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.
Ezla’s stare bores into us, and the full force of it scorches us now that it’s no longer hidden behind an opaque visor. “For doing well. I am proud.” She says this in a completely unfeeling tone, yet it doesn’t change the effect it has on us.
We all gawk at her.
Tate seems to have lost his voice box. I’ve never seen him so speechless, his mouth moving in a frenetic sort of way as it keeps shaping mutely around the word Havoc over and over again. With him, I can’t tell if that should be cause for concern or not.
Tiger abruptly pops the bubble of tension. “Woooohooo! Oh yeahhh! Ezzy/Ez/Wifey/Deadly Nightshade/DN loves us, guys!”
“I do not.”
My brother is unperturbed by her bland statement and starts dancing around the room with his arms above his head.
Tate momentarily squints his eyes at him before they zip back to his obsession and attempt to peel apart her skin as if he’s trying to find a place to bury himself beneath.
“Wow . . . thank you,” Alby whispers. He is, in fact, resembling a beetroot, I note as he moves closer to the plush couch we’ve come to stand in a line in front of.
I don’t miss the way Ezla’s expression tightens as she’s forced to tilt her head back to see our faces.
I’d caught on before that she didn’t like having to look up at anyone like that, but without her helmet, it’s glaringly obvious.
I think it’s the way we have to look down at her, because to her, it could feel like we’re looking down on her.
That’s not the case at all; I’ve never been more impressed, more reverent, than I am with her.
But hot anger surges through me at the fact someone clearly must have.
I don’t hesitate to get down on one knee.
Call me a simp, I don’t care. If you aren’t worshipping your woman, you’re doing it wrong.
Alby flies down, too, then the others. Even Cooper doesn’t hesitate.
“Oh shit! Don’t leave me out!”
My brother bounds over, narrowly preventing crashing into me like a bowling ball rushing for the pins as he dumps himself on two knees beside me, before excessively batting his lashes up at our Bonded.
Internally, I sigh. I really don’t want to have to correct him on his seduction techniques, but at this point, I’d be doing him a disfavour by not pointing out the faults. I make a mental note to give him some tips sometime soon.
Or maybe not. Because I could swear when I look back at Ezla, the corner of her lip twitches upwards. But it flattens again before I can be certain it wasn’t in my imagination.
“There will be music, drinks, a hot tub, and an all-you-can-eat buffet. Will this suffice?”
Will this suffice?
Incredulity bleeds from all my brothers.
Those bewitching eyes narrow. “Would you like more?”
“No!” Tiger shrieks, and I wince as it stabs right into my left ear, his hands waving around wildly. “That’s not why we’re shocked! It’s just that this is, well, it’s perfect, and you’re questioning if it’s enough?!”
“Hm.” The short noise is our only response before Ezla rises, and I clench my fists to stop myself from grabbing her as her stomach passes right by me. “Come.”
“Where would you like it, Havoc, baby? On your tits?”
Rolling my eyes at Tate’s lewd comment, which our Bonded dismisses like it’s nothing worth noting, I get back to my feet to trail after her as she leads us out of our chambers and into the hallway.
***
“Wow . . .” Alby breathes in awe from my side as we walk into the huge room I didn’t even know was in the Headquarters.
We’re on the third floor for the first time, and I’d assumed it was only where all the food was made before it’s delivered down a level to everyone’s Bonded chambers or the main dining hall, not that there were actual rooms up here like this.
But I realise the workers of TBG would need their own living spaces somewhere, so really I should’ve suspected it wasn’t just kitchens galore, especially considering the miles-long perimeter of The Bonding Games Headquarters’ centre building.
Like most others here and around Techta, the expansive space before us is predominantly a glossy onyx, with luminous white, red, and green Avri strips adorning the walls and corners tastefully.
But unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, there’s a huge chandelier dripping crystals and spilling a warm beige blanket over the extensive rectangular table beneath from where it hangs on the ceiling high above.
It creates a more cosy yet simultaneously more elegant atmosphere, and maybe that’s the entire purpose of this room, because I didn’t even know people used chandeliers or regular lighting anymore.
I think the Avri is cool, I don’t think it ever won’t be, but it’s nice to see something different when we’re so used to the energy being the only light we have inside.
The hot tub Ezla mentioned is to the left, the sparkling-clean water bubbling with a soothing sound and faint wisps of steam curling into the air above it. I’ve never been in a hot tub before, and I doubt my new brothers have either, so I’m definitely intrigued.
To the right of the tub and against the wall is a bar filled with many different bottles: some glow blue like the substance at the Neutral club, while others I’m a bit more familiar with, even if I haven’t actually tried them, like champagne.
Mammoth double doors at the far end of the room, opposite the door we came in from, swing open then with a great woosh of air, and my brows shoot up at the number of people who come in: chefs and servers carrying trays piled high with hundreds of different scents that immediately sink into my stomach and provoke a growl from it.
My widened eyes take in as many of the dishes as I can, and I can’t track them all, but what I do see has my mouth watering: tender chicken drenched in silky gravy; golden potatoes that look like they’d have the perfect crispiness when you’d take your first bite, before they’d melt on your tongue with the softness inside; there’s every kind of vegetable I can think of, with a wide range of dips situated on their platters so there’s something for everyone; other serving trays contain breaded fried chicken, pizza, chips, potato wedges, burgers, tacos, and corndogs; bowls are overfilled with pasta, spaghetti, rice, noodles, and smaller ones hold various sauces for us to choose from, some more rich and creamy, others so spicy I can smell the biting scent from here, the strength of it making my nose tingle; and then there’s crackers, cheese, butter, bread, sushi, kebabs, ham and turkey slices . . . everything. It never stops.