I flung off my helmet and unfastened my gloves, rolling up to my knees.
The slide was already a quarter of the way across the terrain. I considered getting up and running, but then it slowly tapered out.
My shoulders fell, the far end of the training grounds now covered in piles of muddy snow. No one moved. No one so much as breathed. But their eyes were all fixed on the ring.
Face red, Freyja stomped towards me. “The rules were no magic, angel!”
“I—I didn’t mean to!” I shot up, arms arcing over my face, my torso hunching, readying for a sucker punch.
A flash of dark brown hair and skin darted between us.
Gunnar stuck his arms out, separating us. “Frey, it was an accident.”
Those words meant nothing to her. Snarling, she pushed against his strong body.
“Hey!” he said. It was direct, sharp, spoken like a command. “She didn’t mean it.”
Freyja stopped pushing against him, blinking as if she’d been in some sort of trance.
Gunnar nodded sharply. “Shake hands.”
Crossing her arms, Freyja tilted onto a hip and looked away. My cheeks burned. I put my hands on my waist, my shoulders hardly able to bear their own weight.
“Shake. Hands,” Gunnar repeated, his voice a low growl.
Tsking, Freyja dangled her manicured fingers, the wrappings worn and tinged crimson. At this point, I wasn’t sure whose blood it was.
“It’s just a hand, River.” She rolled her eyes, so nonchalant, like she hadn’t just been trying to beat the crap out of me. Like I should be honored she was offering it up.
I reached out, closing my fingers around hers—at least, as much as I could with the bulky padding bundled around our palms. “What would you call whatever that hand just did to my face for the past five minutes?”
A sly grin. Typical Freyja. “A favor.”
My chest was going like I had just run all the way up the mountain.
“Good match.” With a final shake, she released her grip, ducking out beneath the ropes. Elves flocked her, patting her on the back, handing her water.
“Nice work, angel.” Gunnar slid into my view. “Don’t worry about the snow; the plows will come later and clear it.”
Pulse thrumming in my ears, raging in my chest, I flexed my fingers—the knuckles pink from the cold, the tips tingling with Source. The rush of it all hurtling back to me.
I stared down at myself: weak, breathless, exhausted, not in control of my powers. I was so underprepared—for this mat, for this journey, for whatever war was coming.
And Freyja’s words… An obvious dig meant to annoy me, but they only ignited me.
Maybe she did do me a favor.
“You okay?” Gunnar’s voice snapped me back to the moment.
“That was actually… kind of incredible,” I breathed, grinning. “Let’s do it again.”
Chapter 22
The elevator stopped, doors parting on a prism of glass and light. I strode into the Sky Tower’s foyer. The last strands of sunset filled the circular chamber, reflecting off the gilded accents and igniting the space.
Every square inch of me was sore. My feet, my nails… my arms didn’t have it in them to redo my braid, and now my hair was a tangle of damp, matted layers.
But I didn’t care. This feeling… it was magnetic. Ever since I’d landed that first punch, a jab to Gunnar’s chest, after the match with Freyja, the adrenaline hadn’t stopped coursing through my veins.
