie with his bony arm out, trying to protect her in case the fight moved her way. “This isn’t the place for him right now. Get him out!”
“Austin!” Jessie scrambled up, out from under Earl. Earl grabbed her arm to keep her put, ripping her back much too aggressively for the situation.
A pat on the back was probably too aggressive for the situation.
“No, Earl, don’t touch her—” Niamh started.
Austin Steele was there in a flash, grabbing Earl by the front of his sweatshirt and almost lazily flinging him away. Earl flew across the large room and onto the table, busting it beneath him and sending a table leg skittering across the floor.
“Austin, please stop. Please!” Jessie smacked her palm against his chest, determination on her face and fire in her eyes. She was going to unleash magic on him.
She wasn’t strong enough yet, though. She’d only fuel the rage.
“No, Jessie, leave him be—”
Niamh dashed forward with the knife and sank it into Austin Steele’s back, a nice, big target. Not a fool, she then leapt back and over the island, putting distance between them, ready for his attack.
Banging sounded from the other side of the door, Damarion still trying to get in.
And then all sound ceased, like Niamh had suddenly gone deaf. Everyone froze, but if Niamh’s situation was any judge, it wasn’t by choice.
“What in the hell has gotten into everybody?” Jessie asked in exasperation. She glanced at the kitchen door, her voice the only thing Niamh could hear. “There’ll be no fighting here today. Walk it off, okay? I’ll check in with everyone before dinner.” Given her focus, the words were obviously meant for Damarion. A moment passed, then Niamh could feel him walking, doing as she’d said. Niamh had no idea if that had been his choice or not.
Jessie turned back to Austin Steele and took a deep breath. “I can’t let you free just yet, do you see why?”
Niamh wished she could’ve snuck around to look at his face. All she could clearly see was the blood leaking out from around the knife still stuck in his back. She’d hit the meaty part, so he’d be fine, but still, that had to hurt.