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Snowflake . . .
Snow . . .
Freshly packed snow. A reflective surface . . .
The cogs clicked into place with a jarring clank. Bronze squatted down and Very. Fucking. Carefully. blew on the dirt that concealed what had been winking at him. The small circular glass object his puffs revealed caught the last trace of light through the clouds, blinding him with a whole lot of nostalgia he hadn’t tapped into since after the mortals’ World War II.
A glass landmine. A one hundred percent non-metallic explosive that hadn’t seen its heyday since 1945, if he had to guess. Completely undetectable to metallic sensors and sensitive as fuck to any sort of friction.
Byron hadn’t stepped on it full out or he’d be in pieces, but he must have disturbed it in some way. Perhaps some dirt he’d kicked up behind him had landed on it and had been just enough to detonate the thing.
Well, that was one sick way for the king to get around the lycan race’s giant handicap. It also made Bronze realize just how high the stakes were and just how far Clara’s father was willing to go to secure his interests.
Up ahead, Lord Raff had closed in on the table. Another leap or so would see the asshole holding Bronze’s prize. If the lycan was bold enough to risk the jumps.
Bronze scanned the field, trying to hunt out any other signs of where the mines might be buried, when his mind snagged on what he’d mentally noted earlier.
Friction.
The mines needed friction to detonate. The fences surrounding the mines, however, were made of white PVC. Smooth. Frictionless.
Only a third of the sand was left in the hourglass.
With his thighs burning, he squatted as deep as his hamstrings and glutes would take him and leaped several feet to his right, where the nearest fence panel was. Thank the mages for his well-callused hands, because those puppies snagged on the top rung. With a painful effort, he twisted himself up to his feet and balanced the tips of his toes on one of the five-inch square posts. Then, like a shot, he was sprinting. His long legs stretched in great smooth strides as he ran, unstoppable, from post to post, gaining momentum with each leap. The PVC was a flush touchpoint for his toes, propelling him and his freakishly long body high and far along the arena’s perimeter until he was within arm’s reach of the relic. With a final vault, he flew through the air and landed precariously on top of the small table.
Between his legs, the relic lay cuddled up in its velvet bassinet, none the wiser.
And Lord Raff was standing right in front of it.
Bronze squatted down and quickly gripped the curved moonstone, which had grown warm from the earlier sun, then batted the lycan’s hand away right before the final grain of sand fell through the bevel.
In true mob fashion, the crowd threw up a roar.
Even though his chest burned from the exertion and his legs were keeping him upright by sheer force of will, Bronze couldn’t resist holding the pose for just one more moment.
He jutted his hips forward and smiled. “You know, if you wanted to grab my dick and compare parts, you could have just asked. I’m always up for a modeling session. Intimidation and inspiration are two sides of the same coin. I won’t be offended if you haven’t figured that out yet.”
It was telling to see exactly what kind of ruffled Lord Raff truly got. He wasn’t the flushed-in-the-face type, nor did he go all swole-bro and punch stuff. The mask of cold calm that settled over his countenance spoke of promised retribution but clearly at a time of his choosing and under his preferred circumstances.
It was a warning Bronze knew well, one he had bestowed upon many demon charmers. Chilling to see it reflected back at him.
“You talk too much,” Lord Raff said evenly. “I will endeavor to fix that.”
“Take a goddamn number, but do it after you fix your boy up. Oh, wait, I forgot. You have no problem sacrificing your own people for the greater good. My bad.”
“Bronze!” Clara’s desperate wail pierced through the crowd and nearly punched a hole in his chest as well. She was running down the short staircase that led from her perch, her white hair and cloak billowing out behind her. Tears ran in chaotic tracks down her dust-smattered cheeks, but the smile that beamed his way was bright enough to patch up every aching part of him, starting with the bruised muscle right in the center of his chest beating faster with every step that took her nearer to him. “Bronze!”
Damn, he loved hearing his name on her lips. After two days of radio silence, he realized what her voice actually did to him and how darkly it dimmed his day when she withheld it.
He slipped the relic’s leather strap over his neck and rose to his feet, intending to leap back onto the fence post so he could climb over and get to her.
Too many things happened at once. Her foot met the bottom step on a roll that stole his breath and that of every person in the stands. Her balance went next, pitching her, and then his heart, over the side of the low fence and into the landmine enclosure.
“Clara!” Bronze leaped from the table and dove for her, watching in panicked horror as the fence made contact with her midsection and her top half hinged forward over the rung. Her long legs tangled in the cloak and followed suit, dragging her whole body down until she would soon be flat on her back in the arena, giving the landmine topography more than its fair share of explodable living surface area.
Bronze’s legs were the first parts of him to connect with the slim fence panel she rolled over, and by the mages, he hooked the backs of his knees around that fucker in the tightest triangle hold of his life and threw his arms out behind her back, catching her as she fell flatly into his grasp.
A deafening silence settled over the arena.
