“Grace!” Hudson’s shout echoes across the field. “Get up! Get away from him, now!”
I want to, I really want to, but I can’t. The darkness is coming over me, swallowing me whole, and I’m fading, fading, fad—
But before I do, I turn my head just a little to get a glimpse of Hudson, and that’s when I see them—Macy and Jaxon and Hudson on the sidelines of an arena gone silent with shaken spectators.
Macy is standing by the fence that separates the field from the stands, screaming at the Circle.
Jaxon still looks half dead, but he’s got murder in his eyes as he rests both hands on the magical wall. He’s sending quakes of energy to unseat Cole, but the witch’s magic is holding and he’s only shaking the spectators instead.
And Hudson… Hudson is laser focused on me. His eyes are pinned to my face with an intensity that makes it impossible not to feel him and imagine him still in my head.
“Get that bloody wanker off you, Grace!” he orders me.
I don’t know if it’s the Britishism or the intensity of his voice, but suddenly it feels like he’s inside my head again instead of all the way across the stadium. Snarking at me to stand on my own two feet, telling me I’m a badass, that I’m stronger than I think. Pushing me to try again, to reach inside me for my platinum string. And this time, even though I know it’s too far, that I don’t have the strength to grab it, I strain my fingers just enough to brush against its soft glow.
And with my last ounce of breath, I shift my knee into solid stone—and shove it straight into Cole’s balls.
He yelps like a kicked puppy, and I’m not going to lie, a part of me is disappointed he doesn’t disappear instantly from a mortal injury. I’ll just have to comfort myself with the image of him limping for a bit, and regardless, his hands are no longer around my throat as he falls over to cup his injured flesh, and I can finally, finally breathe.
I roll onto my hands and knees, coughing my head off as I suck air into my oxygen-deprived lungs. I tell myself I need to get up, I need to keep moving, but there’s a part of me that knows it’s already too late.
Cam picked up the ball what seems like a lifetime ago. He’s won.
116
Death By Ice Cube
Is No Way to
Start an Obituary
But as I look around, my gaze slowly coming into focus, I realize not only has Cam not run down the field to the goal—their entire team is standing still. And staring at me.
If I’d hazard a guess, I’d think they were enjoying watching Cole choke me to death. Bastards. But now they’re staring openmouthed as Cole writhes around on the ground holding his hopefully busted junk, not sure what to do next.
Luckily, I have no such issues.
With every ounce of energy I can muster, I jump forward and shift, flying straight at Cam, my stone foot swinging under my body to connect with his to knock the comet free. But I needn’t have bothered, because as my foot draws near, he drops the ball and covers his privates. I was aiming for his chin, but whatever.
I swoop down and snag the ball before anyone else.
I’ve been playing defense since I got the ball at the very first second of the game, trying to figure out how to stay away from all the people I’m playing against instead of trying to figure out how to beat them.
But that stops right now.
Because there is no way in hell I’m putting myself in another position like the one I was just in. No way Cole is ever going to get his supernaturally strong werewolf fingers around any part of my anatomy ever again.
It’s time to even the playing field, and I’m just the gargoyle to do it.
My throat is still killing me, though, which makes it a lot harder to breathe than it should. Especially with a giant blue dragon on my ass, as Delphina was quick to recover from my snatch-and-grab and is already in the air, hot on my tail.
Delphina is faster than I am, and now she’s shooting solid chunks of ice my way—and while I may be immune to magic, I am not immune to a ten-pound block of ice slamming into my legs at incredible speeds. Gargoyles still shatter, after all.
And I like my legs exactly where they are…
Which means I have to do a whole lot of zigzagging and even more bobbing and weaving as I fly down the field. With this ridiculous ball vibrating more and more in my hands every second.
No freaking problem.
But there’s nothing like a near-death experience to keep a girl on her toes, so I just channel my inner snowboarder and try a whole lot of tricks I’ve never done before. Most of them turn out okay—I mean, it’s definitely function over form here, but the crowd doesn’t seem to mind, finally sounding like they’re on my side.
Especially when a giant piece of ice goes whizzing right by my head. Thank God. Death by ice cube is no heading for an obituary.
And not going to lie, Jaxon, Hudson, and Macy being here helps a lot. I didn’t know quite how alone I felt until I saw them standing there, trying to save me. Outraged on my behalf and cheering me on. Even if they couldn’t reach me, their wanting to made all the difference. It gave me the third wind I didn’t even know I was looking for.
I glance behind me as I race, race, race toward my goal. I know I’m not going to make it, though—it’s still too far away—which means I need another plan. I just wish I knew what it was.
My normal throwing the ball or dropping the ball isn’t going to work here, not with Delphina on my ass, just waiting so she can scoop it up and get back down the field with it. So instead of just letting it go, I grit my teeth and do a deep vertical dive down, down, down until I’m right next to Violet and Simone.
Then I drop the ball right into Violet’s hands.
She shrieks with surprise and takes off running, just like I anticipated. Simone, on the other hand, turns on me with an air spell, whipping the wind into a frenzy and sending it straight at me like a heat-seeking tornado that chases me right back down the field.
It’s moving fast—faster than I am, in fact—and it overtakes me a couple of times. Being caught in it feels like being stuck in a vortex, one that sucks away all the oxygen. And since I’ve already done the not-breathing thing tonight, I’m pretty much over it.
Still, I think I can use it if I play my cards right, so I don’t put too much effort into losing the tornado. Instead, I hold it close as I keep time with Violet, waiting for her to make the handoff to one of her teammates. It’s going to be Cam or Quinn—they’re the only ones really close to her—and I’d be lying if I said I was broken up at the idea of going head-to-head with either of those jerks.
As her time runs down, I slow just enough to lull her into a false sense of security, but to do that means letting Simone’s tornado catch up to me. So I do, taking a deep breath right before it overtakes me and holding it and holding it and holding it, even as the vortex spins around me.