Page 267 of The Mortal Trials

“Touch him, and I’ll run you through. Bitch.” I keep my eyes on him as the crowd erupts.

Fists pump to the chanting that begins… “Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.”

It spreads through the entire arena like wildfire until it sounds like every mortal in the stands has joined in the anthem.

A muscle bounces in Torsten’s jaw as he lifts his hands and backs away, but the stare he gives promises I’ll pay – not only for taking his weapon, but for humiliating him.

Freyja stands and stalks out of the divine box.

Torsten raises his voice so I can hear him above the din. “Enjoy it while you can. They’ll chant for your death when you finish the final trial championless.”

I smile brightly, cup a hand to my ear, and wave for the crowd to get louder. They eagerly rise to the occasion.

Veronia circles the arena to join her allies. She and Kallik lead Torsten across to a safer spot, where they work on binding his wound. Freyja could heal him if she wanted. How can she expect bravery from her mortal when she, as his champion, won’t stand up to Ares?

I jab my weapons into the sand, then jump into August’s arms. He catches me, not even rocking backward and holds me tight to him. I pull back to clasp his face. “You went back for us?”

His blue eyes fasten onto mine. “I went back for you,” he breathes.

I hug him again. Fiercely. Until the fear climbing up my throat settles back down. “Thank you.” I lower my legs and slide down his body.

His eyes flick to my mouth.

Mine goes dry.

With an ornery grin, my ally bows like a gentleman and offers his hand like we’re at a ball and not standing in the middle of hell. I take it.

August Aymes pulls me in close and holds my eyes as he starts to sway. I sway with him. He hums a song I’ve never heard but want to learn. Then he winks and spins me away, sand flying from my steps as he reels me back in. And when he dips me…

When he dips me…

Pulling the knee of my prosthesis up with one hand and bracing my back with his other. My heart thunders and my smile widens until my cheeks ache. For a few long heartbeats, I hang in the air and laugh.

It almost feels like I’m flying again.

August’s hand moves up my spine as he raises me, but he doesn’t playfully pull away like he should.

He pulls me closer. Stares into my eyes, and leans in like he might… My breath hitches. My elbow hooks the back of his neck.

It’s just for show.

The stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin as he kisses the corner of my mouth. Did he mean to kiss my cheek?

I forget to think as he rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.

We stay like that for one breath.

Two.

Three.

Then his blue eyes open, his lashes fluttering as he inhales deeply, then pulls away. When he does and reality floods me again, when I can see and hear and feel something other than him, I realize the crowd is quiet. Everyone’s watching us. Mortal hands are clasped over mouths, over mortal hearts.

August seems oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere, still looking at me with those lovely ocean-colored eyes. When he spins me under his arm and lets go of my hand, he tears his eyes from mine and goes still, finally noticing the effect we just had on everyone.

Elias puts his fingers to his mouth and gives a shrill, bawdy whistle that echoes across the space. Like fireworks, cheers explode, people jump up and down, and wave their flags and scream, the mixture so loud that the sand floor trembles and shifts all around us.

I search the crowd for Cillian’s face, but there are too many to sift through. Until Hermes comes to crown the winner and the gods make their way out of here, I can’t find him, let alone warn him about Abuela.