Page 562 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

My breath is sharp as I finally manage to get one in, but I only use it to utter one word:

“Havoc.”

38

SCOTTY

Jesus Christ . . . she can’t be real. I’ve never seen anyone, anything like her.

A stone statue in the doorway, I can only take all of her in with my eyes, but everything in me is just stalling. She’s so, so stunning, it’s physically painful. My chest clenches and spasms like it’s trying to tell me I’m having a heart attack—and maybe I am. Because she’s . . . she’s here. In our Bonded chambers again.

Unmasked.

Unveiled at long last.

I vaguely take note of my brother and Alby’s strangled noises, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the unreal sight before me.

“Hello, Bonds.”

My gasp blends into every other Evot’s in the room.

Fucking hell. Holy fucking hell.

Now I know what Alby was talking about.

Velvety . . . smooth . . . a hint of thrilling cruelty here, a dangerous, arousing caress there.

Cock stiff and heart booming inside my chest, I finally manage to step forwards, easing past Tate. “Love— Ez-Ezla.” I stumble over myself, words stuttering like they never have before, but I don’t even care. This entire thing is seriously that earthshaking. “You are— You are everything.”

Can she feel my love for her through the bond?

I don’t care if it’s too soon; I think I’ve known for a few days now. And this . . . this just strengthens it. And not because of how goddam drop-dead gorgeous she or her voice is. No, it’s the act of it, the revealing of her face that no one I’ve ever heard of has seen before, other than the obvious guess of one of the rare few who have being her father.

“You just called us your Bonds,” Tiger whispers. Then to us, words almost frenzied, “She just called us her Bonds!”

“I heard,” I inform him absently, gaze not straying from Ezla.

“Y-you’re beautiful . . .” Alby breathes, and I can just imagine him beet red after that.

Cooper clears his throat and moves further into the room, too, coming up beside me, more quiet footsteps following as if we’re all afraid to make too much noise for fear it’ll pry us from whatever fantastical dream this is. I finally tug my eyes from our Bonded to glance over at him briefly, watching his mouth open and close with no sound coming out before he begins, “What . . .” The word fades away as he trails off, as speechless as the rest of us.

“You are wondering what I am doing here?”

Gods, that’s going to take some getting used to to not get a violent, pleasurable jolt every time she speaks—it was bad enough with the helmet on. Then again, maybe I’ll always be zapped by it; I can’t imagine the effect she has on me ever dwindling when it’s so tangible and insistent.

We nod wordlessly in response to her question, and she hums.

My cock jumps.

Fuck’s sake. I’m as bad as Tate and my brother.

“I am . . .” She tilts her head in that way she does that sends chills down spines, but now I see the way her glossy hair moves with the motion, the intelligent, calculating look in her mismatched eyes as she carefully considers what words to give us like they’re monumental.

And they are.

“I have arranged a feast for you.”

The room falls deeper into stunned silence.