44 #2
“Focus!” DN snaps, the whoosh! of her impossible moves slicing through the air along with my brother’s grunts and the sound of hits landing rapidly as they continue to fight playing out in the background of my pity party.
“I’m dead, Bestie!” I cry, throwing my arms and legs out wide like the shining star I am. “Leave me here to die! You have to make it out alive! Run!” I prove I’m thoroughly deceased when my tongue lolls out and my head falls to the side.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Coops mutters from somewhere.
“Dunno,” Tater Tot grunts.
I pop an eye open—
And scream.
Ezzy stands over me, her glare through her visor leaving me more scorched than any sunburn ever could, toned arms folded over her chest.
I spring to my feet.
Beside me, Alby’s already got to his, and he squeaks as he ducks when our Bonded swings her armoury stick mercilessly—no Avri manifested, of course—before slamming her elbow into Scotty when he comes up behind her, subsequently using him as leverage to send Alby flying when he’s brave enough to come at her front again: a yelp is shoved from my bestie as Ezla leans back on my brother’s chest and throws both boots right into his gut.
Then her legs come back down and her right one bends behind her to slam into the back of Scotty’s, swiping them out from under him and sending them both toppling backwards, her body protected by his, while his takes the full brunt of the fall, a grunt forced from him.
In a flash, Ezla’s spun around, straddling him and miming slashing his throat with the baton in her hand.
“Dead,” she says, no indication of any shortness of breath like me, Scotty, or Alby.
This all happens in just a few seconds.
Fucking scary as hell, my Wifey.
I love it.
She pushes to her feet smoothly. “You are doing even worse than usual today. Normally, I have to at least try. You—”
Ezla goes rigid.
Everyone snaps to attention, Tate shooting to his feet from where he’d been sat by the wall next to the row of weight racks, Cooper quickly following with a deep frown as our Bonded then stumbles.
Ezzy never stumbles.
I’ve only ever seen that happen once before, and it wasn’t this bad.
It was in Game 1, and me and the guys have talked about it a bit—we’ve always known it was pure luck we bonded our deadly goddess, and although I’m super-duper grateful and happy for it, I also know she wasn’t at her best because something none of us have yet figured out happened that day.
And it’s happening again.
But much, much worse.
Ezla’s pained sound makes it past her helmet as she drops to the ground on her hands and knees, a position a queen should never, ever be in, and alarmed cries of her name ring out as we all rush over faster than the speed of lightning.
“Havoc!” Tate’s grey eyes contain crashing waves of raw panic and an equal helping of protective fury directed at whatever is daring to cause our Bonded such agony.
And we know it’s bad, even before wisps of the unforgiving pain slip through the bond.
Because Ezla never shows the world anything is hurting her if she can help it.
Scotty’s knees crack against the taalk as he pulls her close, just as she starts convulsing like she’s going to be sick. He barks, “Bucket! Anything!”
We all look around frantically, but there’s absolutely nothing useful in here. Who the fuck doesn’t put sick bowls in a training centre?! Then again, in this day and age, vomiting is rare unless you’re severely ill, so I’m kind of freaking the fuck out right now!
Scotty struggles to get the mechanism unlocked on her helmet, but, thank fuck, I hear the small click moments before he flips the visor up then yanks the entire thing off her head, tossing it aside.
All he can do is gently hold her nape and bicep to support her while she pukes violently on the floor, her entire face covered in sweat and twisted in anguish.
We all crowd around but forcefully restrain ourselves from touching her, knowing it’s not a good idea to cage her in right now and make things even more stuffy when she’s very clearly not well.
And once she’s stopped heaving, she screams in a way that cripples my heart and seriously tests my resolve.
“Help her!” Tate roars, eyes crazed, hysterical, his fists clenching and unclenching madly, dying to hold our Bonded yet understanding she needs room to breathe.
Gathering her up in his arms, Scotty’s own wild eyes dart all over out Bonded’s face as she sobs and screams.
“What’s happening?!” Alby cries, tears tracking down his cheeks from the sheer panic and overwhelm of it all, and I move to clutch onto him to support him as much as to support me; he’s the most sensitive of us all, and while it’s not bad to be sensitive, I know he’s moments away from being sent into a panic attack, and we can’t have that right now.
Because if that happens, I’ll be losing my head completely as well, and I’m already much too close as it is.
Never have I felt this much fear before.
“Make it stop! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” Ezla shouts violently, voice cracking from the force, expression contorted into one of utter torture.
Scotty’s violently trembling hands cradle her face. “Love, what’s wrong?! Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where does it hurt?!”
“HAVOC!” Tate loses the battle with his restraint and crashes to the ground with the two of them to hold her.
Luckily he doesn’t do anything damaging, only props her body up when she starts to droop with Scotty’s hands only on her face, as if he won’t let himself descend into complete insanity as long as he has the job of taking care of his Bonded to keep him here.
Cooper is standing by me and Alby, tugging at his dark brown hair with both hands so aggressively he’ll rip all the strands out at this rate, wide stare as horrified as the rest of ours, his mouth open like he’s tried to speak but was suffocated by the thickness of the distress in the stifling air.
“Please, Love, what’s wrong?! Can you tell me through the bond if you can’t speak?
” Scotty urges, trying his best to soothe Ez as he tugs off his gloves and runs an unsteady hand over the tight braids her hair’s twisted up in, fingers searching restlessly, looking for where he can start undoing them to provide any sort of relief for her.
His frustration and fear are ten times more palpable when there’s no clear end, the intricate style clearly meant to make her seek helmet fit comfortably around her head during training and battles, but right now, it’s a hindrance we really don’t need.
Why is nothing going right?! No sick bucket, no clue what the fuck is happening, and now no chance of even giving her damn scalp a smidge of relief!
“Havoc, baby?! Can you tell him?! Me?! Us?! Any of us?!”
A sliver of sparse velvet steam finds me in my mind:
It is . . .
But the presence leaves as Ezla’s eyes roll back in her head that drops back with them, and she falls still.
Uncannily, deathly still.
The training room descends into pandemonium.