45
ALBY
It feels odd to be back here after all that’s happened.
Even weirder that we’re not standing on the arena’s floor, but in its viewing box.
An intimidating, imposing box where the Game Master used to watch us be slaughtered like animals while the crowd cheered for the brutality.
Now, on the official last day of the eleventh Bonding Games, I stand with a Bonded I never thought I’d get, never thought I’d be deserving of, four unexpected brothers, and The Council.
Or what remains of it.
There’s the Showmaster, of course, and it’s not too common we see the Techtis Council with Joseph having been so arrogant, so self-absorbed, that he kept all the attention on himself, with Peter’s exception to this rule being his role in the Games, but I’m aware from Evot Training School that there were twenty-two members including the two of them.
Now, there’s ten.
Well, actually, there’s sixteen—if you include us.
Ezla killed the rest of them.
It seems too easy to have got to where we are now. It seems too easy for Ezla to be named the head of The Council, for us to be given seats so effortlessly. But when I think about all that we’ve been through, who my Bonded is, who we killed . . . it all doesn’t seem so hard to understand anymore.
Below the Game Master, the Champion has always held the most power.
I’ve always seen her as a bigger presence than him, as someone unbeatable, someone untouchable, and that’s the truth of who she is without him.
With him gone, there really is no one who could compare to her.
With him gone, we don’t need to continue the Games.
We don’t need to play Game 6, suffer through more killing to win TBG and ask to be on The Council.
With him gone, all we need to accomplish everything we wanted is Ezla.
So yes, it feels too easy, too simple, too fast, even, everything happening in a blur .
. . but when I think about it, it could really be no other way.
And, well, it’s not exactly been a complete breeze.
Then again, I guess that could still be argued with Ezla around to effortlessly deal with any problems arising . . .
After Ezla’s speech, the entire room gapes at her.
She herself appears unimpressed.
“I would appreciate you opening your mouths to give me your opinions, no matter how little I care about them.”
Scotty coughs quietly into his fist, and Ezla flicks a subtle narrowed-eyed look his way—a green and brown narrowed-eyed look that I’ve stolen a hundred glances at since she opened her eyes after several torturous hours in the infirmary.
He’s tried to tell her that as sexy as her ways are and how he never wants her to change, he thinks it might be more intelligent to at least pretend to care about what The Council has to say to win them over with minimal bloodshed.
Would you like to add something, my sensible one? she says tonelessly.
I feel his pleasure at being called that even now. She’ll never not affect us as deeply as she did from day one. No, Love. You’re doing great, he sends back gently.
Cooper snorts out loud, and the Evots, Exots, and Neutrals sat at the long table in the middle of the room shift their attention to him, some pursing their lips.
We’re on the lowest floor in the Techtis Council building and in one of three spaces designed for meetings, and while The Council is sat in the expensive chairs all around, Ezla and us remain standing at the front of the room.
Ignoring their looks, a few judgmental ones quickly disappearing when Ezla’s stare bores holes into them, Cooper says with amusement, You’re down so fucking bad.
Scotty shoots him a side-eye. So what? You are too.
We all are! Tiger cheers before Cooper can respond. I love you, Wifey! Can’t wait for our— Ohhhh, I can’t say that anymore. Gotta keep that quiet.
I can still hear your thoughts, my wild one, Ezla informs him without inflection, and I roll my lips in. You must be more subtle if you wish to hide your plans from me.
He pouts. Ezzy! I love you in my head, but you can’t look all over it at the moment! he insists vehemently.
Can I not? There’s a clear warning in her words.
Uhhhhh . . . no? he hedges, testing his luck. I fight to keep my wince in, already knowing what’s coming.
I would prepare yourself for punishment, Puppy, as you will receive no warnings.
His eyes blow wide, and he’s gearing up to respond when a man clears his throat.
My gaze zips back to the table.
Like before, everyone’s staring at us. Some of the looks are more scrutinising now, and I’d almost forgotten they likely don’t know exactly how the Bonded can communicate.
Without comment on the long pause, Ezla continues, “If you do not speak, I will assume you cannot. Maybe I will be tempted to cut a hole in your sealed lips to aid you.”
