53 #2
Of course, Cooper latches onto her words the most aggressively, always trying to figure out the next secret of hers, to discover anything and everything locked away inside our Bonded that she doesn’t want anyone to see.
“And it’s a problem he’ll see you dancing with us?
Your Bonded? He got a problem with Evots?
” He steps forwards, readying to march over to her, but somehow manages to stay put as his brows dip even lower on his next words: “Other men?”
My eyes dart between him and Ezla like a ping-pong ball. There’s always the chance that interactions between them could get very, very messy.
“Does he not like you with other men, Vengeance? Is he—”
“ENOUGH!”
Her enraged shout is the loudest, most deadly, I’ve heard to date.
Cooper’s mouth snaps shut, jaw grinding.
“I will not discuss my father with you. We must practice.” She dismisses him, helmet turning away. “Scotty.”
After a brief, uncertain pause, Scotty raises the arm that had fallen sometime during Cooper’s outburst back up, and thankfully, the latter moves back to the wall, though his dark eyes drill into Ezla furiously.
I want to know everything about our Bonded and the situation with her father, too.
From what I already do know, I feel sick, and it seems as though we’ve only scratched the surface of her trauma.
But I can tell Cooper’s line of questioning was far too much, and I do wonder . . . Was it also far too accurate?
***
The next day, we’re fighting Ezla again in our private training room, and in my opinion, we’re doing much better than before. And I think she thinks so too.
I’ve even managed to land a few hits, which I despise as much as I feel pride and happiness at achieving something so impossible, not liking hurting her, even if it’s not anything extreme.
And even if the only reason I was able to do so in the first place is because Ezla is fighting four of us at once.
After Game 3, my Score nudged up a little to 73.
I’m super proud, and so is everyone else, I know.
But I’m still behind them all: Tate’s Score is now a whopping 91, Scotty’s an 89 along with his brother’s—who’s now often having the time of his life boasting about being on the same level as him after so many years—and Cooper’s is an 88.
It’s currently everyone but Tate moving, and we’re definitely making progress—to the point I think we could pin Ezla if he was working with us.
My heart leaps when I think we’ve got her, Cooper managing to twist her arm behind her back while Scotty, Tiger, and I distract her like we’d agreed in some sort of silent conversation I can apparently now understand as well as the Gold brothers have been able to for years.
But Ezla throws Cooper’s entire body weight over her shoulder, and he soars straight into Scotty and Tiger where they’d been going in for the kill.
Curses, grunts, and groans sound out as the three of them go down in a painful heap, and I’m ashamed to say I don’t even try to get near Ezla after that, but it seems more stupid and humiliating to attempt it: I’m much stronger than I used to be, my body more muscled—although it’s definitely going to stay on the slimmer side, which I’m learning day by day to accept and, even better, actually like with all Ezla shows me I can do with the agility it helps provide—and my Score could actually be higher than it was a few days ago, though I won’t know for sure until after my performance is studied in Game 4.
But that doesn’t change the fact that my Bonded’s Score is in another universe in comparison to mine.
“Up. You are improving. That was almost a challenge.”
“Almost,” Cooper scoffs as he struggles out of the tangle of limbs, Scotty helping his brother to his feet afterwards.
“I will allow everyone to fight me today,” that robotically modified voice says dispassionately. “Together.”
Everyone zones in on her at once, perking up like dogs.
“Yeah?” Cooper grunts, getting back into position.
“Yes,” she confirms tonelessly, arms folded over her chest.
“Fuck yes, Havoc, baby.” Tate moves over, and the rest of us follow his lead, surrounding Ezla in a loose circle.
Watching their faces through their clear taalk visors, I take in their subtle hints, adrenaline buzzing through me, charging up my limbs. My hands clench around the unmanifested armoury sticks we commonly use to safely mimic real battle.
A barely perceptible head tilt from Scotty.
We strike.
Springing forwards, I aim in a practiced arc for Ezla’s helmet to force her to duck, and she does.
But of course she doesn’t fall into the trap as Cooper aims low while the other three all aim for different parts of her body: She springs up and is almost horizontal in a second, avoiding the blow from Cooper’s baton while she twists in the air, using her legs to smack both armoury sticks from Tiger’s hands before he has time to even think about snatching them away; then she latches an arm around Scotty’s neck so that when she comes back down to the ground, he goes crashing down with her, landing with a merciless thump and a grunt on his back.
Not a heartbeat later, she spins just in time to meet Tate’s blow, their batons whacking together forcefully as their battle rapidly escalates, giving everyone else time to hastily recover and, with relentless determination, charge again.
And it goes on and on and on.
I’m aching and sweating despite the fresh air in my helmet working to cool me down and my Avri suit rushing to absorb the moisture from my skin, but I don’t give up. And I can see Ezla is actually having to put a fair amount of effort in here, only encouraging my own to increase.
“Come on!” she taunts, warped puffs of air sounding from within her helmet, proving my suspicion that this is actually a decent challenge for her.
“Show me you are worthy of me.” Boot slamming into Tiger’s knee to send him to the hard floor, earning a pained yelp from him, she continues, “Or would other men be better suited?”
There’s no hesitation.
We all lose it.
Tate lets out a roar of ruinous fury and jealousy at just the thought, and my own war cry isn’t far off as I lunge along with my brothers.
“YOU’RE MINE!” he seethes, his armoury stick managing to graze her arm before she dodges and zips around for a quarter of a second to meet blows from both Tiger and Scotty, pushing them back to subsequently be able to do the same with me and Cooper on either side of her in the next millisecond.
“Ours,” Cooper corrects through laboured breaths as he swiftly dodges Ezla’s baton. “Ours, and don’t ever fucking mention another man again, Vengeance. Especially not like that.”
While she’s distracted with him for that marginal blip in time, Tiger, Scotty, and Tate already striking out—even though we all know she’ll deflect their blows before they can ever land with her impossible speed and movements—I drop low in my favourite skill Ezla taught me.
And she’s only zero-point-something seconds too slow to completely avoid my foot as it whips out in an arc, too focused on avoiding my brothers’ unrelenting attacks.
She stumbles.
The wolves pounce on the tiger.
And they win.
Samming to the ground, Tate uses his huge body to shield her fall while simultaneously locking his thick arms around her neck beneath her helmet, only hard enough to keep her head in place while his legs curl around hers, keeping them secure too.
Tiger has landed on top and has her wrists imprisoned in an unyielding grip as he straddles her, and I zip over to snatch up one of her armoury sticks while Cooper grabs the other.
For a moment afterwards, no one moves. All that can be heard is heavy, panting breaths as our chests rise and fall heavily.
Then Ezla shifts in silent demand, and Tiger warily frees one wrist as if worried she’s aiming to trick us and is about to spring into attack-mode again.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she moves her gloved hand under her chin, unlocking her visor before flipping it up.
Revealing a stunning face split by the most beautiful wide grin I have ever seen in my life.
Everyone sucks in sharp breaths.
That’s . . . genuine, full joy. Elation.
“Well done. I am proud.”
And that is not an unfeeling tone.
Not at all.
My knees weaken, and I physically cannot hold myself up, so I drop to my knees at her side, relief, love, and so much exhilaration of my own overwhelming me.
Cooper and Scotty look moments from doing the same, their eyes wide and full of hope and happiness at our first ever sight of our Bonded’s, while Tate loosens his hold on her, limbs slackening in shock and wonder, unable to see her smile but able to hear it in her words and additionally through the bond, no doubt—because I certainty can.
And when Tiger lets out a joyous whoop and wraps his arms around her in a crushing hug . . .
She doesn’t try to pull away.