hear the subsequent crunch of his nose. He releases me, and I don’t waste any time spinning around and kneeing him in the dick.
Two down.
Before I can even focus on my savior, the third Blood races towards me, wind whipping around his body and stirring his garnet hair. Instead of fire or even water, I use earth—the hardest element to control. I focus on the tree hanging above our heads, its branches long and spindly, and slowly uncoil them. Just before the man can reach me, I sweep my hand out and one of the branches lowers, then rears back and smacks him, sending him tumbling down. When he staggers back to his feet, I use two more branches to ensnare his wrists and yank him into the trunk of the tree, the force knocking him unconscious.
“We need to go!” Elias screams, reaching for my hand. Crimson blood paints his knuckles, and when I turn to the side, I see the fourth and final Blood lying unconscious on the asphalt, his face a mottled and gruesome display of bruises. “Peony!”
I don’t have to be told twice. I swing my leg over his motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist, squeezing as tight as I can. Behind me, I can hear one of the Bloods staggering to his feet, shouting insults and threats, but his words soon become lost over the roar of the engine and the air whipping around my face. Elias takes off like a shooting star in the night, and I allow myself to sag against him, resting my cheek against the leather covering of his back, as all of the hurt and tension drains from my body like water coming out of a faucet.
We don’t talk until we pull in front of a rickety, dilapidated building I’ve never noticed before. The roof curves downwards ever so slightly, in a way that leads me to believe is not intentional but perhaps a product of weather or vandalism. Only two windows line either side of the door, a fine layer of grit and dirt covering both. Maybe some residual ash as well.
“Where are we?” I question as I swing my leg over the bike and attempt to regain my balance. The grass, surprisingly, is a luscious green that glimmers in the sunlight. Despite all other appearances, I can tell someone tends to the yard frequently.
“My house,” Elias answers curtly, stomping up a small stone staircase and removing a key from his back pocket. No other houses appear in the general vicinity, the property a solitary fixture, much like the Devil in front of me. Only trees and a swampy-looking river rest nearby.
As I follow Elias, my arms wrapped around my stomach both to ward off the chill and as a physical comfort, I can’t help but note the random, rusty car parts filling his garage. The only working vehicle besides his motorcycle is his Jeep.
“My parents aren’t home,” he states as he pushes open the door and allows me entry into his home.
We step into his kitchen, the dark color of the countertops a startling contrast to the otherwise dull room. The floors and ceiling are a strange eggshell color, while the rest of the appliances gleam so white, they appear to shine. A splash of color somewhere might’ve made the room seem softer, almost feminine, but the harsh color scheme doesn’t allow for that.
Elias moves to the counter and tosses down his backpack and keys before placing his hands on the counter and leaning forward. With his head bent, he takes deep, shuddering breaths, muscles taut. Following his lead, I shrug my backpack off as well and place it beside his.
I wait for him to gather his thoughts, choosing instead to glance around the rest of the house. At least, the part of the house I can see.
The exterior revealed it to be two levels, and from where I stand, I can see a staircase climbing upstairs towards a slightly extended hallway guarded by a wooden rail.
Nothing about this house makes sense to me. Why is the inside nice and clean, while the outside looks as if it’s been hit by a tornado? Why does Elias have two expensive vehicles when they can’t afford to fix up the front of the house? Unless they don’t want to, of course, but that’s a question in itself.
And where are his parents?
While my thoughts run rampant, it seems Elias’s do as well. He finds the ability to articulate his questions