by Rebecca Grey
The crowd around them claps while many boo as everyone else misses. Including Juilliard. He curses, stomping his foot against the white tile under him. The floor shakes. A scream cuts through the air to our left as the Dryad on Team Marcrux dangles from the lip of the platform, the tile under her gone.
Every team, except Team Riveria jumps into action, a tile dissolving to dust leaving them with just five spaces to stand on. Our platform shakes more violently and without even speaking, all of us reach out to hold onto someone. I lock arms with Hedda.
But it isn't my tile that dissolves. Under Sloane's feet, the black tile turns to ash. Her grip on her husband tightens and he wraps his arms around her in a blink. Her slender body melds to his and he smiles against her cheek. "I've got you, dear."
"Holy shit," I hiss.
Not only will my lack of ability act as an embarrassment, it could actually get one of us killed.
"Well, who wants to go next?" Juilliard chuckles dryly.
"Me." I step forward the missing tile to my right. "This might surprise you, but I'm pretty certain I'm not going to do well at this."
"You're right. I am shocked." Marcello responds. "For once you aren’t overflowing with pride."
Ignoring him, I squat and take a hold of a dart with both hands. "Be ready," I say. "We know how this miss is going to end now."
Juilliard shuffles to make room for me on his tile. Hedda moves to my empty tile, Marcello scooting to hers and Juilliard moving to his. They watch each other nervously as if even though I haven't thrown yet, the possibility of the floor collapsing under them is likely. Would any of them reach for me like Finnegan had for Sloane?
I hiss through my teeth as I lift the dart up. How could they pack so much weight into such a small dart? Like a hundred bricks, the dart and gravity fight against me as I yell and toss it with as much force as I can muster.
The dart leaves my fingers and makes a nose dive for the dirt so far below us. Other teams are tossing and scrambling or making the hoops and cheering. I no longer have time to watch them to see who's ahead and who's destined to fall. Not when a tile dissolves and wide eyed Hedda tries to move forward, her toes teetering on the edge, her arms waving in large circular motions.
I launch myself forward, latching onto her shirt and tugging her toward me. Her arm catches in a forward ark and her momentum meets mine, pulling both of us in opposite directions. Hedda tilts to Juilliard, taking his hand but my body topples. I hold in a scream, twisting and reaching.
I've nearly fallen from a building a time or two in my existence and today, in front of a crowd, is not the day that I finally make the drop. I twist, sharply and with a practiced speed. My rib cage smacks into the tile first. My vision dots, bursting with white stars. Agony leaves me in a breathless groan. My fingertips scramble for purchase against the slick tile.
Orc hands, large and green wrap around my forearms. Elf hands grab at my shirt, yanking me up at my shoulders. Then Vampire hands press against my back, keeping me from slipping any further.
"Take care of yourself, first. How can you help them if you're dead?" Marcello stares at me hard.
"I thought we were a team," I groan through the pain of my sutures against the tile’s edge.
"We are," he looks around, "but you're the fragile one."
Somewhere in the arena, other players are falling. The crowd is gasping or cheering and quite possibly both. And here I am, being tugged back up not by one but five sets of hands. Five Hybrids who aren't going to let me fall. Hedda balances on the tile, the darts at her feet. She nudges them with her heel, the small pile of them toppling over. One of them falls off the edge.
"Hedda!" I rasp.
Somehow my warning only startles her more, and with her weight she shifts, shoving the last of the darts off the platform with her heels. They land with a resounding thunk, thunk, thunk, against the ground far, far below.
Then I'm hurtling toward the ground.
We all are.
Free-falling.
I'm weightless. My limbs float in the air around me, reaching for something, anything... nothing. There's nothing but me and the five falling Hybrids around me.
Under us there is a deep dark hole where our platform had once been. How had they made it crumble? How had it turned to dust? Magic. But there aren't any real magic wielding Hybrids anymore. Not unless the king has a witch in his possession.
My mouth opens to release a scream that never comes. The idea of falling to my death is suddenly too welcoming. It's easier this way. Easier to just have been that one Human who played the games and made it farther than anyone else. I can be proud of that at least.
