Page 8 of Tempt

She swivels while nocking her bow. But it’s too late. Wonder’s reflexes lag, and the glass projectile rams into her sternum, shoving her into the earth, archery scattering across the hill.

The landing tears her blouse, causing a rift in the material, a slit like an open mouth that’s screaming. Her belly pumps with air, her skin inflating from the textile’s gash while the glass arrow vanishes and reappears in her opponent’s quiver.

A male specimen slides toward Wonder, his knees mowing seamlessly through the grass. He halts beside her, slanting his head in scrutiny. Unlike his usual smarmy features, the god’s expression warps with cynicism, the pleats of his almond skin hardly the sum of amusement. At least not today.

It’s rare to exhaust Envy’s sense of humor. Rarer still for him not to gloat.

Instead of congratulating himself on winning this bout, he flattens his palms on his thighs and regards Wonder. Her consciousness is prone to drift, which is nothing new. But this is a whole different type of meandering, because she’s never beenthisout of sorts during training.

A deity’s arrow doesn’t have the magic to be fatal, since it’s crafted for a different purpose. Its job is to infuse emotions into humans—love, anger, sorrow, envy, and wonder, for instance—thus controlling mortal destiny.

It’s a benevolent undertaking, not a violent one. However, that doesn’t mean a strike won’t hurt, or that given the right velocity, the impact alone can’t shatter a bone or two. If a deity gets inventive, he or she can manipulate an arrow’s effect, forcing the weapon to be harmful.

Even deadly.

Envy’s hit is a reminder of that. He doesn’t point out the obvious, but he does reserve the right to judge. He extends his hand to help her rise, a gesture that Wonder claps away before tramping to her feet. In case of a battle, no one will be a gentleman, and no one will be a lady.

It’s been hours since her chat with Malice. Evening has descended, the firmament glittering beyond thin sheets of clouds.

From behind Envy, a groan rumbles out of Sorrow, who palms her face in abject misery, aware of what’s about to happen.

Once Wonder’s upright, Envy swaggers to his own booted feet. As soon as his towering frame straightens, clad in houndstooth trousers and a swanky button-down shirt, he chucks his weaponry to the ground. “Are you kidding me? Or just distracted by my face? Choose your excuse wisely.”

Wonder flaps a hand at him. “Don’t start. I’m allowed to have a poor day.”

“What about yesterday? And the day before?” he jeers. “Far be it from my hunky self not to thrive on keeping score and stealing another archer’s thunder, but these easy pickings are getting obscene.”

“Would you stop carping,” Sorrow says, striding up to him in her vest and shredded skirt. “Easy pickings are exactly your thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he blares.

While the pair clucks at one another, Wonder checks the rip in her off-the-shoulder blouse, the garment burdened with dirt and grass streaks. Her harem pants have suffered the same fate, and bits of debris cling to the long blonde—her compatriots call it “marigold”—curls sticking from her ponytail.

What has become of her corsage? Did the wristlet come loose during the fight?

Wonder twists in a full circle, but the blooms are nowhere in sight.

And Envy has a right to be furious. Wonder’s precarious ability to focus is compromising his time. Though it’s not wholly unusual from her, she always pulls herself together when it counts—when others are relying on her.

“Just let her be,” Sorrow lectures Envy. “Since when are you as militant as Anger?”

“Anger’s not here,” Envy snaps, adjusting his ensemble. “He’s either busy yelling at the sky, prowling the city for recruits, or spooning Merry.”

The purple-haired goddess snorts and pats his backside. “Is that why you have an attitude? You’re spoiling for the same romantic sustenance?”

Envy tosses her a handsome scowl. He jerks away from the intimate touch as if finding her attempt to mollify him repugnant. Surprise clutters Sorrow’s face, and the bandage plastered across the bridge of her nose crinkles—purely decorative, she’s been wearing that accessory for over a year—as she watches him hunker to collect his bow.

The scene exposes a multitude of phenomena, not the least of which is Envy’s cantankerous attitude, Sorrow’s efforts to actually tease, and the tension coiling from both.

Envy, not in the mood to flirt? Sorrow, wounded by the rejection?

This is the first time that Wonder has witnessed an entanglement between them. They’d become lust partners shortly before their group had first arrived in this city. Since then, the couple hasn’t denied each other once.

Perhaps it’s the stress. Their rebel class trains hard while also harvesting allies amidst the outcasts, those who oppose the Fate Court and support the empowerment of humanity. They’d begun hopeful, but it appears the strain of a potential battle with their supreme rulers has caught up to them.

Sorrow shuffles, the folds of her skirt grazing the hill before she recovers, because Sorrow knows how to recover from injuries. With a scoff, she flicks the back of her hand as if to say,Bah. Good riddance. She trounces off, stomping down the hill, her glossy hair gleaming beneath the stars.

A muscle ticks in Envy’s jaw, but he doesn’t stop her.

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