Ronan had always been a bomb, and now was no different. Kavinsky let himself be bucked off, releasing his hold on his neck and narrowly avoiding the swing of the beer bottle, though he can't avoid the spray of beer.

Now that they're separated, circling like fighting dogs, Kavinsky almost expected Ronan to stomp off. That was the thing he'd learned, wasn't it? Ronan was against him, which he hated and hadn't expected. Not when they were the same creature, not when they understood what this was. What was the good of Dick Gansey and that little cadre holding his leash? They would never understand what this was.

Kavinsky did. Kavinsky understood it more than anyone else ever could.

"You get it out of your system, Lynch?" He spread his arms wide, grinned that toothsome grin of his, the one he'd worn on the roof of the Mitsubishi as he stared down the dragon. "Or you need to keep hitting me?"