A hand still clutches my arm, holding me to the tiles that no longer exist. Through the rushing air, Marcello yanks me into the curve of his body. My back aligns with the hard muscles of his chest. At least I won't die alone, I think. At least he'll be there.
Marcello Torres. Beautiful and strong, stubborn and kind, and everything I told myself I'd never fall for. A Hybrid from The Oasis nonetheless. Now we're falling together.
I should have kissed him on that rooftop.
It's only been seconds. A few shrieks caught in the breeze from the moment the darts rolled from our platform and it dissolved into nothing all the way to impact. Marcello hits first, absorbing most of the shock. My teeth slam together and all my bones shake and rattle when I expect them to crunch.
I scream out as the impact reverberates inside of me, as his body crushes against my wound. The dust in the air clogs my lungs. Burning with every shallow inhale and coming out in rasping coughs. I don't open my eyes. I can't. I should be dead. Maybe I want to be dead.
Marcello moans and a wide hand brushes against my hair. His touch travels down to my chest. "She's breathing," he sighs.
I can hear movement, but all I can feel is Marcello's heartbeat frantically trilling inside of his chest. My ear is pressed over his heart. I manage to pull my limbs back into myself, wrapping around my torso, holding in the pain. I still don't open my eyes.
The soft brush of his fingertips trails back up to my head. He strokes my hair again and again. "Are you okay, love?" Marcello whispers against my forehead. "Have you been knocked silly? I'm not certain you've ever let me this close to you before."
The caress of fingers over my chin makes some of the pain fade as my face is tilted up. My lashes flutter as I force my eyes open. Even in the dark, something in Marcello's gaze glows. His dark hair, his tan skin practically blends in with the dirt and mud surrounding us.
"I'm not dead," I say, more stunned than anything.
"You're not dead," he laughs.
With a cough and another groan, I roll off his body. Dirt clings to my clothes, gathers in my hair and paints my skin as I lay at the bottom of the deep pit. Staring up, all there is to see is the large fluorescent lights of the arena. I can't see the crowd. They're still there, cheering. Sitting on their asses.
I pat myself over from my shoulders down to my feet. Everything’s there. I'm still in one piece. And it's all thanks to Marcello.
Sloane and Finnegan are the first to be standing. Checking each other over, looking for their weapons, and feeling the walls. All I can do is lay here. Marcello's warmth, his arm touching mine. I edge my hand over to his. My knuckles brush his and a fire travels up my arms.
I want to thank him. I want to kiss him.
I want to kiss him. The thought is like a shock to my system and I remember my regret as I fell. Blood rushes to my head as I sit up, pushing my hands into the ground beside me to hold myself steady. Hedda is already sitting, but her eyes are closed as mine had been.
"Watching your life flash before your eyes, Hedda?" I cough.
"Yes. I'm too young to die," she whines. One eye cracks open and she looks back at me.
"Me too,” I glance at Marcello. His hands have come to rest on his stomach. He lays still, blinking up at the lights overhead. "You good?"
"Better than ever." He offers a smil
e.
"Juilliard?" I try to lean around Hedda. "I think I popped a suture."
Juilliard sucks in a sharp breath. Hedda twists to look at him and I can finally see him around her curvy figure. He's curled into himself, holding his leg tightly. Somethings wrong. I look closer. He breathes heavily through his clenched teeth as he rotates his foot with his hands. That's when I see the bone, that's when I see the blood.
"You broke something," I say.
Marcello bolts up, two feet on the ground and standing. He searches the shadows, moving instantly to his friend. I pull my feet in to stay out of his way as he passes.
"I'm fine. I'll be fine." Juilliard waves his hand in the air in dismissal. "I broke my leg. Help me shove the bone back in place so that way it can start to set on its own while we're down in this mess."
"But you won't be healed enough to walk on it," I say it though we all know it. I look up. “Or to climb.”
"No." Bitterness is like poison in his voice. "I won't."
