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—”