Page 106 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Jolting, I hesitate a moment, unsure if she’ll really follow and not wanting to leave her even if she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. But ultimately, I obey.

Too slow.

“Hiya, Twig!”

Troy’s Avri bow slams upwards into the underside of my jaw, and while my helmet curves down there to protect it from the hit, that doesn’t stop my head from snapping backwards, my neck making a cracking sound in my ears from the momentum and a choked noise wheezing out of my mouth.

Dizzy, I struggle to right myself, and I receive a savage kick to my stomach that steals the air from my lungs when I don’t do that in time.

But then I remember I’m not so weak anymore.

I might still have a Score lower than the other Players remaining in The Bonding Games, but it’s a lot higher now. I have a real chance, and I need to use what my Bonded has taught me.

The sounds of combat crack through the air behind me as Ezla takes on the rest of Troy’s Bonded group alone, and fear for her worms through me, forcing me to repeatedly remind myself like a new mantra that she’s unbeatable, even if this group is probably the most skilled after ours. Ezla is always better.

I dip and roll when Troy’s bow charges at me again, then spin using a trick Ezla taught me that works most effectively with my slighter frame since I’m more agile: a palm on the floor and one leg propping me up, my other one arcs wide and slams into his own chunky legs. He’s so unprepared for it that he topples like a tree, crashing to the ground with a surprised, pained grunt.

Then I leap on him before I can talk myself out of it, snatching an arrow from my quiver and aiming for his neck with it clutched tightly in my fist. And even though it doesn’t make me feel good to be trying to kill anyone, this is nowhere near as devastating as when I stabbed that girl from my school in the heart in Game 2.

Troy laughs without humour as he struggles against me, his movements causing us to roll and crash into the nearest wall. Knowing it won’t hurt too much and more concerned about distracting him, I throw my helmeted head into his so he reels back, using his temporary moment of disorientation to my advantage to get back on top, determined to pin him down.

“Five minutes remaining.”

Relief spills through me at the robotic voice coming through the speakers, and I double my efforts, still trying to jam my arrow into Troy’s neck.

But I yelp, pain spearing outwards from my side as an arrow is plunged through my suit and straight into the flesh beneath instead—then scream as it’s twisted deliberately.

The promise of annihilation rages through the bond so violently it takes my breath away. My heart skips several beats, and even as I drop the weapon in my hand to scrabble at the one buried in my side, something within me calms knowing my Bonded will be with me as soon as she can.

“Four minutes remaining.”

“You think you mean something now? You think you’re better than us, Twig?” Troy seethes, helmet closing in on mine. He finds the mechanism to unlock my visor, flipping it up, and my teeth grit as he jabs the arrow even deeper inside me, alarm spiralling through me as I wonder what the hell he wants to do with my face. If I could just get the arrow out, it would break into a thousand little pixels, and my wound would heal in an instant since it’s not fatal. But I can’t tug at it when my arms are crushed to my body by the giant on top of me.

I don’t know what comes over me when I pant, “I know I’m better than you,” in response to his words, but I know how stupid it was when an evil look comes over him.

“You’re going to die, you little—”

He soars off me with a bellow of fright and fury.

“Come, Alby.” Ezla helps me up, bow in her left hand.

Gasping at the sound of my name on her lips yet again, I clutch onto her desperately, whimpering and not even thinking about it before I bite down on her shoulder to muffle my cry when she quickly pulls the arrow out of me and tosses it aside, where it scatters apart before glitching out of view.

“Good boy,” she whispers, letting me cling to her for another blessed moment before she pushes me back slightly to look at my face. I can’t be sure, but it feels like she’s checking for injuries, and I flush with a shy kind of pleasure at her attention, even in the midst of the deadly Game.

“Three minutes remaining.”

“We still have to fight, but you will stay behind me.” She snaps my visor back into place, where it automatically locks.

The thumping of my pulse shoots through the roof, and alarm blares through me. “But—”

“Do not question me when you know I cannot be beaten.”

She swivels to face the four advancing men before I can object, keeping me behind her.

“Ezla . . . you’d really protect that weasel?” one of the Exots—Player 84, I note from the ruby numbers on his chest—says lowly.

“Do not speak to me as if you know me. Your attempts at inciting jealousy within my Bonded are embarrassing.”