The Council looks more than horrified.
And that’s when the first mistake leaves one of their mouths.
“This is exactly why we cannot let her!” a greying man explodes, shooting from his seat.
He looks strangely familiar, almost like .
. . like I’ve seen him before . . . like .
. . Aider Cole. “You, a child with no experience in ruling a region, who can only think and make decisions based around violence, believe we should allow you to take your father’s place as well as call you Empress—”
An Avri throwing star punches a hole through his windpipe and exits through the chair at his back. Whizzing back around, the dark green weapon zooms towards its owner, slamming safely back into Tate’s outstretched hand.
Silence.
Aider’s dad’s upper half slumps forwards and meets the taalk tabletop with an unceremonious thud.
More silence.
Lips popping open, I can hardly process the fact that someone close to me has yet again so effortlessly slain one of my demons.
Over the weeks, my brothers and Bonded have slashed everything away that was bringing me down until I’ve become a new version of myself, one who’s still me but with all the qualities and general feelings I used to wish I could have: the standing up for myself, the asking for what I want even when it’s hard, the happiness both with who I am and that describes my overall state, even if that’s been hard to maintain most recently with all the heartache.
I’m Ezla’s, and that’s the best gift I never knew I needed.
Well done, my beast. There’s clear arousal in Ezla’s words, while I can only stare at the dead Evot, frozen like the majority of the room. Then—
Screams erupt in the air, but it’s surprisingly not everyone; about half of The Council are on their feet.
And I know before Ezla smirks wickedly, glee sparkling in her eyes to match Tate’s as he gazes at her with his own heaps of lust and obsession, that not a single one of them is making it out of this room alive.
I’m snapped back out of my thoughts by the Showmaster’s voice just like I was the first time I was in The Dome.
And once again, I seem to have missed a good portion of his speech, but I focus on his words now rather than what happened after that, because as much as I love every single part of Ezla, the sight after she and Tate were done with those who chose to go against her yesterday was not pretty, and I think it’s enough to turn most people’s stomachs.
Certainly not Tate’s, though.
The only thing it turned was his libido all the way up.
Some people in here are stood up, while others are sat down. The Showmaster fits into the former category as he leans forwards in his chair towards the microphone built into the narrow ledge-like table lining the front of the viewing box.
The deafening roar of the crowd isn’t as ear-splitting in here, muffled for the higher-ups .
. . for us—I don’t think I’m processing that fact very well—and I’m thinking that’s what has cut off Peter mid-speech.
He continues now in his usual pompous tone as the audience in the stands quiets down enough, except now I can hear it without the microphone warping his voice in here, without that echoing quality to it, and it sounds nowhere near as intimidating as it once did.
“Settle down! Settle down now!” he calls out, and I can hear the muffled ping-pong effect as his words reach far and wide. His tone is almost cheerful, but it’s not out of place, and I can admit that he has always been very fit for his role.
I’m sure I should feel guilty for my lack of guilt when I think about the very obvious fact only he’s oblivious to that his title won’t be his for much longer.
I’m still a little lost on what he’s just said, but Ezla confirms my suspicions when she sends down the bond, making my cheeks heat less from embarrassment and all because it’s just her as always, He has passed on our story to the globe along with the news about the cancellation of the Game they were expecting to see today.
The world will know what a mess Joseph was in his last moments, how utterly pathetic and worthless he was, even if it is still better than he deserves. I am satisfied.
And I can feel that she is. She wouldn’t want anyone to know about all of her vulnerable moments, and not a single one of us asked her to share them.
No one deserves to know about all she’s been through, and her story doesn’t need to be shared to prove Joseph was a monster.
The blame on mental health changes things, could make some feel sympathy for him, but I think when he’s acted in such extreme ways, that will be hard for people to consider, especially when his actions affected the globe’s favourite Bonded group.
But even for those who do find some sympathy in them, I know Joseph would have hated it.
He despises vulnerability, and if he were here to see the world thinking he was severely unstable, that he wasn’t the all-powerful leader everyone believed him to be . . . it would be his worst nightmare.
“I understand how upsetting this news is, but we must move forward!”
I blink.