He grunted, went limp.

“Folded like a girl. Thought he was supposed to be tough.” The voice behind him sneered, giving him the height and the distance. In a fast, fluid movement, Nathaniel snapped his head back, rapping his skull hard against the soft tissue of a nose. Using the rear assailant for balance, he kicked up both feet and slammed them into a barrel chest.

The man behind him cursed, loosened his grip enough for Nathaniel to wrest himself away. There were only seconds to judge his opponents and the odds.

He saw that both men were husky, one bleeding profusely now from his broken nose, the other snarling as he wheezed, trying to get back his breath after the double kick to his chest. Nate snapped his elbow back, had the momentary pleasure of hearing the sound of bone against bone.

They came at him like dogs.

He'd been fighting all his life, knew how to mentally go around the pain and plow in. He tasted his own blood, felt the power sing up his arm as his fist connected. His head rang like church bells when he caught a blow to the temple. His breath burned from another in the ribs.

But he kept moving in as they circled him, lashing out, dripping sweat and blood. Avoiding a leap at his throat with a quick pivot, he followed through with a snapping, backhanded blow. The flesh on his knuckles ripped, but the pain was sweet.

He caught the quick move out of the corner of his eye and turned into it. The blow skimmed off his shoulder, and he answered it with two stinging jabs to the throat that had one of the men sinking bonelessly to his knees.

“Just you and me now.” Nathaniel wiped the blood from his mouth and measured his foe. “Come on.”

The loss of his advantage had his opponent taking a step in retreat. Facing Nathaniel now was like facing a wolf with fangs sharp and exposed. His partner was useless, and the man shifted his eyes for the best route of escape.

Then his eyes lit up.

Lunging, he grabbed one of the boards waiting to be nailed to the deck. He was grinning now, advancing and swinging the board like a bat. Nathaniel felt the wind whistle by his ear as he feinted left, then the wood slapping on his shoulder on the return swing.

He went in low. The rushing power took them both over the deck and smashing through the front door.

“Fire in the hole!” Bird shouted out. “All hands on deck!” His wings flapped frantically as the two men hurtled across the room.

A small table splintered like toothpicks under their combined weight. The wrestling wasn't pretty, nor was there any grace in the short body punches or the gouging fingers. The cottage rang with smashing furniture and harsh breathing.

Something new crept into the jungle scent of sweat and blood. When he recognized fear, Nathaniel's adrenaline pumped faster, and he used the new weapon as ruthlessly as his fists.

He closed his hand around the thick throat, thumb crushing down on the windpipe. The fight had gone out of his opponent. The man was flailing now, gagging.

“Who sent you?” Nathaniel's teeth were bared in a snarl as he grabbed the man by the hair and rapped his head hard on the floor.

“Nobody.”

Breathing through his teeth, Nathaniel hauled him over, twisted his arm and jerked it viciously up his back. “I'll snap it like a twig. Then I'll break the other one, before I start on your legs. Who sent you?”

“Nobody,” the man repeated, then screamed thinly when Nathaniel increased the pressure. “I don't know his name. I don't!” He screamed again, almost weeping now. “Some dude outa Boston. Paid us five hundred apiece to teach you a lesson.”

Nathaniel kept the arm twisted awkwardly, his knee on the man's spine. “Draw me a picture.”

“Tall guy, dark hair, fancy suit.” The squat man babbled out curses, unable to move without increasing his own agony. “Name of God, you're breaking my arm.”

“Keep talking and it's all I'll break.”

“Pretty face—like a movie star. Said we was to come here and look you up. We'd get double if we put you in the hospital.”

“Looks like you're not going to collect that bonus.” After releasing his arm, Nathaniel dragged the man up by the scruff of his neck. “Here's what you're going to do. You're going to go back to Boston and tell your pretty-faced pal that I know who he is and I know where to find him.” For the hell of it, Nathaniel rammed the man against the wall on the way out the door. “Tell him not to bother looking over his shoulder, because if I decide he's worth going after, he won't see me coming. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Now pick up your partner.” The other man was struggling onto his hands and knees. “And start running.”

They didn't need any more urging. Pressing a hand to his ribs, Nathaniel watched until they'd completed their limping race out of sight.

He gave in to a groan then, hobbling painfully through the broken door and into the house.

