Arena (16 page)

The arena.

T
he stadium smelled of death, and of victory.

The crowd roared as the undertaker dragged my latest victim—I mean, opponent—away. The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Sand swirled between my toes as I stood alongside my favorite ally: the wind. It whipped black strands of hair around my face and in my eyes. I let it. In moments of bliss, you just don't care.

I closed my eyes and basked in the sounds around me. The clanking chains of the undertaker. The chanting mob.
Kali, Kali, Kali.
Then, above it all, I heard something else. Four simple words that clenched my rib cage around my heart.

“You come here often?”

I froze at the sound of the familiar male voice that twisted my lips into a scowl. Then I forced the grimace off my face and turned to him. Rooke stood behind me in his battle gear, short sword in each hand, ready to join in a fight. What the hell was this guy thinking? Only hours ago, he'd practically spit in my face over the sleeping pills, and now he was ready to fight alongside me.

The wind whispered in my ear.
Cut his fucking head off.

Or maybe that was just my subconscious.

Still, a grin touched the corner of my lips. The sword in my hand. His bare neck. Maybe it was time for an introduction.

“This is
my
simulation,” I said. “You can leave.”

Rooke took a few steps toward me. The exit was the other way. “Give me a chance. I had my programmer cook up a little something for you.”

The gates opened around, and six gladiators stepped out, surrounding us on all sides. At least they were average-size men and not giants.

“Oh, look,” I said, speaking in a computerized voice. “Now we will have to fight as a team.”

Rooke frowned and shook his head at my sarcasm.

Guess this was his way of making amends over the sleeping-pills incident. And honestly, a unique battle simulation wasn't a bad effort. Well, for a girl like me. Most boyfriends bought their girls flowers or jewelry to apologize. Mine had given me an arena full of virtual opponents. A chance to test my fighting skills. Of course, most girls had real boyfriends. Or, a real relationship, at least.

We went back-to-back, his skin pressing against mine. Heat emanated from him, baked in the glowing sun. His muscles moved across mine as he rotated his swords with his wrists. I smiled at the sensation.

Wait, wasn't I still mad at him?

The horde closed in from all sides, weapons drawn, death in every eye. Rooke spoke over his shoulder to me.

“You nervous?”

“No.” I smiled at the approaching men. “I'm hungry.”

Rooke made a sound in the back of his throat. A sort of grunt I could only describe as stunned approval.

“With this many,” he began, when he found his voice again, “we'll need to take some out fast to contain the fight.”

“We'd do even better if we ran ahead and met these ones first,” I told him, pointing at the three men in front of me.

“We?”

I glanced back as I started to run. “If you can keep up.”

He did.

He caught up to my side in seconds, just as we reached the trio of attackers.

As I ran, I dropped to my knees and slid, like I was surfing, spraying
up waves of sand. Skidding past the first opponent, I lashed out with my sword, slicing through his calf. He cried out and stumbled face-first into the ground. I pounced on his back and slammed my blade through his spine. He grunted and went limp.

I turned around to find Rooke fighting the other two at once. One had his back to me. Oh, this was just too easy. I jumped up on his back, rocked his head back, and ripped through his neck with my sword. He crumpled to the ground.

Two down, one to go.

I circled around Rooke and the remaining attacker as sword clanged against sword. Rooke deflected every move with ease. Damn, he had skill. The muscles in his arms rippled with each strike. Yup, could definitely watch that all day long.

Rooke went down on one knee and smashed the side of his opponent's leg with the hilt of his sword. The fighter screamed as his bone broke through the skin. He landed hard on his back, arms flailing as he wailed with pain. Rooke pulled back and motioned for me to take the kill.

“Ladies first.”

He had the audacity to give me a cocky grin.

I grinned back.

Pressing a foot into the enemy's chest, I gripped my sword with both hands and slammed it through his heart. A puff of air wheezed out of his lungs, and his eyes glazed over.

Around us, the crowd screamed with delight, pounding their feet into the stands until the stadium itself came alive with its own pulsing heartbeat.