"Is anyone else broken?" I ask, looking around.
Finnegan shakes his head. "Sloane and I are fine."
"I'm fine too. Just a massive, massive headache. I think I might have landed on Juilliard's leg." Hedda sighs, though she doesn't sound sorry at all.
"You did," Juilliard growls.
Marcello grips Juilliard's foot with one hand and holds the broken bone with the other. "One, two..." Without the count of three, the bone slips back through the break of flesh with a wet sound until it grinds against its other half.
Juilliard's head falls back as he shouts. The roar of his pain drowns out the buzzing of a camera as it lowers into our pit. I watch it as it floats down to us.
With sweat trickling down his forehead, Juilliard looks at me. His cheeks are pink and his forehead wrinkles as his brows pinch tightly together.
"How. Are. You. Not. Broken?" he asks as if he expected it to be me, not him in this situation.
My throat bobs. "Marcello broke my fall."
"Of all the times I had your back, friend." He flicks his brown eyes up to Marcello, who sits next to him with bloody hands. "You'd think that one time you could have had mine. It would have been nice to have you catch me instead."
I think he means it as a joke, but there is little humor in his voice. Marcello still chuckles and clasps his friend on the shoulder. "I appreciate you more than you know." Then he leans down and whispers something that's lost to me in Juilliard’s ear.
What does he say? Why do I want to know what he's saying so badly?
"What do we do now?" Hedda picks her gun up from the dirt. Her cheeks puff and shrink as she huffs a large breath out onto her gun to blow off the dust. She looks down the barrel and into the sights, aiming her gun at the camera. Maybe she'll shoot it. I hope she does.
She lowers the barrel to the ground and looks at me, offering a hand. My palm in hers looks small. My fingers squeeze together as she wraps hers around mine and tugs me to standing.
Reaching out, small rocks and mud walls create a crumbling texture under my touch. My gaze follows the steep walls up and up and up. Every so often, pale rocks jut out and break up the dark brown muck. The chill of the smooth stone in front of me makes a shiver travel over my skin. Goosebumps form as I touch each rock I see, taking note of the distance between this one and the next.
Finnegan plucks an arrow from his quiver, fitting it into his bow. He aims for the top of the hole but does not shoot. His bow whines as he slowly releases the tension and spins toward Marcello. "You still got that rope?"
"Obviously." The rope at his side is coated, nearly plastered to his thigh with mud, but Marcello unties it from his belt and offers it to Finnegan. "I knew this would come in handy."
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Getting us out of here before something worse happens. I'd hate to find out that we're meant to be a meal for some sort of wormy creature."
His fingers work quickly, wrapping and tying the rope to the end of his arrow. He gives it a good tug, fitting the arrow once more and taking aim. Marcello sets his hand on his shoulder. "Once you lose or break an arrow, that's all you have for the remainder of the events. How many arrows do you have?"
Finnegan's lips flatten into a thin line. Sloane steps closer. The Vampire sighs loudly and answers, "I have six arrows."
"Do you think your arrow will sink deep enough? Do you think it'll hold our weight to allow us to climb?" I push. I don't believe that's true. I don't think it'll hold.
"What else are we going to do?" Sloane steps between me and her husband.
"Well." Marcello walks around the couple kicking his feet with every step. His half-crooked smile and the way his eyes pin on me holds me still as I wait for what he'll say next. "We do have one other option."
"And?" Hedda steps next to me. Does she feel the way Marcello turns predator too? Every step he gets closer claws sink into my abdomen, gripping and twisting tight.
His muscles shift under his warrior’s garb. I clench my thighs. Marcello's grace conceals the monster underneath. I want to undress him. Unleash him.
"No." The word comes out short and clipped and far too fast.
His smile widens. "It seems this climb requires someone with a very specific set of skills." He steps closer and I can feel my heart leap into my throat. "You."
"What's the Human going to do?" Sloane slides her gaze to me.
"Why don't we just try Finnegan's arrow thing first? I'm sure it'll hold." I shrug with a mock casualty.
