Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Forty-One | Fourth World

[ 141 ]

The tables had well and truly turned; the corpses belonging to Hawk's men lay sprawled about in pools of their own blood. Even though the air was chilly, those who had fought until the end and survived, were sweating as the fast-paced battle dwindled. But it was Fyre who felt the oncoming dizziness, courtesy of his own realisation. He had somehow survived, when the odds were all stacked against him.

The reason for his survival lay in the direction Hawk was facing, sporting a twisted expression that made him shiver to witness. Fyre twisted his head and looked up to the rooftop of his own home, which had come out surprisingly unscathed. A lean figure stood noticeably on top, breathing heavily judging by the way his shoulders were rising and falling.

Long brown hair had fallen loose from their restraints, pooling around the young man's shoulders, but with where he was standing, the breeze was strong enough to keep each strand off his face. Revealing the facial expression that was fixed on Hawk. One Fyre had never had the pleasure of seeing on the little bird's face. One which would make him hesitant to use that nickname out loud.

Fyre turned and found himself watching the silent exchange between the pair he had yet to see engage in conversation. All he knew about their past was from Falcon's mouth, and from what Fyre had gathered, it was Hawk who had gone out of his way to be as courteous and trusting as he possibly could. Which had pulled the wool over Finch's eyes. And the older man knew from first hand experience how Finch could react when someone was keeping information from him.

But Hawk didn't seem apprehensive of that, in fact he appeared to think that there was no hard feelings between them. Which, from easy observation, was the complete opposite to what Finch seemed to be thinking.

As the leader of the opposition, Hawk being restricted in his movements due to the arrow was hugely beneficial. If it was anywhere else, being the brutish warrior type that he was, he probably would have been able to snap the end and continue fighting. But Finch had managed to get him in the side, limiting his movements as it was deeply embedded.

Finch was able to climb down from the house without needing to hurry. Once his feet touched the ground, standing to the side where he couldn't be seen, he gave a shuddering breath. His knees shook ever so slightly and he used his arm to wipe away a few beads of sweat which threatened to trickle down his face.

He walked around and stepped through the bushes he had previously hidden amongst. His feet then met the familiar track in front of Fyre's home, one which he and Falcon had stormed across when they got into a spat. It reminded him of the blood-boiling rage he felt when he first spotted Hawk.

Said man hadn't moved, but Fyre had. He had removed his nephew from anything that could be used as a weapon. And by restricting his arms, the silver eyed man could no longer apply pressure to his own wound, and as such caused him a fair amount of pain.

As Finch approached, stepping around the bodies of those who possessed his arrows, Fyre stepped away and met him half way. Where the younger of the two was engulfed in a pair of large arms, strangled with affection.

"What are you doing here? Where is your team?" Fyre asked quietly and Finch quickly told him that they were all alive, but temporarily separated. He was quick to mention the injured man, and where he had left them. Knowing Fyre, the man was a stickler for ensuring any and all lives could be saved, so he was immediately on-board with returning to the two member's of Finch's team that were hopefully still waiting for him.

"What about him?" Finch left the warmth of their leader's arms to face the other leader, who had been silently watching them with a burning gaze.

Hawk cracked a grin, "Are you not going to greet me the same way you did my uncle?"