39
COOPER
I feel like I’ve been hard since yesterday, and that’s even after my dick had a few sessions with my hand once we’d got back to our Bonded chambers.
Vengeance didn’t come back with us, which, of course, put Tate in a foul mood. Although it was clear he wasn’t the only one by the tense faces and hanging heads . . . and the fact I wanted to hurl something myself.
Anyway, HC is with us again now, but she’s not bloody acknowledging what happened in that dining room.
I mean, she let Tate touch her. That’s huge, but she doesn’t seem to think so.
And I’ll admit, I’ve jabbed at the bond quite a few times—and none too kindly—in my attempts to just see what the fuck she’s thinking.
My temper is running short, and, like usual, Ezla isn’t giving any of us the time of day.
She can’t just . . . not care, right? It was good. Better than good. It was such a perfect moment, and from the wisps of emotions I’d caught slipping through from her to us when she’d been too overrun by pleasure to block us from her completely, I thought it might be the same for her too.
“Good. Player 29, you are up next.”
That’s another thing—not even Alby is getting the typical special treatment I’ve sometimes noticed, and yes, been extremely bitter over. I’m finding it harder and harder to not do a Tate and simply tell her she’s mine and to stop fucking running away.
Alby himself looks like a kicked puppy, and I really am a fully-fledged dickhead for a part of me being happy he’s suffering just like the rest of us.
Maybe I should ask Tate to beat the assholeishness out of me?
We’ve been taking turns showing Vengeance our talent with our Avri jets, preparing for Game 4, which is in just under two weeks now: the break between Games 3 and 4 is double the standard one week, the same as the gap between Games 1 and 2, like it’s some sort of gift, and the Halfway Ball is next Friday—the day of each week we’d usually be shoved into The Dome to battle the current remaining Players, which there’s now only twenty-two of including us.
Honestly, I’d rather just get it the fuck over with.
The Ball only provides the illusion of The Bonding Games being something desirable, luxurious.
It attempts to placate us and bring us into a false sense of security—us and the rest of the world who are forced to watch on TV.
Only for the slaughtering to begin anew in week six.
Tate lands his jet after having his turn up in the air of the never-ending glossy black Air Training room, which mirrors the Ground one, the large dark green wings of his jet illuminating the taalk floor. “Did I do good, my Havoc?” he purrs as he demanifests his Avri and struts over.
“Enough.”
“Good enough?” he huffs. “I’d wipe the floor with our opponents' asses.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Ezla’s once-again-helmeted head stares, unfeeling. “Player 29. Up.”
“I-I’m not great with the jets, Ezla. They’re . . . I find it really hard to manifest. And when I do, I’m not great at keeping it stable.”
“I do not care!” she barks, and a deathly silence descends. She’s never spoken to him like that. “I do not care! Just get in the air!”
Postures rigid, tense glances are exchanged throughout our group.
Something’s wrong.
It could merely be that she’s regretting her time with us in the hot tub, but it seems like more than that—no, I know it is.
“What happened, Vengeance?” My mouth runs away with me before I can stop it, and it doesn’t come out too politely, either. I’m too stressed with everything lately, and that’s not an excuse for my behaviour, simply the shitty truth.
Her composure is slipping fast, laboured puffs of air coming from her, the sound tinny due to her helmet. But she doesn’t bite. “Get in the air.”
“Tell me who’s hurting you!” I roar, completely losing my shit as I step right into her, grasping her upper arms mercilessly, the shaking of my limbs vibrating hers.
Everyone else is too stunned to move or speak.
“No one can hurt me!” she shouts back furiously, leaning into me so she’s right in my face, and I push my own helmet closer to hers so they’re almost touching, not about to give in to her intimidation tactics.
She doesn’t scare me.
My teeth gnash. “Stop fucking lying! Just let me kill them! I’ll fucking do it! Tell me, and I will get rid of them for you!”
“THERE IS NO ONE!” Shoving me backwards, the force has me stumbling, and Scotty grips my bicep to keep me upright, but I shrug him off viciously.
“TELL ME!” I bellow right back, grabbing either side of her helmet and pushing mine against hers, eyes darting around wildly as if I could see through the opaque onyx before me and into her mismatched ones beneath.
“Please,” I add on a rasp, some of my momentum failing when I feel a stab of raw pain that unintentionally slips through the bond.
