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direction, her eyes getting wide as saucers. “Oh shit.” That about sums it up, yep.
     
    I started to move forward, feeling as though my feet had minds of their own. Angie tugged on my arm, trying to stop me.
     
    “Ada, no! What are you gonna do? I mean, really. Come on, let’s just go hang with Josh and Pete,” she begged. Huh. Pete must be the red-head’s name.
     
    With a little effort, I shook my arm free from Angie’s grasp and stalked towards the group, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. They had been chatting and laughing, but they gradually fell silent as I reached them. Apparently, they all knew who I was and why I was there, as they parted a path in front of me, straight to Bryson.
     
    I had a fleeting sense of ridiculousness, like a petitioner entering the court of a king, walking in between the parted halves of the courtiers. The flash of absurdity did nothing to calm my anger, however; if anything, it just added fuel to the fire.
     
    I stalked right up to Bryson, glaring up at him, despite the fact that he towered over me by nearly a foot.
     
    “Adalyn Royse,” he said, oddly formal and with a soft solemnity, which did nothing to dispel the silly feel of a king’s court.
     
    “What the literal fuck is going on, Bryson?” I hadn’t intended to, but it came out a shout, and people around the fire looked over, many falling silent.
     
    “Ada, Ada, shhhh,” he tried to quiet me, reaching to put a conciliatory hand on my shoulder.
     
    Before my incipient action even processed in my mind, my hand pulled back, then swung forward, connecting with his face with a resounding crack! He looked at me in total disbelief, his handsome face gone nearly slack with his surprise.
     
    The response from the rest of his little group was more frightening, however. They circled around me, not entirely like the way children in a yard will circle around two people fighting in the movies, except there was a distinct threatening air to this circle. I could have sworn I heard one or two of them actually growl slightly. There was a shivery quality to the air that rose goosebumps on my arms.
     
    Mr. Mutton Chops started to step towards me, looking puffed up like an angry bird. Bryson’s arm flew up, blocking his way as if intending to clothesline the older man. “Elijah, no.”
     
    Elijah. It was strange to have an actual name to go with him. I barely even had the mental space to consider the commanding tone he took — and its instantaneous effectiveness — with the older man. He stepped back, beside and slightly behind Bryson. It did not decrease the bewildering menace I could feel battering against me.
     
    As soon as Bryson was satisfied that Elijah wasn’t going to do anything, his hand flew out almost as fast as it had before, but this time towards me. I flinched, momentarily certain he was going to return the slap. And while there was a soft snap of skin on skin, it wasn’t to my face, and it wasn’t especially painful; just his hand connecting with my bicep.
     
    He took a solid hold on my arm; not painful, but I definitely knew I wasn’t getting away unless he wanted me to. He turned away from the direction of the bonfire, and strode out of the circle, jerking me a shade too fast behind him. I stumbled a bit at his unexpected speed, then scrambled to keep up. I looked back towards the fire, which was dwindling with distance with alarming rapidity, wondering if I should call for help.
     
    But this was Bryson. Surely he wouldn’t hurt me. Right…?
     
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Just as we got far enough away from the fire that I was getting genuinely nervous, Bryson stopped, and turned to face me again. I glanced back towards the fire again; about half of his little group had stayed close to the fire, and the other half —including Elijah — had followed us partway, but were far enough back from us that I didn’t feel that aura of threat coming off them. They didn’t appear