Page 5 of When Darkness Calls

“Yeah, I’m aware. I was there, remember?” My own anger is beginning to resurface.

What is his fucking problem?

His next laugh is humorless. “Ha, yeah. Yeah, I do remember. You can’t help but getting yourself into all kinds of fucked up situations, can you? ‘Cause you walk around causing problems all the damn time,” he snapped at me. “Now, I have to clean up the mess.”

Grayson’s steps are heavy as he trudges across the smaller porch to the back-door leading into the frat house kitchen.

Against all the voices in my head screaming at me to stay or to just walk away, my feet don’t listen. Before I know it, I’m thrown back into the chaos inside.

“Grayson!” I yell at him, praying he can hear me over the pounding music. He glances back, stopping near the doorway into the main area of the house where the majority of the crowd dance in a tangle of sweaty limbs.

His glare sears through me as he leans closer to my ear. “Where are they?”

A shiver races down my spine, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold outside and everything to do with the feeling of his body so close to mine, his breath ghosting my neck.

“What did you mean by problems, Grays?”

I wait for him to answer me. He stands back, peering over the crowd, then to me, but his eyes aren’t on me. They’re looking over my head somewhere to my left. Then I feel it. The whisper of a hand across my lower back and a new presence occupying the space Grayson was standing.

“Back so soon, sweetheart?” Cruelty drips from his words. I don’t need to look to see if it's the guy from before. Tyler, I think.

I jerked from his grip, rushing to Grayson’s side. Maybe he knew who Tyler was just from one glance. Maybe my reaction to the asshole’s touch and voice was all Grayson needed for confirmation. Either way, the second I reach him, it’s like a dam breaks, and all hell breaks loose.

Grayson lunged, slamming his fist into Tyler’s face. Blood instantly pours from his nose. But he doesn’t stop. Over and over Grayson’s fist slams into his face. Time slows and I watch in horror as the crowd around the two of them realizes what is happening, parting to get out of the way.

My throat burns as my ears ring. My cries for him to stop are drowned by the crowd chanting “fight”.

It’s then that I see them. The others who were with Tyler. They’re pushing their way through the crowd, trying to get to their friend. I know Grays can fight. I’ve seen it more than I’d like, but I don’t think he could survive four against one. Especially when three of them are sneaking up behind him.

I elbowed through the few people who had closed in around me.

“Grays!” I shouted over the crowd. I pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs me off. “Grayson, please.” My hand wraps around his as he raises it. He looks over his shoulder at me. “We have to go. Now.” I plead.

He looks torn. Like there is a part of himself that can’t stop, that feeds on the pain he is causing. One hand still raised in a fist captured by my own, but the other slowly releases its grip on Tyler’s throat. The guy’s groan shifts into a growl as he spits blood onto the floor, scrambling back into the legs of his friends who have finally made it to the middle of the circle formed around the scene.

Tyler’s eyes lock onto me narrowing into a promise. His friends do the same. Fear races through my veins like icy shards of glass.

The music suddenly stopped. The flashing lights halt as the lights overhead come on. A large guy pushes through the crowd. He’s shorter than Grayson but easily weighs a hundred pounds more in muscle. He’s dressed in a dark gray suit with a golden sash across his chest in bold letters spelling out “THE PREZ”.

“Get out.” His gruff voice demands, pointing at the door on the other side of the crowd.

Grayson stands, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Gladly.”

He ushers me toward the door. My gaze catches on Liz’s standing by the window, concern etched across her features in question. With an imperceptible shake of my head, I let Grayson walk me out the front door. Back into the cold night.

two

Dani

“Problems like that.”

Grayson walks in front of me across the yard and the smooth asphalt. My mind whirls.

“What?”

“You asked what I meant by problems. That—” he says pointing back toward the house, “—and this whole night in general. That’s what I meant.” He speaks so casually as he looks at the bruises forming on his knuckles.

“Excuse me? Are you saying this was my fault?” I stopped on the road. Grayson pauses before he opens the driver door.