She shakes her head in amusement.
Although I’ve never seen Sam fight, I’m not surprised he does well. Sam is the kind of man that lives life with easy success. His stunning good looks are an easy cover for him being a brilliant solider. But when Bunny steps into the ring with his limp, useless arm, I grab onto Hildi out of fear. Bunny, my sweet, gentle artist. Surely, he’s adept. But he’s also suffered greatly. I am both filled with dread and eager anticipation to see what he can do.
“Tell me he’ll survive,” I plea.
“You don’t have faith in your own Guardian?” Hildi’s incredulous expression says it all.
“I do, I just…” I swallow. “He got that injury protecting me while I was being a fool. If he fails out there it’s my fault.”
Her blue eyes are hard. “If you learn one thing tonight, Morgan, it’s that you should never underestimate these men. Never. Not for a second. They’re smart, savvy, and made from a sense of commitment and passion that no injury or mere disfigurement could destroy.” She grips my hand. “But I will tell you one weakness they may have.”
“What is that?”
“You.”
A roar ripples through the crowd and my attention is dragged back down to the ring. Bunny no longer has a limp arm. Instead a sharp, pike-like weapon is attached to the end. He slashes it at the the man across from him that has transformed into a rabid, drooling zombie.
Just like in my battle with Hildi, the ring provides fighters with weapons and attributes they’d have in an alternate universe. But also like my fight, Bunny doesn’t need the weapon. I see the blood thirst in his copper eyes as he fights off his attacker. Or rather, attackers. The one man that entered the ring splits into six zombies that may be brain-dead but they’re fast with dirty claws and sharp teeth. Hildi tells me they roam the barren lands of the Otherside looking for flesh to eat. Bunny moves with a speed I never could have imagined. Leaping, kicking, and easily taking down the shuffling horde. A chill inc
hes up my spine as one gets too close to Bunny’s bare shoulder, his teeth perilously close. Again, it’s a foolish moment because it’s the final gain the zombie has in the fight. Bunny knocks him to the ground and stabs him in the temple with the end of the pike. I watch in fascination as my delicate artist-turned-savage-warrior rips the head off the body and holds it in the air on the tip of the steel pike.
Hildi gives me a knowing look and I say, “Point taken.”
“You must have confidence in them,” she tells me as the attendants at the ring clean the mat. “It’s paramount.”
“I do,” I say, annoyed that she keeps bringing it up. “They’re my mates, Hildi. I chose them based on their merits—without even seeing this side of them. These men are complex, complicated creatures. You tell me not to underestimate them—you shouldn’t underestimate me, either.”
A moment of tension sits between us but the final buzzer rings. Hildi can’t hide the look of excitement. I know that Dylan is her preferred Guardian and if he showed a sliver of weakness she’d consume him greedily. This shouldn’t be much of a surprise. He’s dark and broody, incredibly elusive, and even I haven’t managed to get him into bed.
Yet.
The other Guardians stand by the edge of the ring, each in various states of disarray. Their injuries healed the instant they stepped out of the ring but they’re filthy, covered in slime, dirt, and blood. Damien and Sam both drink from bottles of liquor. Women push through the crowd to get to them but security keeps them back. I hear their names shouted through the arena. As a group, they too only have eyes for their Sentinel. Who will he battle?
“I’ve heard the game masters have something special set up for Dylan this time,” Hildi says over the increasingly energetic crowd.
“Something special? Worse than the spider or lizard thing?” I don’t even fight the shudder inching down my spine.
The lights flicker and the buzzer sounds. Dylan makes his way across the ring. He’s wearing tight, black pants and thick-soled boots. He pushes his hair back, revealing the taut arm muscles under his gray T-shirt. The difference between Dylan and the others is that all of his emotions are kept low under the surface. Only a few times have I witnessed them bubbling to the forefront. From what I’ve seen so far, I suspect the game masters know this, too, and will do whatever they can to push him to his limits.
The crowd has started something different, a rhythmic stomping of their feet against the metal bleachers. After a moment the sound overtakes everything else. The entire arena is a wave of unified sound. I can’t keep my eyes off the man in the ring. He rolls his shoulders and faces the opposite side of the ring.
The overhead lights flash across the ring and land on a very small person. A gasp ripples through the crowd and the stomping slows. I frown and ask Hildi, “Is that a child?”
The Valkyrie tenses. “The game masters aren’t just toying with him physically but mentally as well.”
“What?” I ask, but Dylan is walking toward the child—it’s a she—a girl, with dark hair and a flared skirt. A barrette glints in her hair. An unsettling feeling unfurls in my chest. “What is he going to do?”
“What do you think?”
The girl turns her head and my blood runs cold. I look over to the Guardians and see their faces drain, their complexions paling. I push past Hildi, past the others in my row and race down the stairs.
There’s no doubt in my mind who that girl is.
She’s me.
Even while running, I can tell that he recognizes her—me. There’s a falter in his step as he flicks his wrists blades, shooting from the back of his hands like feathers on a wing. I reach the sidelines and the security guard holds me back.
“Damien!” I shout, as he’s the closest. “Damien!”