Page 98 of Fatality on the Field

“Yep” I say. “Just chatting up the docs while we waited for the big show.”

He grunts, then glances at Presley and Wolfie. “Are you two behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” Wolfie says, hands up. “I promised people I would be.”

Kaspar snorts, and I swear for a second I see the hint of a smile as he sniffs the air and arches a brow.

“All right, then, gents,” Prez says as he clears his throat. “Now that we’ve settled that, it’s time to relax and pretend we care about American football for a while. Gird yourselves.”

Nodding in agreement, I follow the others and get settled next to Slade as the music in the stadium moves to the kind that you hear when bands are pepping people up.

It’s kick-off time and even if we don’t care about the game, the field is where the action is—or could be.

fifty-eight

MORGANA

Halftime looms and we’re living in the lap of luxury, boxed up with prime seats and enough food to provision an Antarctic expedition. If you squint at the cross-section of bodies slouched and fidgeting around me, it looks like a behavioral study of varied species and how they react to pressure.

Channing is on my right, her posture so perfect it could sell orthopedic mattresses. Jolene is on my left, relaxed and at home despite being among strangers. Behind us, Liam and Lucas are sitting together. My Fae prince is radiating absent-minded serenity, while my bear exudes hyped-up sports guy energy even as he shovels tiny sandwiches into his mouth like it’s a contest. Edgar, Jolene’s alumnus mate is on her left with his obvious best buddy, Benjy, and the demi they called Doyle. While the one she calls Teddy is all smiles and a puffed up chest about playing ball when he attended, his friend slouches with the practiced ease of a man who’s been dodging formal responsibilities since he was young. To Channing’s right, Slade is sitting with his legs crossed and jacket off next to Iggy. My professor has his glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he squints at the field with academic detachment.

The difference between those who are die hard fans of the sport and those who aren’t, couldn’t be more obvious if you ask me.

Jolene’s animals have established their own fiefdom at our feet, which is odd for me. The two dogs are pressed tight to her calves, while the harpy eagle perches on the ledge of the box divider, occasionally swiveling its head to glare out at stadium staff. Her cats have taken up residence under my feet, their tails lashing in unison whenever one of us moves. Every so often, the monkey vaults off the back of Jolene’s chair to make a foraging run for nuts or something shiny in the back, but otherwise the whole menagerie is on their best behavior. I’m surprised, but not entirely, given how well the family she has here gels with one another.

My eyes flick to the dragon, as he lurks at the front left of the suite with his eyes roving randomly from the field to the suite entrance and back . His expression doesn’t change even when the State U defense pulls off a turnover so dramatic that the student section goes fully feral. I’d say he was ignoring the game, but I see his eyes narrow with each new play—either he’s reading the strategies, or he’s plotting how he’d murder every person on the field in under two minutes if it came to that.

I’m not sure I’m mad about the second option.

It took until this moment, near the end of the second quarter to realize how genuinely calm and relaxed everyone seems. Even Channing, who lives in a state of constant vigilance, is nursing a mimosa and trading jokes with Jolene at a frequency that suggests she’s finally off the clock for a moment. The boys are in a mood I haven’t seen in them before, like some invisible sandbag has been hoisted off their backs. I’m starting to get it—what the men get from watching this sport with their friends. It’s not the game or the spectacle; it’s the permission to let down the armor, even if the war isn’t over.

Jolene leans over and nudges me with her shoulder. “Is it weird to say I actually see the appeal?” She’s whispering, which is pointless, because half the box has supernatural hearing. “I always thought people who watched sports were a cult, but—this is sort of fun.”

“You can say it,” I admit, and Channing snickers, a rare break in her usually glacial composure. “But maybe it’s the company rather than the actual game?”

Jolene drops her voice conspiratorially as she says, “I think it’s all the violence. This is just gladiator stuff, but with more sparkles. I enjoy a good bloodbath occasionally, you know?”

“Damn straight.” I turn to look at Channing, who snickers, and then look back at my new friend. “Parts of me really enjoy a nice, sweaty fight or some tasty revenge. It makes perfect sense that men enjoy this insane display of aggression.”

Teddy pipes up from behind us, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Football is the single best way to let out aggression without catching felony charges, ladies. It’s even better when you can really let loose, which is more pro ball than college, but you know what I mean.”

“And the brotherhood part is big, too,” Benjy adds as he leans forward. “Adulthood isn’t nearly as cool as people made out and after you graduate, it’s hard to keep a band of guys like that. Luckily for me, this asshole stayed in town, but that’s not how it is for everyone. Watching sports, even in a bar, gives us time to do… guy stuff.”

I arch a brow at him and then look at his mate. “Is that your experience? A little visual violence helps them bond?”

The snort from my prince makes me smile. “It does bring people together, especially males. At home, we don’t have the same activities, but the ones we have are very much a social bonding experience, Maschula.”

Jolene tilts her head, looking at him closely through her funky glasses and my gut drops.

However, before she can ask him anything, Lucas raises his glass to everyone. “To violence as team-building… and new friends. Fucking baller, right?”

“Not all of us have the build for gridiron sports,” Iggy says, gesturing at himself and Slade. “But I agree with you, Lucas. Everyone raise your glasses and toast.”

For once, everyone laughs at the same time and I sigh happily as the good mood settles after the toast. Even the animals seem to pick up on the energy—one of the dogs does a slow, belly-up roll and the tamarin snags a cracker from a tray, retreating in triumph with his prize.

This has been almost as nice as visiting Hell to meet Kat and Rogue, and for someone who hasn’t had a lot of friends for centuries, it means more than most of the people here know.

We turn back to the window to watch as the game surges and lulls for a while. Jolene keeps up a steady stream of commentary with Channing and me that is amusing as fuck. For all her protestations, she has the sharpest eye in the box for when the refs are bullshitting. She and Channing keep a tally of bad calls on the back of a napkin, and by the time the two-minute warning hits, they’re in total agreement about which ref is going to be found dead in a dumpster if he keeps this up.