Hate. The feeling hit me so suddenly and so unexpectedly that I thought it might have been one of Rain’s cluster-mates. Hate like when I had been in middle school, arguing with a classmate who had spewed out insane, vile rhetoric that would have made them a perfect fit for Empire Eighty-Eight or the Fallen, and he had refused to listen because I was a ‘pretty, privileged white girl’ and that had somehow meant my experiences and opinions weren’t valid, even though he was an okay looking, privileged white boy. I’d hated him and I’d hated that I couldn’t talk or shout sense to him and make him stop or even pause in being such a shitty person.

Hate like I had channeled at my sister, because she had broken something intrinsic in me. Because she had torn open emotional doors I had really wanted to protect and be tender with, so soon after I had lost Dean. She had violated that and staked her claim to what lay beyond those doors, and it was only by twisting devoted, passionate love into devoted, passionate hate that I had briefly been able to retain something of myself and my boundaries. Only briefly.

I hated the Wretch, in that same way. I hated the blood spots I could see where fingers had dug in, the guy now on his knees, fingers at his chest with blood seeping between them. I hated the scratches on Moose’s face.

I hated the ones with broken hands, arms, and legs, the ones who were lying on the ground screaming. I hated that when I’d had the ability to be gentle, I hadn’t been, and now that I wanted to be gentle, I couldn’t.

To top it off, I hated the Fallen.

“Stand the fuck down!” I shouted. “Or I won’t hold back anymore!”

Rain fell all around us. In the ditches by the road, the water made small trickling sounds. I could hear gunfire in the distance, and I could hear the Patrol block.

My aura burned dark and intense, and I knew that they wouldn’t be feeling the pause or the odd mid-fight peace of rain and the ongoing violence being more distant.

One of them looked at the hostages, who’d made it to the dirt road and now crouched there. I flew straight for them, pushing past the people in the way with enough force to knock them over.

My thought, my instinct, was that if they had a gun, I wanted to already be there, ready to stop them. They didn’t have a gun, so I went easy. I kicked them across the lower legs, the Wretch momentarily active.