Sylvan glides by, kicks at the knife.
The blade skitters away on the ice.
It’s useless now.
I see in Sylvan’s tight form he’s fucking pissed, but neither of us know how to get close without putting her in more danger.
I hear her anguished cry as he tightens his arm around her throat, and I know he’s not letting her go no matter what. They’re sunk down on the ice, but she isn’t pleading with me or Sylvan. She isn’t crying for either one of us.
She’s thinking fast.
She’s smart as hell.
She leans forward, then snaps her head back quickly, hitting him in the nose with her skull.
Pride surges under my skin.
My fucking girl.
He grunts and she twists in his grip, smartly coming to her knees instead of standing to her feet when she would only fall again.
A shadow moves from behind the net, then Sylvan charges them, and I come, too. We control our movements even with speed, and I regret not taking those figure skating lessons my mom bugged me about as a kid.Grace,she said it’d give me.Grace.
But I only need to hurt him.
There’s no fucking grace in that.
Sylvan hunkers low in a squat, reaches his arms out, and when he’s close enough, he catches Neve in his arms, and she wraps her legs around him as he holds her close, keeping his balance and skating away from Nolan.
Sylvan’s eyes lock with mine like they do right after he scores. Our connection. There from the start.
And this is a different kind of scoring, isn’t it? Because Nolan Devine is on his knees, trying and failing to stand, like a baby deer who hasn’t learned to control his limbs yet. And if the generator isn’t working for the rink, then the cameras sure as fuck aren’t working either.
“Faust.” Neve says my name. It has the note of a plea in it, but I don’t know what for. The blade is too far for Nolan to reach, so technically, whatever I do to him might not be self-defense.
But I could make it a fair fight, couldn’t I?
I head to the weapon, and when I look up to meet Nolan’s eyes, I kick it to him. It slides blade over handle along the ice, and he darts out his hand, slapping his palm over the handle.
Quicker than I gave him credit for.
I need to remember not to underestimate him.
He picks up the weapon, and I let him get to his feet. The movement is slow, his core hunched low, his ass to the boards.
I come closer, but I respect his space.
Neve says my name again, and it sounds like she’s fighting against Sylvan’s hold. She’ll never get free from him.
A smile curls my lips.
Then Nolan lunges for me.
The knife cuts through my practice jersey, but I don’t feel a thing thanks to my shoulder pads. Besides, his thrust was weak considering he has no stabilization.
He jerks back, trying to get away from me, but I don’t attack. Not yet. Instead I think of Neve, staring at food instead of eating it. The way she tries to suck in, constantly. How she always seems to be waiting for us to cut her down when we argue. Her defenses never lower.
Her walls are so fucking high, I’m not sure we’ve even begun to climb.
