Chapter 45
The world floods with wind and hues of blue and green, then nothing but the liquid, sickening sense of falling.
I half-expect the trees below to shred us on impact, but Zeriel twists midair, his arms locking around my waist. Momentum hurls us near a snarl of branches; bark tears at my skin, glowing leaves lash my face, and only his grip keeps me from being flung loose to finish the fall alone.
We crash into something not stone but soft… springy, damp with the rot of the deep forest floor. The breath is ripped from my lungs, and for a dazed moment, all I can taste is crushed moss and earth.
He takes the brunt of the impact before we roll, and then he’s on top of me, weight pinning me flat, his arms braced on either side of my head.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. There’s no air in my chest, no space between our bodies, and the compass, attached to his waist, is wedged directly between us like some cosmic joke.
“Move,” I rasp, the words barely scraping out. “Before you suffocate me.”
He doesn’t move. Not at first. His gaze fills my vision—deep brown irises rimmed in storm-white, hair disheveled, breathing harder than I’ve ever heard.
When he does shift, it’s in the same abrupt, tactical way he does everything. He rolls off, rising into a crouch that’s angled between me and the forest beyond. You’re welcome. His voice brushes my mind, rough-edged but controlled.
I wipe dirt off my cheek, ignoring the flush that’s crept up my skin. For what? I shoot back, pushing myself onto my elbows. Crushing what little breath I had left? Or just enjoying the view from up there?
A ghost of amusement flickers through him. You’re softer than you look.
“I’m flattered,” I say aloud, climbing to my feet and aggressively dusting off my trousers. The fabric is torn at the knee, and my palms are scraped. Still, I’d be much worse off if he hadn’t grabbed me…
I drag myself to my feet as he rises beside me, scanning our surroundings. The forest is packed with glowing flora, the air thick with the smell of soil and something faintly sweet, like night-blooming flowers. Every shadow seems to writhe with a life of its own.
He checks the compass. The needle spins wildly for a moment before settling, pointing deeper into the unnerving twilight of the woods.
Northeast, he says. We need to move. Now.
I stare at his back as he pushes through a curtain of phosphorescent vines. In a rush?
First in, first advantage. He's already striding forward, forcing me to hurry after him. It's the way of the games.
And what advantage would that be, exactly? I ask, picking my way over a tangle of roots.
Information. Position. He shoots a glance back at me. Survival.
I try to match his pace. Care to share your strategy, or am I just supposed to follow you blindly through this death trap?
My strategy is to get there first and stay alive, he replies. Anything beyond that depends on what we find. So stay close.
I sense his focus sharpening like a blade being honed—thoughts narrowing to the path ahead, the sounds around us, the potential threats lurking in every shadow.
But beneath that clarity, his focus keeps snagging on me.
I’m not sure if it’s exactly interest—despite the bond, he somehow seems to keep a veil of control—but it’s at least charged awareness.
The volatile pull of someone who sees me as both obligation and risk, a live wire he can’t quite let go of.
Fine. Lead on, Champion.
We push deeper into the forest, the glow from the vegetation casting everything in its otherworldly light. Strange sounds echo from the darkness between trees. Clicks and chirps and occasional low moans that raise the hair on my arms.
The other champions can’t have landed far from us, I think.
Which is why we need to stay ahead of them. His words slide into my mind. Try making less noise.
He moves with a predator’s silence, parting glowing ferns with the back of his hand, his gaze constantly sweeping the alien landscape.
I follow, trying to mimic his stealth, but my boots catch on roots and my clothes snag on thorny vines.
The forest is a symphony of unnerving sounds, and every snap of a twig under my foot feels like a gunshot.
We come to a deep chasm that looks like a black wound in the luminescent earth, spanned only by a massive fallen tree slick with glowing moss. It’s at least thirty feet across, with a drop that vanishes into darkness.
You first, he sends, his meaning clear. My lighter weight makes me the test subject.
My pleasure, I think back, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
I inch onto the log, arms outstretched for balance. The moss is like wet silk under my boots, treacherous and slick. Still, the trunk seems strong, not yet substantially rotted.
But halfway across, my foot slides.
I flail, a strangled gasp escaping my lips as I pinwheel, my gaze plunging into the abyss.
A hand clamps around my arm, yanking me back from the edge with brutal force.
I slam into Zeriel’s chest, his other arm wrapping around my waist to steady me.
My hands fly up, pressing flat against the hard wall of his torso.
His compass digs into my ribs, a cold point of pressure between our bodies.
His heart hammers against my palm, a frantic, powerful rhythm that echoes my own.
Got you, the thought is a low rumble, devoid of his usual sharpness. It’s just… a fact. A statement of possession that has nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with the solid reality of his grip.
I had it, I lie stupidly, my voice breathy and thin. My face is pressed against his chest, and the scent of him—leather, steel, and the clean scent of rain—fills my head.
He doesn’t answer, but I feel the shift in him through the link. A flicker of something that isn’t anger or impatience. It’s a hot, sharp spike of awareness, a possessive current that arcs between us before he shoves it back down.
He lets me go almost as abruptly as he caught me, nudging me forward. Finish crossing.
I do, my legs trembling slightly, acutely aware of him right behind me, his presence a tangible weight at my back. We reach the other side in silence, but the air feels heavier than before, the near-fall still lodged in my bones.
I turn to him when we’re on solid ground. A little warning next time you decide to play the hero? You nearly gave me a heart attack.
His mouth quirks faintly. You were already having one. I just stopped it from getting worse.
Before I can retort, a scream rips through the forest, high and sharp, followed by the brutal, wet crunch of what can only be breaking bone. It comes from the east, not far from our position. A champion or their slave has found their end. Or their beginning.
Zeriel’s head snaps in that direction, his amusement vanishing. That’s our cue.
He breaks into a run, not waiting to see if I’ll follow. I curse under my breath and sprint after him, the echo of the scream chasing us deeper into the forests. The race has begun.