I could feel his will inside me—kill . . . kill . . . kill. It buzzed like a swarm of fire ants eating at my skin and scalding my arm.
Looking into Justice’s gray eyes, I could see the same will inside of him. He’d been told to fight. He’d been told, I think, to fight to the death. If I didn’t kill him first, perhaps he was meant to kill me.
There was a message in his eyes, but I couldn’t read it. He looked at my hard smile, and the small hope that always flickered in his gaze started to gutter. He thought I was enjoying this. That I wanted to kill him.
Sure, part of me did. But not the true part. Not the part that was truly me.
Justice’s grip tightened, and the electric pain shot down my arm toward my elbow. In a few seconds, I’d drop the knife.
We’d been locked like this for less than five seconds, but already, the crowd was pressing against us, impatient with the standstill.
A line of sweat raced down my temple. Justice let out a shaky exhale. I remembered suddenly a night similar to this, when we’d sparred in the hemlock forest. We’d been this close then too. But that night we’d held each other, and then Justice had kissed me with gentle longing.
The memory of it settled over me. Justice’s hand loosened at the look in my eyes.
I snapped my foot and slammed it into his kneecap. He jerked back, and I twisted out of his hold.
I spun away but was shoved back toward Justice by a dozen creatures. He came at me like a whirlwind.
Fighting Justice was always like fighting a force of nature. He moved with a wild, relentless grace that made me dizzy to watch. We’d been sparring for years, but we’d never fought like this.
He was bigger. Stronger. He had a better reach and a better technique. He could disarm me in seconds, no contest. In a one-on-one fight, Justice would always win.
He tore through the space. It was an open circle ringed by frothing, screaming creatures. He kicked. I jumped. He jabbed. I slashed. He leaned back, and my blade missed him by half an inch.
I slammed my fist into his nose, and blood bloomed in a crimson tide. He shook his head, and the blood sprayed, hitting my face. I wiped it from my eyes. The hungry crowd screamed for more. He darted forward, driving a crushing fist into my ribs. I flew back and slammed into bodies. I choked on air, my lungs screaming. The creatures shoved me back into the fight.
It was brutal. I’m not going to lie and tell you any different.
The fight felt like an eternity, although it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes.
The whole time, Jagger stood with his arms folded, an immovable rock in a writhing mass of bodies, smiling as his two mines killed each other.
Griff was pale and desperate, shaking his head, pleading, “Stop! Mari!” But after a while, I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear the crowd. I couldn’t hear anything but the sloshing of angry blood in my ears.
My breath dragged sharp claws through my lungs, and I coughed and spit out blood. Justice snapped a punch. My head kicked back, and sparks lit my vision.
Kill, my blood sang. Kill.
I gave myself over to the song. When Justice swung wide, leaving himself vulnerable, I darted forward and jabbed the knife into his left shoulder. I yanked it out. He sucked in a pained breath and spun away.
Griff, just beyond him, started to cry. He was probably crying because he was witnessing the death of his two best friends. Justice because I’d kill him, and me because after I’d killed Justice I wouldn’t be myself anymore.
Justice wiped at the trail of blood running over his face and flung the liquid to the floor. The gray stone was stained crimson.
The room smelled less like roasted meat and herbs and more like copper tang, sweat, and unshed tears.
Justice was tired. I was tired. Jagger’s knife was slippery with blood but still thirsty.
Justice was dressed in his usual black, but even so, it was wet and glossy with blood. I’d cut him on his forehead, his shoulder, his forearms, and his back.
Every time I’d cut him, every time the blade had taken a bit of his life, I’d remembered something about him that I loved.
The way his smile came out at unexpected times, like the sun shining from behind fast-moving clouds.
The way his auburn hair stuck straight up in the back and refused to lie flat after he woke up, even if I smoothed it down at the breakfast table.
The way he always put his arm over my shoulders and tucked me close when he knew I needed a friend.
