Bonds of Cupidity (Heart Hassle Book 2)

How the hell are they supposed to get past a motherfucking wall of fire?

My hands grip the armrests so hard that my knuckles turn white.

Okot notices and pats me on the back. “Breathe, my beloved. They will get through this.”

I try to listen to him, I do. But my body has definitely forgotten how to breathe correctly. Instead, it’s making fast hyperventilating gasps instead.

One of the fae contestants, a female with dreadlocks down to her ankles, goes forward and tries to make some slashing movement at the fire. The preternaturally still flames suddenly roar to life, incinerating her in a second. She didn’t even have time to scream.

My throat makes a little squeaking noise and terror crawls up my spine. Now, the flames are no longer immobile. Instead, they rage and roar like a great inferno, and the contestants stagger backwards from it as tendrils lick out towards them.

My guys are looking around, as if they’re trying to find some way, some trick around this. None of the other contestants seem eager to try and pass through the flames.

I don’t blame them.

Still, another fae takes a tentative step forward and raises his hand in front of him. I’m not sure what type of fae he is, but then I see jets of water spraying from his palm, trying to douse the flames. He’s some sort of water fae, then.

Good idea sending him forward, except nothing happens. The fire doesn’t even spit or sputter. It’s completely unaffected by his stream.

He drops his hand, at a loss, and I can see some of the other contestants grouping together, talking animatedly to each other, trying to figure this out.

A pixie releases her wings and shoots to the sky, deciding to try and fly over the wall instead. I think maybe she’s solved it until she reaches the top. As soon as she begins her way over it, a flame shoots out like a frog’s tongue and catches her like a fly.

She’s just ember and ashes by the time her form falls to the ground.

“Oh, gods,” I groan, barely stopping myself from covering my eyes.

I’m sweating all over, my heart is racing, and I still can’t breathe right. How in the hell is anyone supposed to make it through this?

Oh, right. They’re not.

A pixie male falls to his knees over her pile of ashes in an anguished sob. He lifts some of it up, clenching it in his hands and screams. He looks up at the royal box and sends out a vicious, agonized roar that echoes through the massive arena. The prince smirks cruelly.

“This is horrible,” I whisper.

Okot reaches over and takes my hand, and he doesn’t complain at all when my nails dig in, and I squeeze him way too tightly.

When the sounds of the pixie’s screams turn into sobs that we can no longer hear, he suddenly staggers to his feet.

“Oh gods, he’s gonna—”

One, two, three contestants try to stop him, but it’s no use. His grief is too strong, his goal too determined. He slips and shoves past them all.

Without a second of hesitation, he takes off and leaps into the flames. He’s incinerated immediately.

He ran to his death. Wanted it. Needed to follow the pixie girl straight to it. I feel sick.

I squint at the fire and then raise an arm to point at it, just as so many others in the stand start doing the same thing. “Look.” I watch, wide-eyed, as the fire changes.

It pulls back like a stage curtain, separating right where the pixie sacrificed himself. Now, a narrow path is etched in its wake, and the fire is once again still.

The contestants don’t hesitate. They start sprinting forward, single-file, racing through the passage that the fire wall made for them.

“I don’t understand.”

“It was a message,” Okot says.

“What message?”

“Sacrifice before mercy. Death before life. That they only live if he allows it, and he only allows it after a heavy price.”

When my three guys make it to the end, the breath I didn’t know I was holding releases out of me.

“So someone had to go willingly into the fire, knowing they’d die?”

“Yes.”

I swing my eyes to the royal box when Prince Elphar’s voice rings out again. “This marks the end of the first part of the royal culling trials. Twenty-five contestants entered, and sixteen came out. Tonight, there will be a celebratory bonfire. Tomorrow, our contestants will be allowed a day of rest. The second part of the culling begins the following day.”

When everyone starts emptying out of the amphitheater, I keep my eyes glued on the ground. My guys are dirty, wet, and tired. But they’re alive.

I stay until a high fae creates a portal, and the contestants are forced back through it by the palace guards, one by one.

I’m on my feet, leaning over the balcony when all three of my genfins turn and look up at me at the same time, as if they knew exactly where I’ve been this whole time.

I lift my hand and give them a pitiful wave, even though there’s no way they can see very well from that far away. Then they’re shoved roughly ahead by the guards, disappearing through the portal.

“What’s that guard’s name?” I ask through clenched teeth. There was no need for him to manhandle my guys.

Okot lifts his monocular. “That’s the prince’s right hand. Gammon.”

“Well, I hate him.”

Okot tucks my hand in the crook of his arm. “Come. The bonfire will start soon.”

I put my other hand on my belly. “I still feel sick with nerves. I don’t know if I can eat.”

“Would you like to go lie down for awhile?”

I shake my head as he starts leading me down the first of many flights of stairs to get out of this place. “If I sit and stew by myself, I’ll just feel worse. Do you think you can take me to see them again?”

“For you, I will try.”

I stand up on my tiptoes and pull him down far enough so that I can give him a peck on the cheek. “You are the sweetest.”

“Lamassus are not sweet,” he says gruffly. “Lamassus are a proud, fierce race that protect and adore our mates with unending loyalty.”

“Yeah, and that’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He grunts out a chuckle and shakes his head at me, pulling me down more stairs. I start panting, naturally.

I also trip. Repeatedly.

He catches me every time.

When my heel turns and my ankle rolls on one of the steps, Okot stops in front of me and lifts me up for a piggyback ride. I hold my arms around his neck as he grabs me under my thighs.

“This is better. I hate stairs. And heels. And walking.”

“You are not very good at any of them, either.”

“Now you just sound like Ronak,” I say with a smile on my face.

My smile droops when I’m instantly reminded of the terrible things they faced today and what is still to come.

As if he can sense my distress, Okot squeezes my thighs slightly. “Your Ronak is a warrior.”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so? His power is strength, and he’s a super good fighter. They all are.”

“That will help them win,” he reminds me.

“Yeah, but the game is tipped. It isn’t fair. The prince purposely weakens them by bringing them a week early, making them live off scraps and terrible conditions before throwing them into his deathtrap.”

“Even so. They showed no weakness today.”

Yeah, let’s just hope it stays that way.

I try to shake off the direness of the situation, because that’s not going to help my guys, anyway. I also don’t want Okot to feel burdened with being mated to a Debbie Downer.

By the way, poor Debbie. She’s seriously type-casted. I’m sure there are super fun Debbie’s out there.

At the bottom of the stairs, Okot keeps hold of me, and I relax against his back. Lots of fae give us weird looks, but I don’t care at all. They’re just jealous they don’t have a bull boy to walk for them.

“Can you just carry me everywhere? This is so much better.”

I feel more than hear Okot’s rumbled laughter against my chest. “It would be my pleasure, my beloved.”

I sigh in pleasure. “Okay. Let’s go to this bonfire, stuff our faces until we wanna puke, and drink fairy wine until we pass out.”

‘Sounds like a plan.’