“You’re dead, Hendrix,” Wylder calls out.
Asher wheezes. “Worth it.”
“Okay,” Wylder says, rolling his neck. “Back to starting positions. The rules remain the same. Poppy and Asher are on defense. Orion and I are your enemies.”
“Yeah, baby,” Asher grins, waggling his sandy blond brows. “Enemies to lovers is my favorite trope.”
A chest-vibrating roar comes from somewhere in the forest trees.
Asher adjusts his track pants. “That man is fire.”
I chuckle and give Wylder my attention. “You were saying?”
“You need to be comfortable using whatever you’ve got in your toolbox: magic, physical strikes, whatever it takes.”
“Just don’t burn down the forest,” Asher adds helpfully.
“Great pep talk.”
The two of us share a look and chuckle.
“Focus,” Wylder snaps.
I drag my attention back to him just in time to see the fireball hurtling toward my face.
Instinct kicks in. I raise a shield, pouring power into it, and the flames crash against shimmering blue light. The impact rattles through my bones, but the shield holds.
Wylder’s mouth quirks. “Better.”
Then he’s moving, closing the distance in two strides. I barely manage to dodge his first strike, ducking low and throwing up an earth wall to buy myself space. It erupts from the ground in a spray of dirt and roots.
Wylder vaults over it like it’s nothing. And because his affinity is plant magic, itisnothing.
I curse and roll, calling fire to my palms. The heat surges through me, wild and eager, and I fling it at him in a concentrated burst.
He deflects it with a flick of his wrist, flames rippling gold in the air.
“You’re getting predictable,” he says.
“And you’re getting cocky.”
I feint left, then pivot right, sweeping his legs with a gust of air. He stumbles—just for a heartbeat—and I lunge, slamming my palm against his chest and releasing a pulse of raw energy.
It sends him staggering back three steps.
His green eyes flash with delight. “There it is. Give me more of that.”
My heart pounds, and the forest around us hums with residual magic, leaves rustling in the icy breeze of late-November.
Wylder’s fist comes at my face, and I duck, pivoting to slam my elbow toward his ribs. He blocks, catches my wrist, and twists. Pain flares up my forearm, but I channel it, letting the momentum spin me closer. I plant my foot behind his ankle and shove.
He doesn’t go down. Instead, he releases my wrist and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me off balance.
“More. Where’s the fire, Hallowind?” he murmurs against my ear.
His body is solid against mine, warm even through our clothes. For half a second, my brain short-circuits. Then instinct kicks in. I slam my head back into his nose.
He curses, releases me, and I stumble forward—right into Orion’s path.