I ignore the sounds of another argument breaking out with the men around me involving Tate’s raging voice and Tiger and Scotty’s tense ones trying to calm him down, and it’s a good thing Ezla has us here so early because it’s a ridiculous enough time that we’re the only ones in here to witness us crumbling apart so catastrophically.
If you could even call us put-together in the first place.
“There is nothing.” But her voice breaks, and every single man in the room freezes, their mouths slamming shut at the first hint of such vulnerability we’ve ever heard from our Bonded.
My eyes water, and I don’t care how weak I might look. This is killing me.
I want to prod and pick at the cracks formed, to peel back the layers and find Ezla beneath it all, the parts of her we still haven’t met yet.
“Ezla, Love . . .” Scotty’s voice is closer now, and I pull back a little to give him room.
“Let us be here for you, please. You must be able to feel us through the bond, to know we’re being honest in how much we want to avenge you, to take care of you.
” Cautiously, he reaches out, and when Vengeance doesn’t flinch or run or kick his lights out, he places a gentle hand on her back just below her armoury sticks, his green Avri clashing with her crimson in a visible display of the differences between them.
And yet they’re perfect for each other. I’ve come to believe each of us fit with her faultlessly.
If only she could see that, too.
“I do not need to be taken care of.” Ezla forces the emotionless quality to her tone this time, and we can tell.
“I know you don’t,” he soothes, tentatively caressing her back up and down, and up and down, as if she’s a wild animal that might attack or bolt at any given moment if he’s not careful. “But don’t queens get taken care of anyway?”
“There are no queens in Techta.”
A faint smile curls up one side of Scotty’s mouth. “No? There may not be a royal family like there was two thousand years ago, but you might as well be a goddess here, Love. And I think you know that.”
“Hm.”
I know I’m not getting answers once again, but I can tell even through the disappointment that this is best for today. I even relax a little with HC’s curt hum of approval, a trickle of amusement running through me at the pleased confidence in her agreement that’s not at all unfounded.
“29. Up,” she orders, though much less savagely this time. She steps out of mine and Scotty’s cocoon to monitor Alby’s every move as he takes a deep breath, not hesitating to obey this time when he sprints with determination in his eyes, pushing past his fear.
Green Avri that’s deepened another shade since Game 3 shoots out of the Avri pads on the bottom of his boots as he launches himself three feet off the ground, the seat of the jet forming beneath him in a rush of luminous pixels, then the wings, the nose . . . all of it.
Tiger whistles with two fingers in his mouth. “Go, Bestie!” he cheers, and I track Alby as he soars high with my own pride filling me up. He’s come so far from when I first met him in the short weeks training with us and our Bonded.
But another part of me hates it. Because it’s just one more person forced to become something they shouldn’t have to because of the sickness of The Council. Nobody says it so directly, but I can’t be the only one who resents them. And Ezla’s father—
My blood. Runs. Cold.
No.
I’m such a fool. I should have realised it sooner. I’m almost certain . . .
I need to see her scar again.
The desperation within me has me fired up all over again, and my mouth is just opening to demand she take her helmet off—
When Alby’s terrified yell splits open the air.
“Alby!” Tiger cries, rushing forwards at the same moment all of us instinctively do when we see Alby’s Avri jet demanifest mid-air.
But Ezla is faster.
Racing forwards, she throws herself up high, luminous crimson energy solidifying beneath her, the Avri jet speeding upwards for where Alby’s now falling too hard, too fast. No one breathes as time slows to a crawl, his arms grabbing at the air frantically as if a rope may come out of nowhere and save him.
But one doesn’t, and the seconds that go by only return to normal when Ezla whizzes underneath him and yanks him into position behind her. He instantly clings to her with his eyelids crushed tightly together, long arms banded around her waist desperately.
Bloody hell, that almost gave me a heart attack.
Placing a hand over my chest, I will the pounding organ within to calm the hell down, letting out a long, slow breath, more sounds of relief gliding through the space around me.
Vengeance lands and helps Alby to the ground before her Avri sucks back into the bottom of her boots, and we all hurry over, Tiger in an all-out sprint before he chucks his entire body weight at Alby.
They topple to the taalk. “Oh my god, Bestie! You almost died!” he cries, and you can hear the horror in his words even though no tears fall.
“You can’t leave me! You’re literally a brother to me! ”
“I—I am?” Alby’s question is muffled by the man on top of him, but it sounds pretty choked as me, Scotty, and Tate reach them.