I yanked my sword out of the latest victim and looked for Rooke, who had started toward the remaining three warriors. He glanced back and nodded, signaling me to join him in the fight. I judged the distance between me and him, and the warriors closing in. Thirty feet. Then twenty. I shook my head.

“Kneel down.”

Rooke's brow furrowed, like he didn't understand the command. I bolted for him, full speed.

“Kneel.”

The word ripped from my mouth like a battle cry. He knelt, back toward me, shielding his head with one arm. I ran up his back and pushed off his shoulder. I flew, right over the three men. On my descent, I spun in the air, sword out. I became a whipping blade, cutting through my enemies' backs like putty. I landed behind them in a crouching stance, one hand on the ground, one gripping my sword out and to the side.

Perfect ten? Thank you, judges.

I remained crouched as I listened to the wet, slopping sound of my opponents' body parts raining down behind me until the last hit the ground.

Silence.

The world froze in that moment. Sand sprinkled the air around me. The wind looped through my hair and swirled around my figure. I took a breath. Cool, clean air pumped through my lungs. I smiled.

Perfection.

Nowhere was better than the arena.

The crowd roared as they leapt to their feet. Glory rushed through my veins. I pushed up to my feet and presented myself to the mob, soaking in their applause. Applause that was mine.

Over the pile of dead bodies, Rooke stood eyeing me with a cocky grin and his eyebrows raised, the look a man gets when he's turned on. Given our recent fight, I thought I'd be disgusted. But I couldn't ignore the ego boost I felt instead.

I placed a hand on my hip, remaining casual. “You impressed?”

He rubbed the shoulder I'd pushed off from and shrugged. “No. More surprised than anything. I didn't think you'd weigh that much.”

My mouth fell open as a flash of anger exploded inside. Rooke grinned and walked away, arrogance swirling around him like a genie's puff of smoke. As I watched him leave, his unguarded back taunted me. The sword itched in my hand. My eyes narrowed on target.

I went for it.

Moving across the sand like the wind, Rooke didn't hear my approach until I was inches away. He spun around and brought his sword up just in time to block my swing.

The crowd erupted around us.

We stood there, locked in the moment. Our eyes pinned on one another, his glinting with curiosity. His shoulders moved with heavy breaths as he watched me, waiting for my next move. And I had one. Plenty of them.

I snapped forward, knocking an unsuspecting Rooke back half a step. His guard dropped and I punched him hard across the jaw. His head turned sideways from the blow and took longer than it should have to turn back. When he looked at me, wiping a dribble of blood away from his lip, I thought I'd see anger on his face. I didn't. Fire erupted in his eyes. I'd fueled him. Unleashed the beast.

He grinned wickedly and came for me.

Sword met sword again and again in an endless battle. We mirrored each other. Move-for-move, foot-for-foot. A dance, in which neither led nor followed. Balanced. Even.

Then the blazing sun seared my eyes just as he swung. I caught the blade with my own but stumbled and fell. The second I hit the ground, he was on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. I struggled beneath him.

He glanced between us. “Now, here's something I haven't tried digitally before.”

He grinned as he pressed down harder, and our lower halves melded together. I grunted in protest and wriggled again, discovering more of his weight rested on his right side. Victory. I hooked my leg around his left knee and rolled. He went easy and landed on his back with a grunt. This time, I grinned as I peered down at him.

“A virtual virgin, huh?” I said. “I wouldn't waste your time in here, but they have programs for that in the back rooms of strip clubs,
if
you can afford it.”

He grinned. “I prefer most things the traditional way.” He glanced between us and back up at my eyes. “This isn't bad, though. Can't say I'm surprised you like being in control.”

I laughed. “You couldn't handle me.”

“Couldn't handle who? A role model for young women?”

My grin fell, and I felt like punching him in the face for real. A sickening sensation slid through my stomach as I slammed back to reality while
still in the virtual space. Damn it. I was here to elude the pressures of the real world. Was there nowhere to find peace? Nowhere left to escape?

