Page 75 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Scotty drops to one knee like a queen’s personal guard.

And then our eyes all snap to Cooper.

Standing there stiffly, he roams his gaze slowly over the four of us on our knees, then focuses entirely back on Ezla.

He stares and stares, taking in every tiny atom that makes up The Bonding Games Champion.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

Under his breath, he mutters something viciously.

And with a harsh exhale, two knees land on the floor.

Ezla’s helmeted head tilts in that chilling yet thrilling way as she unfolds her arms and leans back on her palms, taking in the way we kneel in a semicircle at her feet. My misbehaving eyes can’t help but flick to her chest as it’s emphasised, gluing to the way her Avri suit clings tightly to breasts on the smaller side which I’d love to hold in my hands. I know they’d fit perfectly. I yank them back up when she speaks. “Good. Very good . . .”

In those three words, I can feel the wicked smirk she’s undoubtably sporting behind her visor, and I gulp loudly, never having heard that tone from her before.

Then my eyes stretch to the size of baseballs when a rush of glee ripples through me, either pushed out from Ez through the bond on purpose, or her delight is so strong she can’t hide it from us.

But my limbs lock up when her tone switches back to its norm in a blink. “Game 2 is tomorrow, and you will all meet me here before we are taken to the arena. Is that clear?”

Our chins dip like good soldiers as a solemness fills the air at once.

“In my eyes, you are not my Bonded. Yet that is what you are in name. I will not have pathetic Bonds.”

As if she’d just pricked my heart with the sharpest, cruellest needle, the organ deflates, letting out a yowl that has me flinching. Beside me, Tate’s fists clench, but he somehow manages to bite his tongue. And to my right, Scotty’s jaw turns to stone, before his face evens out into his usual composed mask.

“You will not embarrass me.”

“Yes, Ezla,” I whisper, not even able to summon my new nickname for her that I’d been so excited about, head drooping as the others echo my words in some shape or form.

I don’t know why I thought we’d made progress, that maybe Ezla had softened towards us even the slightest amount over the past few days. I don’t know why I thought she might have started to accept us as her Bonded.

But I was wrong.

26

EZLA

“Welcome to Game 2 of The Bonding Games!”

Unimpressed, I stand with my puppets with my arms folded over my chest. Hurry up so I can get to the killing, Peter.

“This one always gave me the heebie-jeebies when I watched on TV,” the one who crawled to me yesterday comments with an unnecessarily exaggerated shiver as the Showmaster keeps blabbing on in a voice he thinks is marvellous with words he thinks are moving, but they are only extremely irritating.

I liked that—when he crawled to me. A lot more than I should have.

And then they all kneeled at my feet. Right where they belong.

What a sight that was.

Inhaling, I take in the fresh, cleansed air within the confines of my helmet as if I could suck up that feeling of power all over again . . . and another feeling I refuse to name which was so inconsequential that it was discarded within a matter of seconds in any case.

“Same . . .”

I flick my focus to the shy one on my left at the hardly audible breath of a word, taking in his ever-large hazel eyes as they anxiously study the arena and the mammoth contraption within, and the long raven lashes framing them behind his transparent visor.

“You will all be fine,” I say shortly. “Simply kill them.”