Marie Harte: Fallon's Flame

Grinning around a fat lip and bloodied teeth, the large man waved a hunting knife in front of him. “Come on, you big prick. I dare you.”

Jesse Fallon sighed and silently counted to ten before he did something stupid, like break the guy's neck. Granted, leaving the backwoods bar by himself after Tersch had instigated an earlier fight with this idiot and his many friends wasn't smart, but he'd been hoping to avoid more bloodshed. Though Tersch liked to engage in an out-and-out brawl at least once a week, Fallon preferred more peaceful means to alleviate the constant tension that threatened to pull him apart.

He upped his internal count to twenty before answering, “Buddy, I don't know you, and I don't want to know you. Now step aside, before I shove your head up your ass.” If his headache hadn't been bothering him, he would have found a much more diplomatic way to defuse the situation. Instead he knowingly fanned the flames of aggression.

Unfortunately his damned headache and the asshole's anger made his mental shields too thin to withstand the invasion of unwanted thought. Telepathy was such a bitch.

The man's anger penetrated. Gonna find his truck, carve his tires, then his pretty face , the bruiser thought before yelling for reinforcements. “Back here!” Fallon didn't wait. He walked right up to the big man, ignored the knife slash to his forearm, and punched him in the face. His opponent fell in a heap on the ground at the exact moment several men jumped out of an approaching pickup. The overhead moon shone brightly in the nearly deserted parking lot, highlighting six burly men armed with bats, knives, and ham-handed fists. Ah. New challengers. The others had been carried out of the bar hours ago.

“Terrific.” Fallon rubbed his temples as more unwelcome thoughts intruded.

Take him from the front while Ben hits him from the back.

Glad I brought a bat. This fucker's huge.

Too bad the others are here. I wouldn't mind a piece of that ass . The images following that thought disgusted him.

Fallon turned his hostility in the direction of the bully who liked to beat up, then rape his victims in secret. He broke the rapist's ribs before throwing him into the midst of two of the assholes wanting to fight.

“Damn, Fallon. You couldn't have waited for me?” Tersch whined as he exited the bar in front of Hayashi.

“Oh hell. I'll wait in the truck,” Hayashi muttered. “I should have stayed home with Jules.” The large Asian swallowed the ground on silent feet, not making a stir over the graveled lot as he moved to their truck.

Fallon cursed Tersch's aptitude for trouble. “I was having a fine time. Beer, the possibility of some fun with a waitress or two.” He sidestepped a blow to his back and tripped the next guy attacking with a bat. “But you couldn't leave my happy time alone. Why do you insist on provoking them?”

The giant blond snorted, his huge hands on his hips. The damned Viking stood several inches taller than Fallon and had muscles on top of muscles. He was hard enough to beat when normal, but changed , he was unstoppable. Fallon considered this ass whooping a favor to the locals too stubborn to back the hell down.

“If you weren't such a pussy earlier, they wouldn't be trying this shit with you,” Tersch growled.

“Communicating with my mouth instead of my fists isn't being a pussy.” “ Dickless ,” he added, sending the telepathic message to his irritable friend.

Tersch's bright blue eyes blazed. “Oh, it's on.”

Fallon shrugged. Better to help Tersch deal with his demons than let these idiots die at his hands.

He knocked another one out of the way while Tersch put the remaining two out of commission.

“Was that necessary?” Fallon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed to see his brand-new shirt ripped where a knife had cut it. But his skin had already knit, healing without a scar. “ Sometimes it's good to be a Circ .”

Tersch grinned. “It's always good to be a Circ.” He swung a fist, which connected with Fallon's cheek, igniting Fallon's already shortened fuse.

“Hell yeah, it's on. You're mine, you damned berserker.” Fallon tackled him, and they rolled over bodies, gravel, and each other as they indulged in a fight that had been brewing for hours.

Twenty minutes later, Fallon limped back to the truck in a foul mood. Tersch walked beside him with a spring in his step, humming under his breath.

“You kids done playing?” Hayashi asked from the truck's interior, his voice bored.

Something classical played on the radio. As usual, Hayashi sat behind the wheel.

Fallon grunted and shoved aside Tersch's helping hand. “Fuck off. I don't need help getting into the truck.”

“Sorry.” The unrepentant bastard had the nerve to smile.

“Well, at least one of you is in a better mood.” Hayashi grinned over his shoulder at the finger Fallon gave him. He engaged Tersch in conversation on the ride home, seeking details about the fight, which Tersch was all too happy to give him. While they drove, Fallon fought his aches as his body healed and tried to relax, glad he didn't need to join in on the conversation.

The last three years of his life had been fraught with danger. Hell, if he were honest, he'd been in one scrape after another since joining the navy and becoming a SEAL. Fallon hated to admit it, but he liked trouble. He found nothing as invigorating as a challenge. Reading minds paled next to saving people and protecting his country. Volunteering for the top secret Project Dawn had been a no-brainer, especially when his team leader and fellow SEALs said yes.

Becoming a Circ did have its advantages. Project Dawn had turned him into a super soldier, or super sailor, as he liked to call himself. He was now faster, stronger, and had better instincts than a normal person. Hell, he could hold his breath underwater for an hour. If not for those more unfortunate side effects to the project, he'd consider being a Circ perfection.

Pain splintered his brain again, and he gritted his teeth to avoid groaning out loud. His telepathy, while occasionally handy, took its toll if he used it too much. The shields he worked hard to hold in place prevented him from hearing thoughts when he went out on the town, but his brain didn't like the extra stimulation. He was just grateful his fellow Circs had learned to shield themselves from him, so he didn't have to work so hard at home.

He didn't like showing weakness, not even around men he considered family. It didn't help that everyone seemed so damned capable. Hayashi rarely complained about anything. Jules, his team leader, handled missions with a calm assurance. Even when the team had been under Dr.

Elliot Pearl's evil thumb, Jules had protected them and promised an escape from Pearl's hellish labs, which he'd delivered. Tersch, for all his violent ways, only needed a bit of physical relief to become his jovial if boisterous self.

Fallon, however, constantly felt pressured to keep up with the others, as if he were the weak link striving not to slow anyone down.

“So quiet back there. I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?” Tersch asked in a deep voice.

Hayashi coughed, probably to cover a laugh.

“Shut up, Frederik .” Fallon turned his head and rested his forehead on the cold glass of his window, hoping the cold would numb the throbbing.

“I hate when you call me that.” Tersch glared over his shoulder.

“I know.”

The ocean rolled by as Hayashi accelerated. Winter approached Emerald Isle, North Carolina, in a fierce whip of wind and pelting rain. At the promise of the first clear night they'd had in a week, Fallon and the others had ventured out to take advantage of the crisp night air, as well as their recent breather from six months of nonstop training. The training aside, he appreciated the southern climate more than he'd liked living in Jersey. Two years in Trenton had made him long for anything south of the Mason-Dixon Line.