“That’s your advice?”
“When we spar, you let me hit you like you’ll be able to shake anything off. A good slug from Mr. Chivalry will knock you out. Stay light. Dodge.”
Pippin stepped close. “Chase. I’m going on the record as saying this is suicide.”
“Noted.” Chase stared into his boyishly cute face. “You’re next.”
His laugh was short and dismissive. “Like I’d get in the ring.”
“I forgot. You would never fight with me.” Tears burned at the edge of her eyes, and he could see them.
Pippin chewed his bottom lip and shrugged. “It’s not worth it.” She tried to turn her back, but he grabbed her arm. “Tell me why this is worth it. Why prove he can beat the bones out of you?”
“Because I can take it,” she snapped. “And he should know that.” Tristan should know she wasn’t some weakling who would pout if she lost. She could take whatever he could dish out, including being beaten by him—if that had to be the case.
Pippin tried to catch her arm again, but she pulled away. He ducked out of the ring.
Chase watched Tristan from across the mat while Sylph worked her shoulders like a trainer. Tristan’s beautiful sophomore stood behind him on the other side of the rope, and Chase just about threw up when the girl finger-combed his hair and spoke into his neck. Tristan nodded, rolling up his sleeves to show off notable arms.
Chase hoisted a sigh. She’d spent too much energy trying to ignore his body, his blue-eyed stare. The way his sharp cheekbones juxtaposed an entrancing mouth. His elements added up into one striking truth: the boy was magnetic.
“Wake up, Nyx.” Sylph gave her a quick slap. “You’re staring Arrow down, and not in the ‘I’m going to kill you’ way.”
“He’s hot. I’m not imagining that, am I?”
Sylph grimaced. “He is. It’s an unfortunate reality. Long hair on a boy has about a ninety-eight point two percent chance of being ugly. But he’s somehow weaseled himself into the remainder.”
“Great. At least I’m not crazy.”
“We’re not ugly either. Keep that in mind.” Only Sylph could pull off blatant immodesty. “I don’t like to admit that you rock this sort of badass girl look. But. You do.”
“Did you just give me a compliment?”
“You get one for the year. Hold on to it.” Her brown eyes narrowed on Chase, and she leaned in close. “I can’t believe he let you win. That’s really got to burn.”
Chase smacked her gloves together. “I’m already keyed up, Sylph. Let me take him.”
Sylph ducked out of the ring, hitting the tiny bell on the wall as she passed. Tristan stopped talking to his fan club long enough to give her a heavy look. It swung between apology and pity. Was that why he’d let Chase win? He felt sorry for her?
“Rules?” he asked.
“None. Say ‘uncle’ when you can’t take any more.”
“Done.”
Chase found out fast that he wasn’t afraid to hit her. His first punch grazed her shoulder. Threw her into a spin. She came back and connected with his jaw, happy to hear a grunt. Pushing forward, she aimed for his guts. His nose. She went after all his soft spots until she was winded, which seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for.
He popped her in the face. She fell, and he pinned her chest to the mat, his body against her back. The room was a mutiny of voices.
“We don’t have to be enemies, Chase.” His breath was in her ear. Raspy and tight—the way boys gasped when kissing went beyond lips on lips. She closed her eyes and focused on the fight, but something deep responded to his closeness and the very personal press of his weight. This wasn’t the time…not in the slightest.
“You let me win,” she insisted, more to keep herself angry than anything else.
“You could have crashed. You ignored your RIO. You wouldn’t have stopped until both of you were knocked out, as good as dead.” She tried to twist free, but Tristan pulled her arms tighter, pushed her harder into the mat. “Didn’t you hear him pleading with you to stop?”
Chase threw Tristan off, more angered by the truth than he could ever have imagined. She actually thought she saw red. At the very least, she could taste it.
“Guts have costs,” she heard herself say. They were Tourn’s words, his barked mantra from the summer she’d spent at his base, incessantly running drills. Endlessly pushing herself to the limit for his attention.
She jabbed, but Tristan slipped past her glove, driving an arm down on her elbow and landing a right hook to her stomach. Cheers rose as the whole ring spun.
“Listen to me,” Tristan began. They weren’t against the mat anymore. The nearest people in the crowd, the ones really listening, could definitely hear. “Whatever your faulty sense of accomplishment, guts shouldn’t cost your RIO his life.”
Chase looked at Pippin and saw that he’d heard. He closed his eyes slowly and winced.
Tristan hit her when she wasn’t looking. Not hard, but right in the face. She closed her eyes and shook her head. He leaned in and held on to her with his tight arms. “And you know what? You’re a bad pilot when you’re mad, Chase.”
He stepped back, and she gasped. Everything else was up for question. Her character, her morals. Her intelligence. Not her flying. Never her flying.
It was all she had.
“You asshole.”
“We’re done here,” Tristan said. He was about to say “uncle.” To let her win again.
She lunged. Stepped right into Tristan’s hammer of a punch.
And dropped like a broken-winged bird.
23
HAWK CIRCLE
Looking to Land
The alarm sounded every hour.
“Chase.” Pippin shook her awake on the top bunk. It was only around two, and it felt like they had been doing this drill forever. The room tilted as she sat up. He handed her a glass of water, and she took a few sips. “Arrow should be doing this. He’s the one who gave you a concussion.”