He turned away from the sand, his eyes finding mine, his unease creasing fine lines between his brows. “The gods are always hoping that I’ll use my gift to win a fight.”
“How would that even work?” I was thoroughly confused, and a little too aware of the hand that Siret had dropped over my back.
Aros leaned forward, bringing his face close to mine. “I could have distracted her with desire,” he muttered, his eyes flicking between mine. “And then she would have let me close to her.” He reached out, his fingers winding around the back of my neck. “She would beg me to kiss her, because I would make her. I would make it all that she could think about.” His power trickled through to me, nothing like the debilitating need that he was describing, but enough to convince me that he was telling the truth. I bit down on my lip, trying not to do something stupid, like moan.
“And then?” I couldn’t help that my voice rasped a little bit.
“And then I would snap her neck,” he said silkily, his fingers tightening on me.
I drew back, wrenching myself from his spell, and he allowed me. Siret’s hand fell away from my back, and I turned to the arena numbly, my emotions running rampant.
Holy shit.
“Language,” Siret chastised.
Fuck you. I narrowed my eyes at him.
He grinned. “You have a dirty mind, Soldier.”
“I’m up.” Yael’s deep voice cut through the moment, drawing all of our eyes back to the Gamemaster as the persuasive Abcurse launched himself over the barrier.
His name was there, in flame. I didn’t even bother looking at the other name. What did it matter? They wouldn’t last. Not against Yael. Not against any of the Abcurses. Part of me understood why Siret had laughed at me before. My guys weren’t normal. They were something else.
Not my guys. Just guys. Some random guys. Some random, weird, annoying guys.
“Are you insulting us inside your head again, Rocks?” Rome asked through a yawn, standing and plonking himself into Yael’s vacated seat, his massive hand falling to my knee.
I stared at his hand, and then at his face. He didn’t even seem to be needing a response. He was watching his brother, who was standing out in the middle of the arena as Aros had.
“Nope,” I lied. “I have other friends that I insult inside my head, you know.”
He turned, finally focussing his full attention on me. The glittering, gem-like green of his irises darkened with his focus, making my seat a pretty frightening seat to be sitting in right then.
“We’re not your friends,” he told me blatantly.
“Your hand is on my leg,” I shot back, not even missing a beat.
They were so my friends.
On my other side, Siret snorted on a laugh.
Rome didn’t look at his hand—which apparently had a mind of its own—but I could feel his fingers tightening. They could reach all the way around my leg, his fingers brushing on the other side. If he squeezed, everything from the knee down would probably pop right off.
“Enemies don’t put their hands on their enemies’ legs,” I pushed, holding his stare.
His jaw shifted, like he was grinding his teeth. I tried to edge my leg out from beneath his death-grip, but it only tightened further, pulling until I was dragged across the seat and pressed right up against his body.
“I never said that we were enemies,” he finally answered. “We’re just not friends.”
Okay, so he was annoyed about the fact that my sneaky little soul had kind of chained itself to his. I could understand that. I mean, friends were supposed to have boundaries. That definitely crossed a line.
“Kay.” I nodded, leaning my head against his arm—which was about as comfortable as a rock. If he was going to force me to sit on the edge of my seat, he might as well give me something to lean against.
He grumbled as I turned back to watch the other contestant finally emerge from the room below the arena. He was a big guy, dragging an even bigger sword behind him. When he drew near Yael, he looked pissed. Probably because they were forcing him to fight Yael. I’d be pissed too. He raised his sword as the gong sounded, and then tried to strike before Yael could speak, but it was no use. In half a click, he was laying the sword back down and stripping off his clothes. He ran toward the barrier, climbed over, and started running naked through the rows of laughing sols. Eventually, he ran right into a wooden post, and then fell down, unconscious. Apparently, Yael had grown tired of humiliating him.
The gathered sols cheered and laughed, louder than they had for any other fight, and Yael smirked, delivering them a bow before walking back to us.
“I’ll be next,” Siret predicted, as Yael pulled himself over the barrier and flopped carelessly down into Rome’s old seat.