Page 260 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

I stare at Scotty with my mouth agape and my eyes humungous as we sit momentarily motionless on our bikes, trying to form a new plan with the few seconds' reprieve Player 4 has given us by chasing the Champion around the arena like a madman. “B-bond her? E-Ezla?” I rasp out through my desert-dry throat.

“Yes,” Scotty replies evenly, as if this is a completely acceptable and achievable idea.

“Have you lost your damn mind?! You—you must be insane! We’ll die!”

I’d have to agree with Tiger; his older brother has lost his mind. There’s no way on earth we’ll attempt to bond the Champion and survive. She’s lethal, merciless. Not to mention, we all know we would have been mutilated during our earlier encounter if it weren’t for some grace of the universe pushing Ezla to play with us before crushing us beneath her boots . . . or wheels, I should say.

“And we’ll die for sure if we don’t.” Scotty’s voice is a little harder now. “Look at that.” His finger points to the large white numbers on the black box in the stands. “We have ten minutes. Ten minutes . . . before that countdown reaches zero. And then we’re dead. Every other damn Exot is bonded.”

Looking around, I realise he’s right: Bonded groups and pairs are now what make up the arena. No longer green against red, everyone is battling anyone trying to harm them or one of their Bonds.

It’s complete madness.

I pick out Troy and Aider in the mix, and through all the chaos, I realise they must have been too occupied themselves to actually attempt to destroy me in this Game like they’d silently—yet not so subtly in Troy’s case—promised.

Tiger’s expression sobers, yet I could swear there’s something eager in his eyes warring with the fear. “So our only chance at living to see tomorrow is bonding Ezla. Of . . . beating her.”

A nod.

“Impossible . . .” I breathe, ribcage rattling with the beats of my heart.

“No—this is how we win. We do this, and we’ll have the Champion on our side for the next seven weeks. We’ll live.” Scotty pauses. “This will decide everything.”

My body flushes hot and cold, my ears fuzzy, muffling his words.

Bond or die.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I give a sharp, determined dip of my chin as those words sink in. “We . . . we can do this. We can bond her.”

A resolute nod in return. “We can.”

“Hell yeah!” Tiger pipes up, his solemness from a moment ago replaced by the same resolve within me, along with a dollop of sunrays. “We can do this!” His hand whips out before him, palm facing the ground, arm extended. “Hands on top!”

Scotty shakes his head subtly but does as his brother says, slapping a hand down on the back of his. Mine follows a moment later, the appendage quivering.

Then Tiger tosses our hands up. “Powerpuff Girls for life!”

***

“Mine!”

Scotty hisses as he narrowly dodges the curved green blade coming from Player 4’s armoury stick. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Do you think he has any other words in his vocabulary?”

“I don’t fucking know, Tiger, and that’s not really my concern right now.”

“She’s mine, motherfuckers! Mine to love! Mine to fuck! Mine to keep—”

Tiger beams. “Oh, look—he does!”

Vroom!

Player 4’s head spins around faster than lightning, eyes following Ezla like a dog his favourite treat.

I choose that moment to snatch up one of my armoury sticks from my upper back, manifesting the energy in it into a spluttering curved blade, my other hand strangling the handlebar on the left side of my bike.

Focus, Alby! Command!