“Of course!”
My focus moves to HC, but she doesn’t give anything away, and that damn helmet, no matter how hot and intimidating it looks on her, is pissing me right off. “Don’t care about us, huh?” I drawl.
Scotty sends me a scolding look, evidently fed up with my excessive bullshit today.
“You are next, 17.”
I scowl. “I’m not a number—”
“But I have had a change of plans,” Ezla cuts me off without pause, and my teeth grind.
“Fall on purpose. You all need to know how to land safely on the back of an Avri jet in case you, for whatever reason, cannot stay on your own the entire time in Game 4. Plus, I think we could even up that to intentionally jumping from jet to jet, considering we have thirteen days to practice this time.”
We all gawk at her.
Tiger pulls Alby up to his feet, expression one of shock mixed with barely contained excitement. “Really?! You’re going to teach us to do that cool thing I’ve seen you do on TV?!”
“Maybe. I am not sure if I want to share that with you, though . . .” she muses, as if regretting the idea of exposing her tricks now that someone’s actually enthusiastic.
If that isn’t proof she only wants to torture us . . .
“No, Ezzy, don’t gatekeep! I’ll be such a good boy!” Tiger does prayer hands and an excessive number of lash-battings. “I’ve always wanted to be able to do that, but they never let us in EvTS!”
“Hm.”
And that’s all the response he gets, no indication in her tone whatsoever to tell us if that was a yes, no, or a maybe.
He pouts, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to be cute or express his upset, but either way, he ends up looking like a misbehaving toddler.
“17. Up now.”
Sighing, then whacking my ire in the head to tell it to fuck off and give me a bloody break today, I run and jump without argument like a perfect, loyal soldier, my dark green jet forming around me in a blink.
Rising up so I’m halfway between the ground and the sky-high ceiling, I swivel around to face the little figures down below.
“Now what?! I just fling myself off?!” I call out.
Ezla stares.
That’s a yes, then.
I’m mildly concerned she’s decided it’s my time and this is why she’s chosen this insane exercise.
“Okay,” I mutter.
I drop like a rock.
My stomach evacuates my body, and an involuntary yell soars from my throat as I tumble head over heels, nowhere near as controlled as Alby’s trip from his own jet. That’s just my fucking luck.
Abruptly, the wind is punched out of me as my stomach slams into the seat of Ezla’s Avri jet.
“Shit,” I wheeze, eyes watering.
“That was awful,” my Bonded informs me shortly, and my face heats in both annoyance and humiliation. “We need to work on your control.”
“No fucking shit.” Readjusting myself on the seat that’s been extended to make room for me, I straddle it before winding my arms around HC’s slim waist, temperature rising for another reason entirely when I realise this is the first time I’ve held her properly, the first time I’ve been so close to her.
I discreetly inch a little closer, enjoying every inch of her back pressed to my front.
“I’ve never exactly purposely drawn the Avri back into my pads in mid-fucking-air. ”
“Clearly.”
I huff.
And so that’s how the rest of the morning goes, until other Exots and Evots start arriving, and Vengeance stops us at once, taking us out of the Air room and to the Ground one on the other side of the Training Centre, the door sliding away to allow us entrance.
“What are we doing in here?” Scotty asks, brows furrowing. “Don’t we want to focus on air training?”
My thoughts exactly.
“Of course. But this room is just as high as the one for Avri jet training, and I have decided it would be better suited; no other Players will be using it, which means anything I teach you stays between us—there is no chance of being copied. It will give us the element of surprise along with the new techniques I will help you with.”
“Oooooh! You’re smart smart!” Tiger gushes . . . and blows her a kiss over his visor. “I mean, obviously everybody already knows that, but I love seeing your sexy brain in action!”
“Same,” Tate grunts, burly arms crossing over his chest. “Your intelligence makes my cock hard, Havoc.”
“Everything makes your dick hard,” I say under my breath.
He glowers. “That’s not fucking true. It’s everything that’s my Havoc.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said—”
“We get it,” Scotty interrupts, fingertips rubbing circles into his temples like we’ve given him the biggest headache in the world already. “Our Bonded makes you hard, and Cooper is very aware she’s the only one who does.”
Tate lets out another grunt, and I think that’s his satisfied one, though I can’t be sure because they all sound extremely similar.
“Let’s continue.”
We all snap to attention at Ezla’s robotically modified voice, and, as always, we do as she says.