24 #2
“Why do you wear that helmet? Why do you wear a different one than the rest of us?” I interrogate abruptly, unable to hold back the curiosity anymore that I’ve been harbouring for years.
The sudden rigidness in Ezla’s body should warn me off the subject, but I don’t let up.
“Tell me why. Is it just a fashion choice? Did the Game Master choose it for you?” My voice grows harsher, more forceful.
Frantic. “Or are you hiding something? Is something wrong with your face? I don’t care if there is, I love you! Let me see!—”
A sudden, overpowering, ruinous fury soaks all my senses through, and cries sound out distantly in my ringing ears from the other Evots in the room as they experience the same.
I should be happy, ecstatic even, that I’m finally feeling Havoc through the bond again.
But all I can feel is her crushing emotions that become my own when I feel pure, unbearable agony.
My baby is in pain. So, so much of it that bile rises up my throat. It infects every cell, every tissue, every bone, until it’s all I am. Because that’s all she is inside: unforgiving wrath and pain, pain, pain.
Until it’s sucked away all at once in a violent yank, dragged back into the source as she rebuilds her walls.
Harsh gasps are wrenched from the men around the room, and I struggle to breathe myself, throat tight.
That’s what she’s been hiding.
“Havoc, baby,” I rasp, a trembling hand coming to rest on the side of her helmet where her cheek would be beneath.
But she pulls away aggressively, and it’s so immediate that she’s just . . . gone. Vanishing out the door before I can process it.
I want to follow, but I can’t move. My entire body feels unstable. My stomach is writhing in protest, my breathing is too rapid, and my heart rate has reached a dangerous level, the thump-thump-thump of it banging against my eardrums.
“Gods,” Tiger’s choked voice finds me through the haze. “She’s hurting. Our Bonded is hurting.”
It doesn’t even cross my mind to correct him; that isn’t a concern right at this moment.
There’s still that unrelenting need to have Ezla and keep her all to myself, but now, standing strongly beside that is my need to heal her, to take care of her and make sure all that pain inside her dies an excruciating death with no chance of resurrection.
And if I need these men to help me do that?
So be it.
***
It’s a little harder to change my mindset than I thought it would be.
I still very much want to stomp Scotty’s head into the ground and watch his brain explode in a mess of mushy matter as my Havoc’s hands move over his body.
I know that dickface is enjoying every second.
“Up.” She taps his arm none too gently, and my envy climbs higher. She should only be slapping me around. Ordering me what to do. She’s my Havoc.
Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—
“Fucking hell, Ezla,” Scotty hisses as she slams her fist into his stomach without warning. Doubling over, he clutches at where the blow brutally connected. “What was that for?”
“I would very much like to kill you. Do not complain at such kinder alternatives.”
“Why are you training us, then?” he asks, voice tense, even as he straightens back into position, raising his arms up with his unmanifested armoury sticks in either hand.
“Do not question me. I will annihilate you,” she says tonelessly, and fire singes my veins.
So fucking hot.
I rub my hard cock, needing some extra pressure to really feel the friction through the sinthine.
“Right,” he mutters, blowing out a weighty breath as Havoc mirrors his stance, his eyes studying her carefully behind his visor. “Give it to me, then.”
“Gladly.”
“Fuck!” He jumps out of the way as her Avri manifests in a luminous crimson blade, slicing through the air where he once stood. Gasps from Tiger and Alby come from my right by the weights in our private training room while Scotty exclaims, “What the fuck?!”
“Did you not just ask for death?” my sexy goddess of mass destruction says, deadpan.
Fuck, I’m gonna cum.
“No!” Scotty gapes at her incredulously. “I meant come at me with your armoury stick—
“I did.”
“—unmanifested,” he finishes with heavy emphasis.
“Stop whining. You are perfectly fine.”
Groaning, he scrubs a forearm over the top of his helmet, as if forgetting it’s there. “Can you just . . . please demanifest your Avri?”
She considers this, head canting ever so slightly, then concedes with a, “For now.”
Sighing in relief, a curse leaves his mouth in the next second as he darts out of the way to avoid a vicious blow from her now-demanifested armoury stick. But he doesn’t complain this time as they trade blows, him always holding off on his on the rare occasions they do manage to land.
They continue for a while, and impatience for my turn builds within me, rising up alongside the ever-present jealousy when Scotty’s eyes darken in what can only be desire.
There’s also an intensity in there I recognise from his common glances at Alby and Tiger that tells me he’s simultaneously imagining taking care of her, protecting her.
But Havoc doesn’t fucking need any protection, and I’m the only one who’s supposed to take up that unnecessary role of guard and get dropkicked for it by my girl.
Glaring, I grind my teeth. But I don’t attack. It’s very well-executed control, so he better be fucking grateful.
Practice makes perfect, they say.
They should all hope they give my girl every damn thing she wants, or I may forget to practice at all.
After Scotty’s turn is over, he switches places with Cooper, coming to stand on my left by the wall with a wince he fails to hide.
Fuck yeah, my girl got him good.
“Stop looking at my Havoc like that,” I grumble as he leans up against the gleaming black taalk.
Rolling his head against it to face me, he gives me a look.
I scowl back at him.
Dismissing me, he focuses back on my Bonded and Cooper as they spar, her barking at him to stop pulling his punches, and I internally curse all the other men in the room with every name under the sun.
Tiger is next, then Alby, who I’ll admit has been improving so rapidly he even manages to catch my attention with his new skills and techniques when my mind is usually only made up of Ezla.
It’s less than one percent of my attention, but still.
Next it’s my turn, and I bite my lip as I stalk over to my girl, ready to finally get my hands on her.
Except she parries, ducks, and leaps out of range every. Damn. Time.
I huff, equally as irritated as I am aroused and awed by her moves. “Havoc, baby, let me touch you, dammit.”
Ignoring me, a roundhouse kick sends one of my armoury sticks soaring from my hand.
I cum in my pants.
“Oh, baby,” I groan at the same time I spring out of the way when she tries to stab her baton into my spurting dick.
Jealousy momentarily forgotten, I enjoy the rest of my time with my Havoc before she leaves us all with a reminder to be here again at 6 a.m. sharp tomorrow, dumping me on my ass when I try to snatch her up to keep her with me.
I fucking love training.
But I don’t like it when she leaves all. The fucking. Time.
She’s mine, and I will have her. Whether that’s with or without the other Evots in the end.
And whether she wants to be mine or not.