Chris braced an arm against Hunter’s neck and leaned in. His voice was low and lethal. “Don’t you ever put a gun in my face again.”

“Hey,” said Michael. The water flowing around his knees was ice cold. “Stop. Chris, let him go.”

Hunter’s voice was strained and breathy. “Aw. Poor Chris. Scared?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” Hunter struggled to get an arm free. “You’re the one turning on your family.”

Chris lifted Hunter to slam him back against the beach. “The only person who ever turned on my family is you—”

Casper barked and surged forward.

“Hey.” Michael grabbed the dog’s collar. He needed to defuse this. Soon, before Chris lost control of his power and the water posed a threat again. The earth was feeding him strength now, so he put a hand against brother’s shoulder and kept his voice low. “Hey. Come on. Chill out. Let him up.”

Chris hesitated, his breathing rough and rapid over the slow roll of the waves. Michael waited. The twins, Nick and Gabriel, had always had each other, but when Chris was younger, he’d looked up to Michael. Some of that closeness had faded since their parents had died, leaving Michael riding that fine line between brother and parent, but Chris would listen to him.

Usually.

Hunter’s eyes shone darkly in the starlight. He didn’t move, but Michael could feel his tension through the sand.

After an eternal moment, Chris’s arm shifted. He eased the weight against Hunter’s neck. Michael let out a breath.

Then Hunter jerked free, swung a fist, and punched Chris right in the throat.

Chris collapsed in the water—but it was his element, and it fed him strength immediately. Hunter tackled him, but Chris was ready. He let Hunter’s momentum carry them into deeper water.

And then they were fighting in earnest.

Michael sighed. Casper whined.

When they got going, sometimes Michael just wanted to say f**k it and walk away. He was tempted to do that now. His joints ached and his lungs burned. He hadn’t slept in days.

Wind blew in from the water to make the trees rustle, bringing the scent of saltwater from the bay. He gave the dog’s collar a tug. “Come on, Casper.”

Michael went for the weapon first—because he didn’t want to take the chance of Hunter getting his hands on it. He asked the sand for the location and found the gun a short distance down the beach.

When he looked back, Chris had Hunter pinned in the surf. The waves had turned more aggressive, crashing into them both. It wasn’t quite deep enough to hold Hunter’s face underwater, but close.

“Come on,” said Michael. “Both of you.” His voice hadn’t lost the rough edge, and he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Using abilities out in the open is reckless.” The Guides didn’t need much evidence to justify killing a full Elemental.

Chris was breathing hard. “I let him up once already.”

Michael smacked him on the side of the head. “Well, let him up again! Jesus, it’s three o’clock in the morning and we’re half a mile from home! Knock it off and start walking or you can both spend the night stuck in the sand.”

Chris didn’t move. His jaw was set.

Hunter snorted and shook water off his face. “Whatever.”

Michael dropped to a knee in the sand and leaned down close. “Try me.”

Hunter glared back, but Michael didn’t look away. He had a limit. They’d found it.

Chris broke first. He let Hunter go with a shove and a curse, turning his back on them both to head for the house.

Michael straightened and put out a hand to pull Hunter to his feet.

After a moment, Hunter took it. When he was on his feet, he pushed wet hair out of his eyes and turned to follow Chris. Somewhere in the distance, a siren kicked up, and Michael hoped a well-meaning neighbor hadn’t called the cops about all the crashing around in the woods.

He caught Hunter’s arm. “What’s up with you two?”

The response was clipped. “Ask Chris. He’s the one running around in the woods when we’re all waiting for a war to start.”

“I’m asking you.”

Hunter jerked free. “What, he gets a free pass for being shady, and you’re going to come down on me?”

Michael didn’t have an answer for that.

Hunter scoffed and stormed into the woods, his dog by his side. Another siren joined the first. Then a third. They sounded closer.

“Christ,” Michael muttered. This was all he needed. He had no idea how he’d explain what they’d been doing out in the water. Another gust of wind pulled at his damp clothes, making him shiver.

Then he caught the glow of something red, far ahead between the trees.

A lot of red. Michael stopped short.

Chris reappeared, crashing through the underbrush. His eyes were wide and panicked. “Mike,” he gasped. “Fire. There’s a fire—the houses—”

Michael stopped listening.

And started running.

Hannah rocked with the motion of the fire truck and rubbed her forehead, trying to scrape off a layer of sweat or soot or whatever was caked under the edge of the helmet.

Three calls back to back, and she was ready to return to the firehouse so she could lose the gear, take a shower, and go home. Her twelve-hour shift had ended at midnight, yet here she was, still riding the truck at 3 AM.

But they’d gotten yet another call while packing up from the MVC on Solley Road, and Chief Kidder had fired up the sirens without asking her opinion.