Page 91 of Static/Cling

And predictably, he got kicked again, which made him swear and tell the guy doing it he was a pansy-assed jerkwad for kicking someone smaller who couldn’t defend himself.

“Really not helpful,” Kassian muttered at him.

“If he’s gonna shoot me in the head eventually, I’d rather he just get on with it.”

“And I’d rather not get your blood and brains all over me, if it’s all the same to you.”

“So you do care.”

“Fuck off.”

He imagined Leif grinned then, because he didn’t say anything, but there was another thud and he whimpered.

“Leave him alone,” Kassian said. Not that he expected to be listened to.

His chair jostled again, maybe because Leif was hauling himself off the floor with it. Cold, sticky fingers touched the small of his back under his sweatshirt and he had to grit his teeth to keep from swearing.

If Leif was bleeding enough for there to be blood on his hands, who knew how badly he was hurt.

Booted footsteps strolled around until he could see the muzzle of a rifle, then a fatigue-clad leg, and then a man, training the gun at Kassian’s temple. “How many more of you are there?” he asked.

Kassian curled a lip at him.

“Keep working,” gun-goon commanded, jerking his head at the computer.

“It’s done.”

Leif’s hand had warmed some, stealing just a bit of Kassian’s body heat, and he feared it might be the only thing he’d ever be able to do for the man.

He closed his eyes as the muzzle of the gun pressed to his temple.

He should use his power. Not that he could come up with a single idea of what he could do with it. Even knowing that whatever he attempted would inevitably go sideways, he should make the attempt.

Try for the gun? If he lunged, he’d get shot. If used his so-called power, he might just end up getting Leif killed by accident.

Leif’s fingers flexed on his skin and a shiver skittered up his spine. They trembled, whether from cold or fear or pain, Kassian had no clue, but the chill to them was terrifying, and it seeped into Kassian’s skin.

He wished he had some kind of reassurance to give him.

He wished he didn’t feel so utterly useless. He’d succeeded in what he’d come to do, and still, he felt hollow. Not because he was about to die for it. He’d known since he first saw Rufus that was the inevitable outcome.

But he regretted Leif. He regretted Bjorn. The big, dumb, sweet idiot would never get over losing Leif.

Footsteps clattered out in the hallway.

General George ordered someone to “find him”—whoever “he” was—then he stormed into the room.

“What did you do?” The question ground out of him as though speaking through the rage was a trial. He rounded the desk to where Kassian could see him.

So much for the human veneer the man had worn earlier. His eyes glowed, like the whites had some kind of green, luminescent property, and his face was mottled in patches of too white skin and a greyish-green scale.

“Wow,” Kassian blurted. “That’s—a lot.”

“What—” George grabbed his collar and half hauled him out of his chair. “Did. You. Do.”

Kassian grinned through the screaming pain in his hips , feeling, just for a second, like he was channeling Leif. “Did you really think I was going to let you have those names?”

“I’ll kill you.”

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