“Fuck you.”

He reached for me. “Being a role model is a good thing. I didn't mean—”

I scowled, pulled off him, and marched toward the arena's exit. The crowd booed. Standard programming. Suddenly, I hated standard programming.

A computerized voice echoed overhead as I walked out of the arena.

Simulation complete.

I opened my eyes to the pod's shimmering opal core. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if the air were draining from every finger and toe. It didn't help. As much as I tried to push my emotions away, the darkest ones kept resurfacing. Guilt. Anger. Betrayal. Virtual or real, Rooke's words had struck home.

When my pod opened, Rooke was already gone. I sat on the edge for a while, between the gateways of the real and the digital. This was a game. It was supposed to be fun. I'd tried so hard to make it that way for the team, but I no longer felt it myself.

—

I spent the rest of the week studying our opponents, prepping the team, and trying to sleep in between. While my teammates were living it up in the clubs and sneaking in bouts of classic video games in the rec room, I was straining to keep my meals in my stomach and my eyelids open, which conveniently only happened when I lay down to sleep. By that Saturday, the team was more than ready to kick ass and take this tournament home.

I was a train wreck.

For tonight's matchup, Hannah and Derek had run ahead to the enemy's tower while Rooke and Lily guarded our own. I was the middleman. The middleman did exactly that. Stood guard in the middle, taking out attackers as they advanced. Available to run forward or back depending on how the game fared. Offense or defense, on demand.

The field ahead of me crunched, northwest of where I stood. Still
crouching, I skirted through the stalks until I was parallel with the sound. I hunched down, drawing my dagger from its sheath. A single opponent appeared as fractured glitches of armor between the stalks.

He never saw me.

As he passed, I lashed out and sliced through his calf tendon. He yelped as went down on one knee. I jumped up, wrapped a hand over his mouth, and slit his throat. He crumpled to the ground instantly.

Easy kill. I should be a freaking spy. Maybe next year, they'd introduce an assassin game into the VGL tournaments.

Something crunched behind me, hard and rough. Another opponent. I ducked just as an axe whooshed over my head. I came back up and met his blade with my own. Metal met metal as we danced through the fields. Stalks whipped around us, slashing at my ankles and calves. A few hit my face. I ignored the sharp stings, trying to focus on the fight. My opponent phased between blurry and clear, the beige tones of his skin blending in with the sepia fields around him. I blinked and shook my head. My vision went hazier. Damn it.

His sword caught my thigh, slicing a deep gash between my hip and knee. I cried out, unable to stifle the pain. Using the injury, I feigned a fall, hooked my good leg around his ankle, pushed. He fell.

I pounced on him the second his back hit the ground and sunk my sword into his chest. Steel sliced through tanned skin to the deep red beneath, like cutting open a cherry pie. Air rushed out of his lungs. Limbs collapsed at his sides. Eyes glazed over.

Dead.

He didn't suffer.

I collapsed to my knees and rested my forehead against the hilt of the sword, panting. My chest tightened. Breaths went in and out but provided no oxygen. Since when was I so tired after a basic fight? I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. It's okay. You're okay.

Everything is fine.

A computerized voice echoed overhead.

Match complete.

I gripped the edge of my pod with shaking hands and pulled myself to
my feet. My stomach lurched, and my head swam, but I managed to stay standing. On the screen above the pod doors, Howie and Marcus beamed.

“What a match. Defiance advances and Celestial Elite goes home. While there are still several more rounds to go in the losers' bracket, the winners' bracket is quickly coming to an end . . .”

Several more rounds before the championship. I could make it.

I had to make it.

Hannah appeared beside me, bouncing as if she had a pogo stick crammed up her ass.

“Hey. Great match,” she said, brimming with energy. Must have been adrenaline from the fight. “Which club are we hitting tonight?” But as she gave me the once-over, her expression fell, and she stopped bouncing. “Are you all right?”

I smiled. “Yeah. I just need something to drink.”

She laughed. “After the conference, we'll party. Hard.”

Good. I needed it.