“What? Now?” Kellan’s voice rises, incredulous.
“You heard me. And yes, now,” Bale thunders ominously. “Get out of my sight and don’t come back until you’re ready to act like a member of this team instead of a—” He cuts himself off.
Kellan’s jaw bulges on a chewed-up response. Without a word, he gathers his blades, his face tight and blank. He shifts and flies away, heading toward Drayke Mountain. Grambolt and Featherspear follow him.
Maia doesn’t wait for any sign from me or permission from Bale to restart the match. She’s a terror on the field and keeps me on the scrambling defensive enough to almost win not once, but twice, in mere seconds. I barely keep upright or my blades in my hands. My focus isn’t coming back after the stunt Kellan pulled, and I can’t seem to dredge up any of the movement-blurring quickness and purely instinctual reactions I need.
Then it happens all at once. Maia knocks me over, and I lose a sword as I hit the ground on my back, her brutal kick still thundering through my shoulder. She drops to one knee and circles my throat with her hand as she yanks my remaining blade from me.
She grins. I groan.
“And you’re dead,” Bale mutters from the sidelines.
I turn my head and scowl at him. “Thanks for the commentary.”
“Happy to oblige,” he murmurs.
“You just spit fire. I saw it.” Rim’s cheeky comment from a nearby branch isn’t just for my ears, and I hear chuckles all around me, including from the other warbirds. Trying to catch my breath and shake off Maia’s final blow is all that keeps me from smiling along with them.
Maia’s grin widens as she pulls her hand off my throat and sits back on her heels. Her hair is making an admirable escape attempt from the tight prison of its bun, so I must’ve given her a real challenge despite feeling sluggish compared to my first round. Her light-brown eyes simmer with inner fire, and the scar on her cheek elevates her face from beautiful to interesting.
“I want a rematch,” I grumble up at her.
She holds out her hand and helps me to my feet. “It’ll happen soon enough. Right now, Arran’s waiting for his turn.”
Arran’s waiting for a lot of things. Like telling Maia he’s in love with her.
It’s clearly reciprocal, but she’s not saying anything, either. I’m pretty sure Kellan and I were a cautionary tale for the whole Elite Wing. No one wants what we have now.
I know I learned my lesson. Lovers and work don’t mix, especially when retirement won’t come around for centuries.
Shaking myself out, I gather my blades. I’m definitely fatigued after the first two matches, and if I can’t wake up my own inner beast again—whatever that might be—there’s a good chance Arran will win.
Arran moves forward to take his turn, and my stomach sinks when Bale joins him.
Bale sees the look on my face and shrugs. “I told you it was going to be two against one.”
“But you’re…” I flap a hand at him.
His dark eyebrows creep up. “I’m?” he prompts when I don’t finish.
My mouth thinning, I lift my blades and try to connect with them like they’re claws or fangs—extensions of my own body—as I cast about for a reply. Worth fifteen people in a fight. Faster, stronger, craftier. Star touched and shadow gifted. More powerful than any of us. Yeah, I’m not going to say any of that. “Big.”
A corner of his mouth curls up. “Then I guess you need to fight harder. You’re not getting any bigger, so you’d better get better if you don’t want to end up flat on the ground again.”
“Maybe you’ll end up flat on the ground,” I mutter. My trash talk really does need work, but Bale’s challenge catapults my need to win straight up my spine. Competitive energy builds inside me, sharpening my focus and heightening my senses again.
But then Bale waits on the sidelines, letting Arran try to get the better of me first. The unexpected turnaround drains my motivation, and I have to keep repeating do better in my head just to concentrate on Arran rather than on all the sounds and smells and slanting rays of sunshine. Or on Bale hovering in the background and doing nothing—just like Kellan.
It’s a test. I know it is, and I’m determined not to fall headfirst into Bale’s trap.
Just when I find a steady rhythm that’s going to keep Arran and me in a stalemate for the next decade, Bale swoops in and attacks.
I come alive with a bang, acceleration as natural as a heartbeat. Sounds pop out at me, but only the ones I need, helping me duck strikes and avoid kicks. Moving faster, I tap into unused power and somehow neutralize Arran in seconds. I barely see his brows rise in surprise, his hands suddenly empty of weapons, before I spin on Bale, staying just as aggressive and whip-crack fast so I don’t lose my momentum.
Bale still gains the upper hand after only a few exchanges. I skitter back, regrouping. Trying to think instead of just move, I steer him toward the rockier terrain at the edge of the lake. He doesn’t overwhelm me as quickly as I feared, but it’s also difficult to know how hard he’s trying. My desire to win remains high, helping me. Logic tells me I can’t win, but my heart and body aren’t complying with the negative message.
I kick small, sharp lake stones at him, forcing him to throw an arm in front of his face to protect his eyes. Following up instantly, I lunge. The tip of one blade nearly hits his torso before he spins out of the way, leaving a trail of shadow.
