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His breath skates over my lips, and I want to wrap my hand at the back of his neck and bring his lips down on mine once more. Instead, I nod back, knowing I have mere moments before the match is to begin. With that, we part, and I already miss the warm press of his defined chest against me.
He holds my gaze a moment longer before turning to climb the steps beside us. He pauses up the steps, giving me a look so chalked full of raw emotion, need, and desire, it makes my knees weak.
Maximus finishes his assent, joining my father and the rest of the guys in a sectioned-off area just above me. All of them sending looks of derision towards the council members seated just on the other side of the stone partition separating the two sections of the private box.
I turn, unable to focus on the gods anymore, and take a deep breath, steeling myself as I look out over the field. Most of the pairs have already separated into their rings and are getting warmed up. Shit, I got so caught up in all the back, and forth, I’m really cutting it close to the wire now. I spot number twenty-nine with relative ease. Thanking whatever power is looking out for me that I don’t have to sprint across the field just to make it there in time. I do, however, jog over there, taking a few extra turns just to warm my muscles up.
On my way, I eye my opponent William, sizing him up. He stands in the middle of the ring, tapping his foot impatient, his gaze darting around the field, clearly searching for his opponent. I slow my pace and saunter over to him, my lips tilting up in a grin. If he’s so desperate for an opponent, I’ll give him one. I won’t let the council intimidate me by placing me against one of their sons. I can hold my own against him, I won’t back down to anyone, especially not this man. His eyes widen as I approach him, his father apparently didn’t fill him in on who to expect.
“Run off, little girl. I’m waiting for my opponent,” he drawls, giving me a reproachful look and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, if you’re waiting for someone else, you’ll be waiting a while, seeing as I’m your opponent. You might also want to learn to read since you obviously didn’t see your opponent’s name properly,” I quip, cocking my hip to the side, and placing my hand on it. I eye him critically, and scoff when I meet brown eyes and cropped black hair, and quirk an eyebrow in challenge, conveying how unimpressed I am at what I see.
His hands clench into fists at his sides, and he grits his teeth at the slight. He takes a step forward, and I scoff at the threatening movement, giving him a chastising look.
“Now, now, William, there will be plenty of time for that. Save all that aggression for that match. It will make my win so much sweeter.” I huff out an amused chuckle, which only serves to anger him more. Good, let him get angry, let him get sloppy.
Carefully assessing him now, I observe his slender physique and height, standing taller than me by a few inches. I could definitely use that to my advantage. I’ll have to change up how I fight against Maximus, he will be much faster, but his height might just be his Achilles heel.
“Students.” Helene’s voice echoes through the speaker, drawing my gaze to the private box. “You may have noticed the matches will be conducted differently than in previous years. Normally, we would only have a few matches happening at any time, and professors would be there to keep score for the three-minute round. And the student that lands the most hits wins the round.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “This year, we have imbued each of the rings with a power that will keep track of each of the hits and regulate each match so that the trials can be completed quickly and efficiently,” Helene announces proudly, and a roar of applause sounds around her. Her gaze seems to find me in the crowd, her eyes glinting dangerously like the edge of a blade hitting the sunlight.
I glance to the other side of the box, casting a wary look at my father and the guys. Could this be their plan? Rig the system so I can’t possibly win. They don’t seem to have any reaction to her words, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, or if they’re attempting to hide it for my sake.
Well fuck, this just got a whole lot more interesting. And by interesting, I mean fucking ridiculous.
“The rings will also notify us if any magic is being used during the fight, just in case anyone had any ideas.” Her eyes twinkle knowingly with mischievous glee, as though she just thwarted my plans, which I guess she may have. But if I can’t use my powers, then neither can my adversaries.
She lowers back down to perch on her plush seat, her appraising gaze not moving from me.
“Contestants, take your places within the ring. Your match will begin when the whistle blows,” a disjointed voice announces over the speaker, this time and I choke on a laugh. Contestants? They make it sound as though we’re voluntarily competing for some prize. In reality, everyone here is fighting for their place in this world. Fighting to keep their powers, their birthright. And I doubt any of us will hold back with that on the line.
