Page 366 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

In unison, every single one of them whips around, Tater Tot snarling like the beast he is—though I now love said beast as a brother rather than seeing him as an actual threat to me—Alby looking unusually furious with a glare I didn’t know my sweet bestie was capable of, Scotty as thunderous as always when someone insults or mocks me, and Coops cracking his knuckles like one of those cool heroes in a TV show.

But it’s Ezla who takes my breath away.

In full Bonding-Games-Champion-mode, she’s whipped her lithe body around and has her Avri manifested from an armoury stick too quickly to track accurately, an inky-crimson glow already blurring across the room with lethal accuracy.

And slicing clean through Troy’s neck.

The room is plunged into a brutal, stunned silence, any Bonded group nearby watching as, for a second, his head stays balancing, the cut so fast and clean it didn’t cause the immediate toppling.

Then his body tips forwards. His severed head parts with it with a thud and a splash of blood, the puddle quickly expanding.

More silence.

Then—

A female scream rings out as Evots and Exots run away like they’re next on the Champion’s hit list, leaving the Training Centre completely, while Aider and the two Exots in the dead man’s Bonded group stare down in horror at the body of their . . . friend? I’m not sure if bullies possess the qualities to even be friends with each other now that I think about it. It’s more like a . . . mutually beneficial agreement to form a squad of assholes and maximise said assholeishness. Yeah, that’s right.

Slowly, Aider backs away, and the two remaining dogs of his follow, further proving their lack of care for Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum as they scurry out of the Training Centre like rats on the tail of the last of the other bunch of Players.

Now the only remaining Bonded group in here, me and my brothers stare at the dead . . . thing.

Then we all look at Ezla.

She stands there stoically. “I apologise, Alby, if you would have preferred to have them both. I was growing much too tired of the ogre.”

Five sets of eyes blink.

Eerily, our Bonded’s helmeted head turns in Alby’s direction. “You may still have Player 22’s life.”

My bestie squeaks. “U-uh—oh! Thank you!”

More silence.

She just . . . That was for me. She was angry for me! Protective of me!

My heart explodes into a cloud of glitter.

WOOOOHOOOO! Oh, she so loves me!

“You just . . .” Cooper seems at a loss for words, so I provide them as always.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Ezzy! That was the best proposal! So you!” I throw my arms around her neck and smack a loud kiss to her helmet where I think her forehead is.

She stands there, unmoveable. “I would never propose,” that robotically modified voice informs me.

I scoff. “Well of course, Wifey, what do you take me for? I’ll be the one proposing!”

“And me,” Tate says gruffly, thick fingers clenching as his hungry eyes drill into the back of Ezzy’s helmet.

“Ummm . . . right. Not that I’m complaining—that guy was seriously disgusting—but what do we do with the body, and is this going to make the news for the first Player killed outside of a Bonding Game in TBG history?”

“No. Nobody cares. It will be a passing mention. Please let go.” The last one of Ezla’s toneless sentences is aimed at yours truly and sounds very much like a threat with no pleasantness at all, so, reluctantly, my arms slide from around her, dropping to my sides while I stick my lower lip out like the adorable little bunny I am.

“You are not a bunny.”

My smile crinkles my whole face. “You’re right, I’m a tiger. Rawr.” I twist my mouth into a large roar.

Everyone stares.