Page 122 of Fearless

I lie there, panting in pain as blood drips from my shredded throat. My blurry gaze is on the cloudless sky above until the ringing in my ears ceases, and the crowd’s dull roar reminds me where I am. With a grunt, I lift myself up onto my palms, eyes falling to Kai’s looming figure.

He runs a hand over the severed bone beneath his elbow, wincing slightly. My eyes widen when that dangling arm snaps back into place with a satisfying click. Kai sighs in relief before abandoning the Healer’s power for—

The Enforcer multiplies, creating a wall of muscle and a dozen stormy gazes staring back at me.

Cloner.

I scramble back, palms digging into the hot sand. My frantic gaze runs over the arena, searching for a plan before landing instead on the glinting something a few feet away. I’m suddenly on unsteady feet, blooddripping from the tears at my throat to trail a scarlet path between my breasts. I swipe a hand over it, accomplishing little more than adding sand to my sticky skin.

The Kais begin closing in on me, their powerful strides spurring me into a sprint. I lunge for the sword, my fingers curling around the hilt and—

A worn boot slams atop the blade.

A frustrated cry tears from my throat as I drive my foot into the clone’s knee. Bone crunches with the impact, but before he can tumble into the sand, another Kai is yanking me back. A calloused hand is on my shoulder, but when I throw an elbow at the jaw behind, his grip loosens. Taking advantage of his shock, I grab that arm, step into his chest, and muster enough momentum to throw him over my uninjured shoulder.

I barely hear the crowd’s responding hollers with the blood pounding in my ears. Turning, I snatch up the sword and raise it between my bloody form and the several other surrounding Kais.

Stay calm. Find the real Enforcer.

My eyes skim over them, studying every familiar figure. The “Psychic ability” I’ve so narrowly survived by has been rather buried these past few weeks. But I let it rush to the surface now, a flood of observations and comparisons.

So when my gaze locks with a particular gray one, I know I’ve found him.

His hand lingers just above the arm I broke, as though the bone hasn’t quite healed correctly. And that hurt belongs to him alone.

I’m dropping the sword once again and flipping my bloody dagger in an equally stained hand. A clone charges at me the same moment I let that blade fly.

Time slows. Kai reaches for me, fingers grazing my throat. The coolsteel of my dagger sinks into its target. The clones vanish when Kai staggers back, a blade embedded in his shoulder.

I loose a shuddering breath before reaching up to graze shaking fingers over my throbbing neck, as if to ensure my head is still attached. Swallowing, I watch Kai pull the blade from his flesh with a pained grunt. He tosses it aside, blood gushing from the open wound.

Even knowing a Healer’s ability rests beneath his fingertips, I couldn’t bring myself to aim for the heart. Everything about this fight already feels too real, and if I were to bury my blade in his chest, I fear a piece of me would die instead.

Our eyes lock across the stretch of sand, blood dripping from the damage we’ve caused each other. The angry cut through Kai’s lip is evident even at this distance, as is the deep dagger wound above his collarbone. I sway on my feet beneath the beating sun, shoulder aching and throat throbbing.

Through the pain, I muster a small smile, one that is only for him. One to reassure that our pretending is just that. This audience alone keeps me fighting the Enforcer when I wish for nothing more than to collapse against Kai.

My soul is hopelessly tethered to his.

So when he suddenly Blinks into nothingness before my eyes, teleports behind, and drives a knee into my back, I wonder for the first time if perhaps I am the fool.

My body slams into the sand, nearly swallowing a mouthful as my face scrapes against the rough grains. A kick to the ribs has me rolling onto my back, coughing blood. Through a blurry haze, I see Kai standing over me, his expression unreadable.

He’s not himself. It’s as though every emotion has been muted. As though something other than pretend is guiding each blow.

Maybe he really does want me dead.

Another kick to the stomach.

Maybe he’s hated me this whole time. For what I did to his father—

I curl in on myself when the toe of his boot sinks into my stomach again.

For what I did to his brother—

Something cracks inside me, and I’m not sure if it is my heart or a rib.

For what I did to him.

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