Page 29 of Misfit Monsters
The being standing next to Hail looks up from her examination of her fingernails. “The newbie won’t be any trouble, that’s for sure.”
Hail simply offers a smile cold enough to provoke a shiver. He’s too far away for me to taste any of his emotions, but I have a feeling they’d be equally sharp.
None of them have really gotten to know me yet. I smile back with a hasty wave.
Hail’s smile tightens. Hmm. I lift my arms in an enthusiastic gesture. “We’ll all play a great game!”
I might as well get started on the cheering, since that’s my forte.
Coach Brandish claps her hands. “All right, we need one more for each team. Verve, it’s been a while since I saw you push yourself—go to the blue team. And for red?—”
A tall form that’s all sinewy muscle leaps to his feet partway up the bleachers, his voice a familiar deep growl. “I’ll play.”
The chatter on the benches falls silent other than a couple of gasps. Even the coach looks taken aback.
My antisocial roommate scowls, tension rippling through his sculpted limbs. His buffed-bronze hair drifts forward to shadow his dark green eyes.
Coach Brandish finds her voice. “You have an exemption, Raze. Playing isn’t necessary for your evaluation.”
The huge being’s gaze flicks over the court. Does it stop on me for an instant?
Does he think he needs to demonstrate how fearsome he is so I’ll finally flee our shared room?
“I’m in the mood for a little competition,” he mutters. “I’ll play fair… and everyone else had better do that too.”
His next glower is aimed very pointedly at the blue side of the court.
Hail scoops up the spongy white ball and spins it on his finger. “We don’t need to break rules to win.”
A brief whoop rises up at his comment, but for the most part our audience remains unnervingly quiet. Prickly-tart apprehension washes over me.
What do they think Raze is going to do?
Coach Brandish appears to trust him at least enough to give him a chance. She motions for him to join us on the court. His ropey limbs flicker briefly as he swaps the black Henley he was wearing for a scarlet tee.
The coach holds out her hands, and Hail tosses her the ball effortlessly. She raises her whistle to her lips. “First side to twenty-five points or whoever’s ahead at the bell wins.”
She blows the whistle and launches the ball into the air.
Three of the panels behind the blue team’s hoops flare white. My teammates surge forward to snatch at the ball. The blue team rushes in too.
A gleaming shard of ice materializes in the air and knocks the ball straight into Hail’s waiting hands.
The winter fae grins and sprints across the court, gliding most of the distance on more ice he’s conjured beneath his feet. As the red team converges on him, he whips the ball over our heads to Number Four.
Three of our nets have lit up too. The beefy shadowkind hurls the ball with a warble of supernatural force. The net pings with the goal.
A digital scoreboard next to the list of top players gleams to life. Apparently that basket earned the blue team three points.
Frustration wafts off my teammates with pickley sourness. “Don’t let them run right by you,” one of them snaps at me. “Can you do anything useful?”
“Yay team?” I say hopefully. He rolls his eyes.
Gloss’s friend snatches the ball out of the air with a thrum of energy. She darts toward the far end of the court, and I pelt after her in case I can assist my teammate.
Number Four barges into her way, and I leap into his. Or at least I try to.
Shoving my feet against the floor sends a flare of pain through my ankles. I stumble instead and sprawl on my belly.
