But Logan was faster.
He pivoted swiftly, caught it with one hand, and, in the same breath, hurled it back like a hammer. The car door flattened three of our Ultras who had crept onto the field. Bodies went flying, and the crowd erupted in a chorus of half-gasps, half-cheers.
Logan stood there, that same grin reforming across his face. He threw a look full of arrogance and challenge toward my team, one that mockingly said, “Come at me. Try me. Bleed for it.”
I glanced at Lachlan for comparison. My twin hadn’t even blinked at the door-throw stunt, hadn’t looked at Logan once.He was too busy circling his teammates, hyping them up with his easy grin, radiating steady confidence.
If Logan was the mischievous and unbeatable dragon, tricking the travelers along the way and devouring them whole, the Lachlan was the immortal hero who slayed the monsters and lived to listen to the tale but not tell it. The two had similar builds, but my mate had an inch on my twin, while my twin won by a breadth in the shoulders.
“Hello? Earth to Yva!” Makena snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
“Um, Gaius asked to speak to you after the game?”
“No! Tomorrow! And he invited me out.” She huffed so hard that her braid wobbled, strands of black hair trying to break free from their prison.
“Fantastic.” I smiled faintly. “So, are you two on speaking terms now?”
It was hard to keep up with them.
My palms began to sweat when I perceived a particular gaze on me from the arena.
“It’s a date, Yva. Adate-date. With food. And drinks. And sex. Lots of it, I hope. Which you’d know about if you hadn’t been staring off like a haunted doll in a window display.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I lied.
Tiny mate detail: When your mate stares at you, no matter the distance, you feel it. So, thanks to him, I’d missed everything Makena had just said. And Amaia’s snark. And my mother’s commentary. And our Ultras’ new chant that Tiziano had slaved over for weeks.
And then the growls came. Deep. Low. Hungry.
Not human. Not even wolf.
The gates at the far end screeched open, and out prowled the Jesters. Four of them, unnecessarily big wolves who had justbeen let loose. To amuse the public? In a werewolfish way, yes. In reality? To maul whoever they could catch.
Their furless skin seemed stretched too tight, muscles bulging in odd places, like someone had stitched them together wrong on purpose. They loped into the arena, circling like sharks, their fangs glistening as tongues slid over them in obscene strokes. Choosing. Deciding.Who shall I maul first? Who shall I save for last?
Makena bit into her pointy purple nails. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Why do they look bigger than last time? Tell me they’re not bigger than last time.”
“They’re…thriving.”
“Thriving? Yvaine, that thing could fit you in its mouth like a chicken wing!”
Amaia clicked her tongue. “Technically, it would be a wolf leg. We aren’t chickens, and we don’t have wings.”
The two teams held their sides of the arena, crowded in the farthest corners, tense and watchful, ready to sprint. To battle.
And there, right in the middle of the stadium, stood Logan. Calm. Solid. Spinning the wereball over one finger, then a second and a third.
The visiting team always got the first move.
A sigh slipped out of me, long and defeated, as my gaze ping-ponged frantically between Lachlan and Logan. Ping. Pong. Ping. Pong. A game with no winners.
Last night, I had sworn to myself—sworn—that I wouldn’t let this get under my skin anymore. I’d even meditated, cross-legged, candles lit.
Didn’t matter.
Because the game hadn’t even started, and I was already ruined. And nothing, not even the Dalai Lama himself, could have prepared me for what was about to happen.
The gongboomed.
