Page 123 of Bliss & Her Idols

He looks like an Ice Dragon King.

He’s dressed in a pale blue satin suit, which is covered by a gleaming silver robe. It is edged with metallic flames. His hair has been piled onto his head, held up by glittering clips like chips of ice.

He’s staring ahead expressionless, as if he’s been transformed into a beautiful marble statue.

He’s been made untouchable again.

I feel like his skin would be cold, when I know just how warm it is under my fingertips.

I can just make out Zoe, who is dressed all in black, hovering behind the throne.

“When the spotlight lands on one member of your pack,” the ghostly voice of Serenity continues, “step forward onto the stage to play to entertain your Dragon.”

“Wait,” Torin calls out, alarmed, “don’t we get to choose who plays?”

There’s a pause, as if Serenity is startled and unsure what to do now that their Idol sibling has gone off script.

“Contestants are not in charge of this game,” Serenity’s testy voice replies.

That’s bad.

My mouth becomes dry.

What the fuck do I do, if I have to produce a sound out of one of those instruments?

It won’t only be humiliating, but we’ll be sent home.

Now,Iwant to be sick.

Behind me, I can hear how fast Cricket’s breathing has become.

“Breathe,” I whisper, at the same time as Torin does. “In, out.”

If Cricket is chosen, he’ll put on a performance all right. But it’ll be the performance of an Omega having a panic attack.

“Give your best tribute to Ice Dragon,” Serenity announces, “because he will choose to give one of you a rose. They will be granted a reward. He will also be giving the one who performed the worst a withered rose. Then they and their pack will immediately be asked to leave Pack Bonds Island.”

Shocked whispers sweep through the room.

I clench my hands.

Instantly, spotlights rake across the contestants.

I stiffen, as if the lights are machine gunfire.

I feel like I should be diving for cover. Shouldn’t I be using Craven or Easter as a shield?

I’d rather face bullets than this.

Please, don’t stop on me.

Behind me, Cricket whimpers.

When the spotlight stops on Craven, my shoulders slump in relief.

Thank fuck.

Craven looks likehemay have a panic attack.

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