I turn back to William and step into the ring, and he begrudgingly moves back to his side to take a readying stance. His eyes narrow into a contemptuous glare. I mimic the gesture and bounce lightly on my toes, preparing to make the first move. My lips tilt in a cunning grin, assessing his stance and how he favors one foot over the other and attempt to throw him off his focus with the jeering look that hides my own nerves.
I hold onto that, preparing for my first move as my biceps twitch, nervous energy thrumming through my body. My mouth dries as the pressure of this match weighs on my shoulders. I exhale a shaky breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts—I need to win two of these fights to successfully complete the trial. I shake off thoughts of what may wait for me ahead, but cool tendrils of fear wash over me before I clear my mind.
The bell rings, the shrill noise piercing my ears, but I block it out, focusing on William. He jerks in surprise at the sound, hesitating slightly, and I make my move, my fist colliding with the right side of his abdomen. He grunts at the impact, his eyes widening in shock. His hand slides down to hold his injured side, leaving him open for my next strike. He attempts to dodge, but he’s too slow, and he stumbles on his feet, off-balance from his casual posture.
My stomach flutters as I prepare my next strike, my mind second guessing myself. Is he just playing with me? Is he about to knock me off my feet? I pull in a deep breath and center myself, I can’t let this uncertainty take over. I need to be confident in my skills and my training and be present in this fight. His right foot twitches, and I ready myself for the coming blow. His left fist follows mere seconds later, but I’m ready for him. My forearm blocks the strike while my opposite fist thwacks against his side.
His body jerks at the impact, and my lips tilt up in a small smirk. My ability to read his movements and block his strike serves to bolster my confidence, my chest lightens as my mind clears. I step back, the movement fluid and sure, and I ready myself, assessing his stance as he does the same, looking for any weakness to exploit.
My leg moves in an instant, landing a kick, causing his leg to buckle at the impact. I step into an opening in his defensive stance, not giving him a chance to recover and land a strike to his ribs before jumping out of his reach.
It seems the demigod of choice has one to make of his own now. Give up gracefully or stumble through the rest of the fight, and to my delight, the stubborn scowl he directs at me conveys he’s going with the latter option. Just my luck—I give him a devious smirk, distracting him while I land my next blow to his ribs—I love teaching misogynistic pricks a lesson.
* * *
I breezethrough the match with William, not even allowing him to land one hit on me. And judging by Agathon’s glare focused squarely on his son, I’m sure there will be hell to pay for that.
Despite my win, Helene just flips her pin-straight black hair over her shoulder with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Either whatever they have planned is still to come, or she doesn’t want to let on that I’ve thwarted them. Whichever it is, I don’t let my guard down as I make my way to my next match. I’m in ring forty-two for this one, and I eye the area suspiciously, my nerves ratcheting up with the ease of the first round, as though something is about to jump out at me during my long trek further down the field.
Finally making it to ring forty-two, I find my opponent Abigail Johnston waiting for me. Unlike William, she gives me a polite smile as I approach. Her curly brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail behind her, taming the thick locks from her face. I blink in surprise as she steps forward, extending her slender hand for me to shake.
“You must be Olivia, I’m so glad to meet you,” she chirps, her smile widening as I clasp her, giving a brief firm shake and stepping back. I eye her curiously, my brow quirking in question, and she lets loose a small giggle.
“Just because we’re fighting against one another doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly,” she explains, waving off my concern. My lips quirk to the side, unsure what to make of Abigail. This mess with the council has me suspecting everything and everyone. I exhale a long breath, relaxing a fraction at her kind demeanor.
“Students, take your positions,” the disjointed voice announces over the speaker. I barely get into the ring before the bell chimes signaling the start of the match. I brush off my surprise, needing to focus. Especially since sweet Abigail is lunging towards me.
