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She froze—she got it. I had only a tiny window to act before we looked too obvious. I threw the stars in quick succession. The first I threw at her head and breathed a sigh of relief as it skimmed her hair. The second hit her foot and stuck there.
She made the tiniest shocked whimper, and I had to purse my lips against the emotion. I had to be strong. We could do this.
It was her turn to act, but she wasn’t, so I stalked toward her, hoping to make it easier for her. I shoved her, then shoved again. Come on, Emma, fight.
I grabbed her hair and pulled her down hard, making like I was kneeing her in the gut. I tugged back up, and she didn’t need to fake the sound of pain. I hissed in her ear, “A real friend would fight me. ” I hated to do it, but I had to goad her to action or she really would be killed.
Emma flinched back, and finally I saw fi
re in her eyes. She lunged toward me and slashed at my thigh, managing to tear only the fabric and scrape the skin in the most superficial of wounds that also happened to draw a dramatic amount of blood. She’d been using a Buck knife since she was little and she was good. Thank God.
I realized the crowd was chanting, “Knife, knife, knife. ”
The sound turned my blood cold. I guessed I had some real fans in the audience. Not.
Emma’s eyes had narrowed—she was finally feeling the battle lust, and for a surreal moment, I believed it. I believed she’d turned on me. That she wanted to kill me.
It made me feel so alone.
I had to glance at the crowd. I had to. I had to see Carden and feel some sort of support. I looked to the audience, but my eyes lit on Ronan instead. He stood close by, looking like he might spring into the ring and intervene. I had to look away.
Then I spotted him. Carden. He looked calm. I’d be calm, too.
Staring back at Emma, I squatted to pull out my other star, flexing my thigh as I did, encouraging the blood to flow where she’d slashed me. I stood and sprang toward her, pretending a slight limp. I threw as I ran, as lightly as I could, hitting her in the belly. I hoped it was shallow enough not to do any damage. I’d had to do something—it’d look too suspicious if I hit her in the foot again.
Weaponless now, I grabbed her and we began to grapple. I spun, trying to flip her in a move we’d practiced a thousand times in our sparring. She slashed, and her knife sliced my butt.
I shouted, shocked at the pain. It was technically one of the “safe” places to be injured, but man it stung. I stumbled backward.
My uniform leggings were soaked with blood. Emma left red footprints on the floor of the ring as blood oozed from her abdomen and foot. We couldn’t take much more of this.
I needed to end it.
I didn’t give myself a chance to think twice. I just ran for her and swatted her hand. Her knife went flying. With its scalloped grip, I knew she’d never have let that thing go so easily, but I had to pretend to disarm her to make my strangulation more convincing.
We grappled, and I put a foot behind hers to trip her. We fell, and I let her roll on top of me. Here it came. We made like we were wrestling, but we had to make it quick. Anything more and it’d look too staged, too fake.
She slammed my shoulders down, and for a moment my head swam for real with the impact. I felt her hands wrap around my neck. Her eyes locked with mine, and I detected the slightest twitch in her eyelids. I twitched mine back. Do it, Emma. We were in this together. Friends forever.
Time to let my bestie kill me.
She squeezed, and panic swelled. I tried to suppress it. This was pretend. I’d be all right. We’d both come out alive. I had to trust her. I did trust her.
But still, cold panic and solitude began to swallow me. I was alone. I was being choked to death.
Not alone, I told myself. I tilted my head to catch another glimpse of Carden, standing at the edge of the gym. His strawberry-blond head rose above the rest as he waited for the moment I might need him.
I wouldn’t be afraid. I trusted Emma. Trusted Carden.
I pretended to writhe, but she pinched harder. Even though I’d pushed away the panic, as my vision dimmed, I began to writhe for real. My deep-seated animal instincts flared to life—I couldn’t suppress those. I didn’t need to act out the hammering of my heels against the ring, the gasping of my mouth, automatic, like a fish out of water.
I let go. Forcefully, I crushed every one of my instincts. I suppressed my all-consuming urge to survive. I let it all go.
I blacked out.
The first thing I felt was cool air in my nostrils, filling my lungs. It felt so good, tasted so good.
My eyes fluttered open. I felt Carden, but I saw Ronan. Fury distorted his features. I didn’t understand. Was he angry I was dead? I willed him to look at me so he could see I was alive.
