“She’s running,” I heard a girl shout from the front.

Ethan kept up with me.

“Z, what is it?”

“It’s them,” I said, pulling the backdoor open only to stop abruptly.

A man stood outside and held up both hands in a pacifying manner.  I wasn’t in the mood to be calmed.

“We just want to talk.”

“No.”

I dropped Ethan’s hand and breathed in, pulling the man’s urgency and caution away.  With the next breath, I took his concern and lifted my fists.  I struck out, hitting him in the face.  His brows rose, but he didn’t move much.  I didn’t stop.  I clipped him again and, like a breeze, I ruffled his russet hair.

The two women rounded the building just then, followed by another man.  He had thicker shoulders than the first guy.  Worried that I wasn’t causing enough damage, I pulled from all of them.  My skin started to itch.

“Stop!”

I didn’t turn to see which girl yelled.  I focused instead on the man before me.  The next blow snapped the russet-haired man’s head back.  When he narrowed his eyes and came back around with a swing of his own, I stole his aggression and went for his ribs.  He grunted in pain.

Humor burst from someone in the group.  The unexpected emotion almost distracted me.

“Clay, don’t laugh.  Help him,” one of the girls said.

Ethan moved to block whoever was coming to help.  I knew he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Ethan, run,” I said as I dodged a swing.

Anger and fear flared.  I grabbed those emotions too, spun around, and hit the new guy in the face.

Someone cried out.  The other man grabbed my arms, pinning me.

“Isabelle, enough,” Bethi said.  “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t think so.”  I pulled hard from the emotional soup they’d made.  First, the girls fell to their knees.  Worry drifted from their men.  I pulled again, and the arms around me loosened.  Then, the men went down.

I turned and yanked Ethan to his feet.  Despite his last minute effort to block me, he looked faint.  When I pulled hard, I couldn’t target.

“Sorry, Ethan.”

“S’okay.”  He took a deep breath and managed a few stumbling steps.

The strangers were starting to move.  I wanted to pull more and knock them out, but I couldn’t risk Ethan.  The men struggled to their feet.  Ignoring us, they went to the girls and started to help them up.

“Come on.”  I pulled Ethan behind me, and I made for the front of the house where we’d parked.  “Do you have your keys?”

Before we stepped around the rusted fender that separated the side yard from the front yard, I felt it again.  The black hole.  The void of emotion.  With the group behind us and our car in front, we didn’t have a choice but to face the thing that had chased me into the alley.  I wanted to swear.  Our chances of escape were slim.  I tightened my grip on Ethan’s hand and stepped forward.

The man I’d glimpsed at the bar, just before he’d turned into a dog, stood in the front yard.  He had to be at least six and a half feet tall and close to three hundred pounds.  Even with his hands loosely in the pockets of his dress pants, his biceps bulged beneath his shirt.  I swallowed hard and eyed his neck.  The width of it competed with the width of his jaw. He was built for fighting.  My heart skipped a beat at the same time my stomach plunged to my toes.  His precisely combed dark hair and pressed slacks were obviously meant to mislead his opponent.  Was there any chance for us?

My gaze drifted to the older man who stood beside the fighter.  He’d put the chokehold on the beast once before.  However, he didn’t look like he would offer any help this time.  His light grey gaze studied me, and I felt a hint of hope and sorrow from him, an odd combination of emotions.

Focusing on the fighter once more, I tried to come up with a plan.

The man’s dark brown eyes flicked to my hand, the one wrapped around Ethan’s, before meeting mine.  Something in that glance had me stepping protectively in front of Ethan.

“Isabelle,” the man’s low voice sent a shiver of dread through me, “let the boy go.”

He was right.  Ethan wasn’t involved in this.  They wanted me.

“Ethan, this time listen.”

I released his hand and gave him a nudge before sprinting at the man.  Instead of trying to hit him—something he was sure to anticipate—I dropped.  Balancing on my hands, I kicked out a leg and hooked him behind the knee with my calf.  As he buckled, I used the hold on his leg to pull myself up behind him.

He landed in a three-point stance with his head bent as if in prayer.  I twisted and grabbed a piece of rusted metal from a nearby pile.  Ignoring the jagged edge that bit into my palm, I swung my ghetto weapon at his head.  But he was too fast.  He turned, caught my wrist, and tugged forward.  He pulled me off balance, and I landed on his knee like a little girl on Santa’s lap.

Our gazes locked.  My breath heaved in and out as my stomach cramped with fear not my own.  Crap.  Ethan.  I heard him struggling with someone.  He hadn’t run.

The man’s eyes didn’t waver from mine, and I realized he wasn’t moving.  Neither was I.  I still had another hand free.  I needed to pull more—

“You’re bleeding.”

The man’s steady voice confused me.  Why didn’t he sound angry?

I could feel Ethan’s fear, worry from three of the people, and annoyance from another, but nothing from the man holding me by the wrist.  I hated not feeling anything from him.  I couldn’t steal what I couldn’t feel.  How could I fight him?

As he stood, pulling me up with him, his fingers trembled around my wrist.  A weak hold?  I swung with my left arm.  Not a strong swing, but it was better than just standing there.  He caught that wrist, too, leaving me no choice.  If I couldn’t pull emotion from him, I’d pull from everyone else.

I breathed in Ethan’s fear, the group’s worry and impatience, and the neighbors’ desolation and hopelessness.  Carefully, I pulled what I needed without reducing Ethan to an immobile puddle.  Again and again, I stole from them.  The man watched me breathe in and out.  The emotions expanded within me, a ball of raw power.  My insides hardened.  My muscles twitched.  The man before me frowned as he studied my face...my rage.

A quick twist freed my right hand.  He didn’t try to reclaim it, and I narrowed my eyes at him.  What game did he play?

I breathed again, taking everything I could and stomped on his foot.  He flinched, and I pulled my other hand free.  My skin tingled painfully.  Too many emotions swirled within me.  I struck out and connected with his face.  His head snapped to the side.  My wrist crunched.  It should have hurt, but I was too full of everything else and didn’t feel anything.  He frowned.  I swung again, but this time he blocked it with an open palm.  His warm fingers curled around my fist for just a moment.  I pulled back and tried again.

He blocked each strike, moving fluidly with me.  The pressure behind my skin eased.  It was like I was back in the play yard with Ethan.  A small smile broke free with that thought.

The big man’s dark eyes drifted to my mouth, and his expression changed.  He caught my next swing and pulled me forward.  Off balance, I fell against his chest.  His arms wrapped around me, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck.  His chest expanded against mine as he breathed deeply.

Shocked, I wrenched on his ear and slipped out of his arms.  Then, I did the most girly thing I’d done in a long time.  I slapped him.  With my cut hand.  It left behind a bloody handprint.

He stared at me a moment, then reached up and touched his cheek.  He looked at his hand, at my blood smeared on his skin, and his whole body began to tremble.  Vaguely, I recalled seeing him do the same thing a moment before Brick had hit me in the face.

I backed up a step.  He didn’t try to follow.  I backed up three more and risked a quick look behind me.  The two guys loosely held Ethan.  I understood why he didn’t try to break free of their weak holds when he glanced at me, to the man, and back at me again.  He had watched me take down some crazy huge men in the past.  No doubt he’d figured out the mountain before me wasn’t the same as those guys.  The mountain wasn’t normal.