The chatter in the basement surrounded videoing. After much discussion, Charles and Dennis had agreed to a trial run, allowing each group full control of videography, provided we sent everything unedited and recorded the surrounding partsof a chase. The preliminaries, individual accounts, and a wrap-up when we got home. They didn’t seem pleased, but it was a compromise they’d submitted to. Maybe the only one.
“What might it take to guarantee I get voted off?” I wondered out loud from my spot near the stone hearth in front of the electric fireplace. It wasn’t cold enough to have it on, but I shivered nonetheless with suppressed nerves.
Olivia, who sat beside me, scowled. “The goal is tonotget voted off.”
“Your goal, maybe. I don’t want to do this. In fact, I don’t knowhowto do this. I’m not a chaser.”
“You’re so fucking whiny. We hear you, Gale. Too bad. Suck it up.” Jazz’s caustic glare made me shrink.
In other words, they were sick of my complaints. CineVision wanted five people for Stormz Rising. The goal was to get all five of us in the top slots. Without me, they would end up with someone from Ozrik’s team, and no one wanted to wind up blended.
“We have to play our cards right if we want to stick together,” Roe said. “It means winning over the audience since they’re the ones voting. We need a well-thought-out plan.”
“Simple.” Jazz cracked his knuckles. “We make Twisted Fates look bad every chance we get.”
“No.” Olivia tugged the elastic free from her braid and ran her fingers through it. “We aren’t playing dirty. It’s not my style.”
“It’s notourstyle.” Maggie adjusted herself on the lounger. Her entire focus was on a tablet balanced in her lap.
“Should we be recording this?” Roe asked.
Olivia re-braided her hair. “Not yet. I want to get these kinks straightened out first since we can’t edit footage. The last thing we need is a nasty remark about Twisted Fates to slip in and then have them use it. We want to maintain our positive reputation. Our following is already solid. We’re doing something right.People like us. We’re personable and relatable. Our audience is engaged. It’s expanding. There’s no reason to believe that our popularity won’t translate from a social media platform to a proper show, provided we stay likable. If we change who we are, we might lose their vote.”
“Olivia’s right. Check this out.” Maggie spun the tablet to face us. One of Twisted Fates’ YouTube videos filled the screen. “I’ve been watching their channel all night. Know your enemy and all that. Honestly, Roe’s and my videography skills are as solid and clean as anything Noah is producing. The way we engage with one another is way friendlier compared to them. They bicker and fighta lot. They’re… crass, and—”
“People like that aspect,” Jazz said. “The grittiness makes them real. Relatable.”
“It’s their thing, but it’s not ours,” Olivia said. “The question is, how do we ensure our team remains together in the end?”
“I hate to say it, but they have experience on their side.” Roe had taken possession of the tablet and frowned as he watched the video unfold. “Plus, they’re handsome bastards, and I say that as a bona fide straight man.”
Maggie smothered a smile.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Ozrik isn’t that good-looking.”
“It’s not just him.” Roe turned the tablet to display a still of the other members.
Jazz snatched the screen from Roe. “Who fucking cares? They’re also a bunch of egotistical assholes who can suck my dick.”
Of all Olivia’s Wind Riders, I liked Jazz the least. He was outspoken and argumentative. Something about him made me profoundly uncomfortable.
My sister took the tablet from Jazz and watched the video play. “Roe has a point, and not the part about them beinggood-looking. Ozrik’s group has one glaring advantage that has everything to do with their experience.”
“What?” Jazz’s tone remained bitter.
Olivia didn’t immediately respond and dragged her finger along the bar under the video, advancing to a later part of the episode.
She sat close enough that I had a clear view of the screen when she pushed play. Bad boy, heartthrob Ozrik appeared in the center of the frame. The sound was off, but his mouth moved as he spoke to the camera and pointed at a distinct helical vortex over his shoulder. His wavy hair whipped around his face. A feverish, cutting smile creased his eyes. He wore a fitted white tank top, but despite how it stuck to his frame, the fabric rippled in the wind.
I traced the distinct line of his shoulders to the cut ridges of his collarbones, where I noticed a ball-chain necklace, partly tucked under his shirt. The dark hair on his forearms stood out, even against his naturally tanned skin. The distressing light of the storm highlighted the curve of his biceps.
Ozrik flirted with the camera and his audience in a way Olivia would never do, and it was somehow… seductive. Considering my education—four years of intense atmospheric study—I should have been more enthralled by the system forming in the background, but it was the passionate man in front of the camera who stole my attention.
An inferno radiated under my skin while tiny bubbles of carbonation fizzed and popped in my lower belly.
My fingers numbed even as my palms grew clammy. I darted my gaze away and slammed the door on the treacherous thoughts trying to infiltrate my brain. My body had a mind of its own. For years, it had betrayed me, reacting when I desperately wished it wouldn’t. The desirous pull, urging me to entertain the lustful thoughts, was more than I could take most days. Lately,I’d been secretly giving them freedom, devising fantasies to keep me company on lonely nights.
“Advantage?” My voice croaked. “What advantage do they have? I don’t understand.”
