Strider sat in the bleachers of a high school basketball court, about a hundred other guys surrounding him. All were strangers except for Sabin, who occupied the seat on his left, and Lysander, who occupied the seat on his right. Most were human, though some were clearly immortal. He spotted the telltale pale skin of a vampire, the dark aura of a warlock and the reptilian grace of a snake shape-shifter. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the “him” Kaia had supposedly slept with.
On the other side were the Harpies. While the men were quiet and subdued, the females were rowdy. They were jumping up and down on the steps, throwing popcorn and even cups of soda at the court. They wore tiny, tight T-shirts that ended just under the bra line—for those who were wearing bras. And shorts so short he spotted his favorite place on a woman—the sensual curve where bottom met leg—more than once. Yeah, he spied the center of paradise, too.
“The Falconways are going down!” someone called.
“You wish, Eagleshield. But then, you’ve always liked a woman on her knees.”
“Please! You couldn’t satisfy a nymph if you were cranked on Viagra.”
“Viagra only works on men, you idiot.”
“Hello, you and your clanswomen have mustaches, so why not dicks, too?”
Snickers, boos and hisses blended together.
“And I thought my Bianka was…enthusiastic,” Lysander said. “I would never have guessed she was actually considered sedate among her kind.”
Sabin snorted. “Come on. If you aren’t revved by the lesbian jokes, you’re gay.”
Lysander’s dark gaze swung to Strider. “Are you revved by this?”
Angels, man. “I’ve been on low simmer since we walked through the doors. In fact, I didn’t need the jokes to crank my chain.” What he didn’t mention: it was all because of Kaia.
His “talk” with her—one he’d tried to postpone forever, but had swiftly realized the futility of postponing as she batted gloriously long lashes at him, all kinds of desire in her eyes—would happen sooner than even she had planned.
He’d stood in front of her, breathing her in, absorbing her body heat, peering down at that pin-up face, and he’d wanted his mouth on her, all over her. One more taste. One more, and he’d force himself to return to the friend zone.
“Lysander!” an eager female voice called from across the court. “Lysander! Over here!”
Strider searched the raucous crowd for Bianka. He found her at the top of the bleachers, waving a candy bar in the air and grinning like a loon. Her silky black hair was divided into pigtails that bounced against her arms. Cute, until you noticed the smoking hot Catholic schoolgirl uniform she wore. “Cute” mutated into “heart attack waiting to happen.” A white button-up top was knotted under her breasts, a tie hanging between them. The short plaid skirt left a huge gap between her thighs and her knee-high socks.
Made him wish Kaia had opted to cheer her team to victory rather than fight. In that getup, she’d look better than a heart attack waiting to happen. She’d kill him on the spot.
No, he was glad she’d chosen to fight. He planned to use the needed separation from her to spy on the Eagleshields, maybe search their belongings. In fact, as soon as Tag began, he was out of here. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about that. Every man for himself.
What if Kaia’s hurt? By her own admission, she would be throwing down with “prison rules.”
A flash of red in his eyes, his fingers clenching on his legs. Kaia was a damn good fighter, he reminded himself. If he trusted anyone on her team to succeed, it was her.
“Lysander!” Bianka called again. “Look up, baby. I’m over here!”
“There are too many. I can’t find—Bianka?” Lysander’s jaw dropped.
Guess he hadn’t seen her since they’d left the heavens. Then, she had worn a scarlet robe.
“Lysander, did you see this?” Bianka turned and lifted her shirt, showing him—and everyone else—the panties she wore. They were neon-green with the words Property of Lysandy scripted across the ass.
Lysander stood, as if to fly over to her, then caught himself and plopped back down. “Sweet Deity.”
“Your woman wears underwear out in public,” Sabin said. “Must be nice. How’d you manage that little miracle?”
“Only the Deity knows.”
Great. Now Strider couldn’t stop wondering about Kaia. What kind of panties did she—or did she not—wear?
The girl beside Bianka must have complained about the high-pitched tenor of her voice, because Bianka’s grin faded and she leveled the girl with a scowl. An argument ensued. Then, of course, the two leapt at each other in a tangle of flailing limbs.
“She is magnificent, isn’t she?” Lysander asked no one in particular.
“Sure,” Sabin said, distracted now. He was stroking the bullhorn at his feet. “So where are our girls?”
Our girls. Strider liked the sound of that. He shouldn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t know.”
Do you truly think Kaia can bring home the victory?
The insidious voice filled Strider’s head. Male. Familiar.
She might be killed…
Oh, hell, no. “Sabin,” he growled. This time, he didn’t have to wonder about the speaker. As the keeper of Doubt, Sabin fed off the insecurities of those around him.
“Sorry,” his leader replied.
“Get your demon under control.”
“Believe me, I’m trying. I don’t want him going after anyone on Team Kaia.”
Win. She must win.
And there was Strider’s demon, who—wait just a sec. She must win? Defeat had never cared about a victory other than Strider’s before. Why Kaia? Why now? Because her triumph was (perhaps) linked to the Paring Rod? Because the demon knew—and feared—the consequences of her failure? Because, she was…his? Their personal playground? He’d wondered before…
Can’t think like that. He wouldn’t do what needed doing.
To Defeat, he said, First, I plan to obtain the Paring Rod before the games end. Second, she’ll win. If she didn’t…he speculated about the likelihood of Defeat hurting him, even though the loss was not his own. Strider wouldn’t have protected her, as the challenge he’d already accepted demanded. So…
Likelihood high, he decided. He should have talked her out of this. Whatever happened next was his fault.
For once the prospect of the pain he might suffer held no sway. He simply didn’t like the thought of Kaia being harmed.
“Lysander!” Bianka called, once again drawing Strider’s notice. Her fight with the other Harpy had ended with the poor woman draped over the back of the bleachers, unconscious. “Did you like them or what?”
Lysander’s expression softened. “I did, my love. I liked them. I like everything you wear.”
Pathetic, Strider thought. Just because a guy was in love didn’t mean he had to pussy up.
Oh, look, there was Kaia! Strider jumped to his feet, waving at her to get her attention. He planned to tell her to be careful, but she was too focused on the happenings in front of her as she strode from the double doors leading into the gym. Her teammates flanked her sides. They wore matching uniforms of bloodred leather, the half tops crisscrossing in back to reveal their wings, the shorts fringed at the hem to allow for easier movements.
Kaia’s red curls were pulled back in a ponytail that swung left and right. No elbow or kneepads safeguarded her. Damn it, he wished she’d worn pads. If the girls fought on that planked floor, they were going to lose some skin, and he liked her skin how it was.
Win!
I know. I heard you the first time, asshole.
The Harpies in the stands noticed the incoming team and started booing. A frown pulled at Kaia’s lips, but she gave no other indication that she cared. Popcorn rained down, showering them, a few kernels even popping members of Team Kaia in the eye.