The crack of his staff breaking my rib was even louder than thunder.
I gasped in pain. “I yielded.”
He shrugged. “We’re enemies.”
“I thought we were on the same side.” I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Not even close. Never trust your enemy.” Pierce’s words were cold, but I caught Grayson’s slight flinch. He turned away quickly, jaw working.
“Five laps.” Grayson’s voice came out rougher than before, and his hands clenched behind his back. For a split second, something flickered across his features—almost like regret.
“He broke my rib.”
Grayson lifted a brow. “Five laps. Start now, or I’ll make it ten.”
Pressing a hand to my rib cage, I began to jog.
“Faster.” The bastard had to know that each step I took was agony.
I picked up my pace. The pain was searing, as if a butcher’s knife was lodged between my bones. Tears rolled down my cheeks, nausea twisted my stomach, and black dots danced at the edge of my vision.
“Faster.”
“She’s crying.” Flynn mocked my tears.
I’d like to see him run with a broken rib. In fact, I’d be happy to break it for him.
Despite what these men thought, tears were not a weakness. Tears were a manifestation of pain—either emotional or physical. Acknowledging pain didn’t make me weak. It made me strong. I could carry on when I’d been ripped from my home. I could run with a broken rib. I could accept sadness and then move past it. No, I didn’t care if they saw my tears.
Already, my rib and shoulder were mending; the itchy,prickly sensation beneath my skin told me I’d be fully healed soon. Not that I’d let them see. I’d show them my tears, not my secrets.
“Four laps to go, Shield.”
The black dots were gone, and my tears had dried. Only the nausea remained. And I suspected it would get worse. Running was using the last of my reserves.
“If you slow down, I’ll add another lap.”
I imagined dropping to the ground. What would happen if I refused to run? I glanced at the four of them.
Pierce’s gaze tracked me like a hawk watching a field mouse. Flynn played with a small ball of fire, tossing it between his hands. Deep in conversation, Grayson and Teal ignored me.
Pierce’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Did I give you permission to look at your betters?”
In my soul, a seed of hatred sprouted. I bit back a smart reply and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
“I can make her run faster.” Flynn threw the fireball at me.
I ignored the flames racing toward me, kept my pace steady, and stared straight ahead. His fire couldn’t touch me. I sensed the moment his flame met my shield—but something felt different. Wrong. The familiar tingle of deflected magic was there, but underneath it, something else stirred. Something hungry. Angry. The temperature around me rose. For an instant. Then the heat was gone.
Across the arena, someone yelped.
I dared a quick glance and nearly stumbled. Flynn’s fire hadn’t just disappeared—it had redirected, seeking Pierce out like a living thing, tracking him across the room with predatory intent.
The bastard with water magic created a wall of ice, his pale eyes wide with shock.
When Flynn’s fire met Pierce’s ice, the two magics sizzled and crackled with dramatic violence. Most of Pierce’s protection melted before Flynn’s fire guttered out, leaving scorch marks on the wall behind him.
They both glared at me as if I were somehow responsible. Which was impossible. Shields deflected magic—we didn’t redirect it. We certainly didn’t make it hunt specific targets. Till now.
