Rusaleon had never really been angry before. Not truly angry. He didn't have much of a temper, he knew that about himself-- it was one reason he thought he and Kae-Ryss might have gone all right together.

Right now, though, he was angry. He wanted to shout. He wanted to growl. He wanted, very childishly, to throw things and stomp about and slam doors. He wanted to make people hurt-- bad people, admittedly-- certain bad people, actually. He was a little horrified that he could be so angry, could want to hurt someone, even a bad someone... but only a little. He was, after all, made from two species known for their violence against evil, he'd just never actually felt the desire to go through with it before.

And he felt hurt, horribly hurt-- not because his body hurt, but there was that, too. But his heart burned with more than just fury. His bond hadn't just abandoned him, hadn't just broken ties with him, hadn't just left; he could have taken that. He'd expected it, almost hoped for it-- not as much as how he'd hoped she'd grow to love him, but he would have been relieved if she had least just made her decision. But that wasn't what she'd done. She'd given him, all but gift-wrapped, to her beast of a father, who had made her watch as he'd impassively sliced her bond up, coldly snapped every bone he could find in one wing, half-froze him, and kicked him out to find somewhere else to bleed when he'd decided Kae-Ryss had seen enough. Was loyal enough. Emotionless enough.

She hadn't abandoned him. She hadn't even broken the bond-- it was still there, though walled off so thoroughly on his end that he hoped he could forget about it, because he wasn't sure, yet, how to break it himself. No, she had coolly, rationally, and guiltlessly betrayed him.

And he was angry, hurt, and barely fighting off tears whenever he thought about it.

So he knew now was a very bad time to be trying to make a decision.

At least Natron had left him alone, at last, with clean bandages, dinner sitting in the microwave for when he felt up to eating it, as much of her and her friend's situation as she knew, and lots of thoughts churning around in his head.

He felt too sick and angry to eat, and too restless and angry to sleep, but he didn't want to think about Kae-Ryss and Shishayair anymore. That only made things worse, made him more angry, made him more hurt. But anger and hurt were the wrong things to be thinking about. He was a yautjadragon and a supernal. He would not consider revenge. Revenge was wrong. Even if revenge rid the world of cruelty, it was selfish and wrong. So he had to think of something else, at least until he could see clearly again, destroy evil without doing it for himself. Until he knew it was what he really wanted and needed to do. 

He could go back where he came from. He'd considered that possibility just that afternoon, before-- before everything. Either Dark or Doctor Schroeder would take him in, and gladly. Except every reason he'd had for not going to either, before, was still there, now. Nothing had changed except Kae-Ryss, and maybe himself.

He could take what Natron offered: a home, training, a new purpose, if he lasted with them long enough to devote himself to it. But that home included the less than sterling Netahiln who, despite a moment of unexplained and inexplicable sympathy, seemed less than pleased with his presence. And that home was also the home of a number of illegal activities, for Netahiln worked with drug dealers and gang leaders and merchants of black market goods. If he stayed here, he could be associated with those illegal activities and that possibly unsavory individual.

Except Natron vouched for her. ::She's not as bad as she makes herself out to be,:: she'd said with a kind of fond exasperation. ::She's loyal and determined, and she's fighting a great evil-- so she can't be all that evil, herself, can she?::

Rusaleon had no answer for that. Didn't evil fight itself all the time? But Natron seemed so sure, and it felt rude to try and change her mind. Besides, Natron seemed like a good person-- she'd put herself out to help him, without knowing whether he would help her, in return-- and their purpose was so tempting. A Balespawn... his yautjadragon half was practically designed to combat those. He didn't know yet how many of his parents' abilities he'd inherited, but surely he'd gotten some of them, from either parent. He could be useful to this cause, if he could stand being around Netahiln and she could stand to be around him without coming to battle over her activities, attitude, or simple alignment.

And she could teach him things. Magic, if he'd inherited some from his supernal parent; purification and healing, if he'd inherited it from his yautjadragon parent; how to look after himself and others, no matter what powers he had within him. She was already teaching one of the new generation of yautjadragons how to restore the Balespawn's corruptions to normalcy.

... why would someone evil be seeking to restore balance and heal corruptions?

Rusaleon had a feeling Natron had left something out, something that explained Netahiln's motivation. He felt like it mattered, somehow, why someone who struck him as one thing would do something that seemed so opposite. There had to be a reason.

Unless he just had poor judgment when it came to people. He had, after all, misjudged his own bond so terribly....

Shaking himself away from that line of thought, Rusaleon tried to think of what other options he might have. There were others of his kind, either side, who he could probably contact and who would gladly take him in and train him. He learned early on that he could use the Huntermind of the yautjadragons to communicate with anyone else of even part-yautja heritage, so that would be simple. He knew there was at least one supernal on the Abstract Destiny, and if he didn't want him, surely he'd know someone who would.

And if he did that, he had no idea where he'd end up, or with who. He'd be a burden rather than a choice someone made, and whether that person who took him in accepted that burden or not, he would be the one doing the asking, the one intruding on someone else's life. Kae-Ryss, at least, had signed up to bond. No one had signed up to take in an upset, abandoned mixed breed, even if they might be willing.

And Natron-- and Netahiln, in her apparently less than obvious way, as well-- was offering, without his even having to ask. Apparently they didn't care that he was honorable and likely to call them on illegal or otherwise wrong activities, or that he could very well be as prickly and stuffy as some of his siblings and cousins. But, really, of all his siblings, he had chosen the hydra with the neutral-to-evil personality. More evil than he'd anticipated, in fact. So if any yautjadragon or supernal were to live with someone like Netahiln, he was probably the one. He'd been happy to be patient with Kae-Ryss, after all, and hope that she might come around....

The most important fact, he realized as he avoided further thoughts of his bond, was that he wasn't in any condition to be going anywhere or finding any new guardians or teachers. For now, unless he wanted people asking questions about why he was hurt and, probably, going to try and arrest or at least punish Kae-Ryss and Shishayair, he had to stay where he was until he was healed. He'd just have to see what happened until then, whether he could stand their company, and if they actually had things to teach him.

Decision made-- to wait and see; why did he always wind up making that decision?-- he tried composing himself for sleep again. The rest of the apartment was apparently sleeping, so sitting awake did nothing except give him time to think, which he no longer wanted.

Except sleep wouldn't come. He'd slept all evening, and now his mind wouldn't stop working. The couch wasn't terribly comfortable, a curved metal frame with threadbare cushioning, and it was altogether too warm in the apartment. Kae-Ryss usually kept their apartment slightly chilly, but Netahiln and Natron, despite fur and flame, seemed to like things hotter than he was used to. And he still hurt, physically, with all the wounds that still weren't closing, probably because Shishayair had half-frozen them open, and with his aching wing and hind leg. No matter how he lay, something hurt.

Finally he decided that he could dwell on his own self-pity for a while, or he could distract himself. In the end, he found the remote to the holovision and, though he didn't really like HV, at least the late-night sitcoms finally lulled him to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

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