Page 143 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

Skin stiff from dried tears, my chin snaps up at the sound of hurried, forceful footsteps approaching.

Cooper’s face has turned sheet white, and from the looks of him, there’s no way he’ll be able to stay on his feet for more than a few seconds longer. “Is she—”

His voice breaks, but understanding at his state has already hit me, and I quickly say, voice unsteady but the most even and soothing I can make it at this very moment, “She’s alive, Cooper. Exhausted, but alive.” Swallowing, I continue when I see he’s struggling to believe me, hardly calmed a fraction, “Feel her through the bond, Cooper. She’s there.”

A few tense seconds pass by.

When his shoulders slump and he lets out a choked breath, bringing his gloved palm up to his mouth, I murmur, “But we do have to get her to the infirmary. She’s lost too much blood.”

Stiffening again, he rushes the rest of the way over to us, crouching down to cup Ezla’s head. “Fuck. Shit. Then what the bloody hell are we waiting for? Let’s get her the fuck out of here.”

***

The nurses and doctors in here never ask questions other than what’s necessary—but they definitely gave us a mix of odd and wide-eyed looks when we burst into the infirmary blood-soaked and with an unconscious Champion in our arms several hours ago.

Now, after the nurses insisted we be patched up for our much less serious injuries, my brothers and I sit around our Bonded’s bed as she lies on her back without a twitch.

“She’s been in this position far too often lately,” Tate rumbles darkly from where he sits in one of the chairs we were provided with this time, and I’m slightly concerned he’s about to blow up and destroy the entire infirmary. His always-intense gaze burrows into Ezla’s flesh as he rests his elbows on his spread thighs and squeezes his large fists together as if he’s debating using them on the first person to irritate him.

I myself am finding it difficult to settle on one single feeling. Front and centre is of course worry for Ezla, and I fully agree with Tate that she’s been in a vulnerable state like this way too much recently. That of course brings the familiar guilt over not being able to protect her, but I remind myself that my Bonded would want to throttle me if she were able to hear my thoughts right now as well as the fact that I couldn’t have done anything. And there’s also the love, the adoration I felt weaving through the terror when she tried her best to protect us the entire time in that room. That room where, just moments before an even worse disaster struck, a sickening video that turns my stomach at just the thought of it was playing on the big screen. Seared into my mind, I want to watch Cooper sink that blade through Joseph’s skull all over again for it. And that brings me to the next thing:

Joseph . . . the Game Master . . . is dead.

Gone.

He’s here no longer, and I’m struggling to understand the impact. No one knows but us, and I don’t have a fucking clue how we’ll break the news, what will happen now, what our next steps are . . . It’s all way too much to deal with right now. I can only concentrate on so much at a time, and as unfair as it is, only Ezla’s intelligence, her knowledge surrounding The Bonding Games, can get us out of this mess. But I’m . . . Holy fucking shit am I glad Joseph is dead. That much I can tell. The monster who’s tortured my Bonded for eighteen years, who’s committed sickening crimes that would make even the most ruthless criminals shrink back . . . he can no longer hurt her.

Ezla is free.

And that’s what has me unable to respond to Tate right now as I stroke a palm over our Bonded’s freshly cleansed forehead—we’ve spent our time washing her with soft damp towels while she’s been out, and her skin’s now spotless.

Spotless other than for that ever-present scar that didn’t disappear with Joseph’s death.

I knew the Avri wouldn’t just vanish—it is energy, after all—but it’s yet another thing plaguing me. Ezla’s fucking stunning, unreal no matter what, but that crimson slash holds horrific memories and meaning, and I know she despises it for that very reason. Because of that, I want it gone for her, but it’s one more thing I don’t have a solution for.

And that reminds me of another one of the billion thoughts spiralling around in my head: The fucking Showmaster. Peter. We didn’t even get what we went to the penthouse for.

And then there’s Joseph’s words.

But it will be too late. By then, the tablets will be ready to go.

Fuck. This is all too fucking much. Killing Joseph was meant to fix all our problems, and it’s damn well fixed a lot of them, but there’s also so fucking many left over.

Scrubbing my free hand over my face, I rub my thumb and forefinger into my eyes as—

“Bonded.”

My eyes fly open in time with the sharp inhales that rush through the air.

“Love.” The word is choked-up, and I can’t tell if I’m about to break down in tears or smile the widest smile I’ve ever formed.

“Ezla!” Alby throws himself at her, clinging onto her waist.

Tiger flattens himself on top of the two of them with a half-cried, half-sobbed cheer of, “Ezzy!” and I hear the wind get knocked out of her. But she only brings her hands up to rest on the backs of their heads while Tate joins in with a gravelly sound made deep in his chest like he’s unable to get his larynx to work right, taking her hand and pressing her knuckles to his lips.

“Hey, Vengeance,” Cooper breathes out, the softest I’ve ever heard him. He, too, appears like he can’t decide how to feel in this moment with all the shit that everyone knows isn’t over, but his joy eventually wins out, and he grins in a way I’ve definitely not seen on him before either, the look only coming close to the one he wore after Ezla told us she loved us. He looks so much lighter than usual in this moment, almost cheerful, the faint lines of his normally slightly grumpy-looking face smoothed out, actual tears of joy in his eyes, and I don’t think it was only our Bonded who needed the time to learn how to be truly happy over the weeks.

Cupping the back of her neck from where he sits on my right, Cooper leans in to press a firm kiss to the forehead that turns his way. Pulling back only a few inches to keep himself close to her, he murmurs, breath hitching, “We did it, HC. We fucking did it. He’s gone.”