“I have not yet begun to fight,” Bird claimed.

“A lot of help you were,” Nathaniel muttered. He needed ice, he thought, a bottle of aspirin and a shot of whiskey.

He took another step, stopping, then swearing, when his vision blurred and his legs wobbled like jelly.

Dog came out of the corner where he'd huddled, whimpering, and whined at Nate's feet.

“Just need a minute,” he said to no one in particular, and then the room tilted nastily on its side. “Oh, hell,” he murmured, and passed out cold.

Dog licked at him, tried to nuzzle his nose, then sat, thumped his tail and waited. But the smell of blood made him skittish. After a few moments, he waddled out the door.

Nathaniel was just coming to when he heard the footsteps approaching. He struggled to sit up, wincing at every blow that had gone unfelt during the heat of battle. He knew that if they'd come back for him, they could tapdance on his face without any resistance from him.

“Man overboard,” Bird announced, and earned a hissing snarl from Nathaniel.

Holt stopped in the doorway and swore ripely. “What the hell happened?” Then he was at Nathaniel's side, helping him to stand.

“Couple of guys.” Too weak to be ashamed of it, Nathaniel leaned heavily on Holt. It began to occur to him that he might need more than aspirin.

“Did you walk into a robbery?”

“No. They just stopped by to beat me to a pulp.”

“Looks like they did a good job of it.” Holt waited for Nathaniel to catch his breath and his balance. “Did they mention why?”

“Yeah.” He wiggled his aching jaw and saw stars. “They were paid to. Courtesy of Dumont.”

Holt swore again. His friend was a mess, bruised, bloodied and torn. And it looked as though he were too late to do anything other than mop up the spills.

“Did you get a good look at them?”

“Yeah, good enough. I kicked their butts back to Boston to deliver a little message to Dumont.”

Half carrying Nathaniel to the door, Holt stopped, took another survey. “You look like this, and you won?”

Nathaniel merely grunted.

“Should have known.” The news made Holt marginally more cheerful. “Well, we'll get you to the hospital.”

“No.” Damned if he'd give Dumont the satisfaction. “Son of a bitch told them they'd get a bonus if they put me in the hospital.”

“Then that's out,” Holt said with perfect understanding. “Just a doctor then.”

“It's not that bad. Nothing's broke.” He checked his tender ribs. “I don't think. Just need some ice.”

“Yeah, right.” But, being a man, Holt was in perfect sympathy with the reluctance to be bundled off to a doctor. “Okay, we're going to the nextbest place.” He eased Nathaniel into the car. “Take it slow, ace.”

“I can't take it otherwise.”

With a snap of his fingers, Holt ordered Dog into the car. “Hold on a minute while I phone Suzanna, let her know what's going on.”

“Feed the bird, will you?”

Nathaniel drifted between pain and numbness until Holt returned. “How'd you know to come by?”

“Your dog.” Holt started the car and eased it as gently as possible out of the drive. “He played Lassie.”

“No fooling?” Impressed, Nathaniel made the effort to reach back and pat Dog on the head. “Some dog, huh?”

“It's all in the bloodlines.”

Nathaniel roused himself enough to probe his face with cautious fingers. “Where are we going?”

“Where else?” Holt headed for The Towers.

Coco squealed at the sight of him, pressing both hands to her cheeks, as Nathaniel hobbled into the family kitchen with one arm slung over Holt's supporting shoulders.

“Oh, you poor darling! What happened? Was there an accident?”

“Ran into something.” Nathaniel dropped heavily into a chair. “Coco, I'll trade you everything I own, plus my immortal soul, for a bag of ice.”

“Goodness.”

Brushing Holt away, she took Nathaniel's battered face in her hands. In addition to bruises and scrapes, there was a jagged cut under one eye. The other was bloodshot and swelling badly. It didn't take her longer than a moment to see that the something he'd run into was fists.

“Don't you worry, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Holt, run up to my room. There's a bottle of painkillers in the medicine chest, from when I had that nasty root canal.”

“Bless you,” Nathaniel managed. He closed his eyes, listening to her bustling around the kitchen. Moments later he hissed and jerked when a cool cloth dabbed the cut under his eye.

“There, there, dear,” she cooed. “I know it hurts, but we have to get it clean so there's no infection. I'm going to put a little peroxide on it now, so you just be brave.”