"No. Can you…Can you make this climb, Nilsa?" Finnegan asks. "'I'd rather conserve my arrows. This event only gets bloodier the further we go."
I look to Juilliard. He sits quietly, holding his bones in place. His face a stark white against the shadows surrounding him. Of all of them, Juilliard should be on my side on this one. He doesn't trust me to do crap, much less be the one that our team depends on. I've already failed them twice with my pride. I can't do it again. I won't do it again. Juilliard just stares back, tight lipped and without argument. Whole lotta good that does me.
I lift my chin slowly, looking back up at the climb ahead. Can I make that climb? Yes, I probably can. And Marcello knows I probably can. Did he see me cling to the slight unevenness of the stones of the wall between The Bend and The Oasis? Had he known I was coming long before I actually made it to the top?
Warmth circles my hand. My arm raises and a fire licks up my body at his touch. Marcello cups my hand in his. I stare down at my fingers laid carefully in his palm. The touch makes my chest ache and I can't tear my eyes away. The smallest, simplest form of physical contact making me suddenly aware of how badly I want to be held. Especially now. Especially in the middle of all of this fucking mess.
I lift my gaze. "I can make the climb."
His perfect white teeth sink into his bottom lip. The press of his hands against mine as his grip tightens makes all my muscles go taunt. "And that's why I picked you, love."
"Once I make it to the top and toss down the rope, you'll have to carry up the gimpy one." I point to Juilliard. His eyes remain closed, but he lifts his hands and gives me an obscene gesture that makes me smile.
"I think I can handle that." His hand drops from mine and my gaze follows it to his side. Whatever this is, this needy thing inside of me, I don't like it. I didn't ask for it and I don't want it. Nothing needs to exist between Marcello and I. Nothing should exist between us.
Marcello holds his hand out to Finnegan who's already worked to untie the rope from his weapon. He winds the rope again and again from his fist to his elbow until it's worked back into a manageable hoop.
"Undo your belt and I'll slip this on for you and you're all ready to go." He points to my hips.
I peel my shirt up. A slender trickle of blood pools in my bandage and in the clear wrap Juilliard forced around my ribs. The Elf doesn't say a word about it, but his teeth grind together in an almost audible crunch.
I force my fingers not to tremble as I undo the l
eather that holds my dagger to me. Keeping it snug against my body, I hold out one open end and Marcello slips the rope on. His fingers gently grazing the skin just over my hip bone. The rope pats against my thigh, a new weight added. His hands slip away from my skin too quickly and I find myself still thinking about every touch.
As if this is the time, I curse myself. As if ever is the time.
Maybe that fall had done something more to me. Maybe that fall had scared the sense right out of me. Or perhaps it's the way that I thought my life was finally ending that makes me feel like right now... Right now I want to live. I want to live for more than the climb of this event, for more than just being the puppet that pulls the trigger on the prince and the king. I want to love, laugh, and find some fucking way to be happy too.
I can't dwell on that now. So I ignore the way my heart skips a beat and my skin hums where Marcello's fingers touched. I slide the leather belt back into place. It takes all of me not to look back at Marcello, not to look at any of them.
Circling the bottom of the pit, I run my hand over every bump of the surrounding walls, searching up and down to find a pattern in the rocks. A pattern that I can mostly easily climb. Even the spaces where each jutting rock from the wall is a stretch, I'm confident I can make it. Hell, if Finnegan is willing to get rid of his arrows I might even have been able to scale just the thick mud using those to leverage my weight.
I stop, curling my fingers around the first stone in my reach. Muscles tense through my arms, across my shoulders and down my back. Hoisting myself up with my upper body strength alone, I stretch for the next rock. And then the next and the next until my boots find purchase against their own stones. I don't look down.
Mud presses into my torso. The chill of it is soothing against my burning stitches. Underneath me my team is quiet. I don't know if that is a good or bad thing. Hopefully good. Hopefully they're in awe.
My core tenses as I balance by the tip of my toes and the curl of my fingertips. Pain in my side makes every breath feel forced. Every breath is daggers in my side.