Page 32 of Forbidden Magic
The imp braces his hands over his head. “I yield.”
Cole towers over his opponent, his nostrils flaring. A disgusted grimace twists his features for a second before a mask of pride and superiority eclipses the darker, moody vibe. The prince returns to his seat.
Trent is next. Blane faces him and transforms into a snake. The scales on his skin stretch and contract until a menacingly long, two-hundred pound snake hisses against the sand.
The vampire looks even paler than usual.
Blane’s nasty teeth snap the air, the movement so fast that his head blurs, but Trent ducks in time to avoid the bite. I clap and shout out an encouragement. A few heads turn in my direction. Trent and Blane go back and forth. The vampire’s arms are stretched on each side of him, the mass of scales slithering as they dance from right to left and left to right.
My friend manages to pin Blane below him and crushes the snake’s neck to the ground. The tail twists and trashes, the body wrapping around Trent’s midriff. The vampire winces, but his hold around Blane’s neck only strengthens. A forked tongue tastes the air before Blane changes back into human form.
A laugh bubbles up my throat when Trent does a little victory dance.
The class continues until only Flynn and I are left. The Fae boy shoots me a predatory glance. “New girl.”
Trent gives me a thumbs up, and I descend into the pit.
Mr. Osbourne scribbles something into his notebook and raises his hand to signal us to wait.
Flynn shakes out his muscles. A big, round cherry, the size of a baseball, appears in his hand.
I raise a brow.
“Cole’s favorite fruit is cherries,” the Fae boy says.
I crack my fingers one by one, heating up my articulations. “What a random thing to say.”
Flynn’s eyes narrow into a thin, cruel line. “Is it? It could explain why he pulled your name out of that hat. Why he lured you into his favorite hideout the other night. He can always tell when a cherry isripefor the picking.”
My cheeks heat up, and I grit my teeth. Flynn thinks I’m a virgin. And fuck, he’s right, but I can’t let that show. I tie my hair up in a messy bun and give the audience and my tormentor an unfazed shrug. “I’m more of a coconut.”
“Hey, as long as you’re juicy on the inside, I’m game…” Flynn licks his lips, and his leer lingers on my breasts.
I grimace. “That’s disgusting.”
“Give me your worst, coconut. I can’t wait to crack you open.” The cherry in his hand morphs into a coconut. In his boastful, relaxed smile, there’s a real threat. He throws the fruit in the air and catches it.
That’s when I realize I’m screwed.
The hard-shelled fruit flies for my head, followed by another and another, and I pirouette out of the way at the last second, but they are still coming. I throw a fireball in Flynn’s general direction, but he appears and disappears out of thin air, stepping in and out of smooth, glossy fairy portals he conjures with a snap of his fingers.
I can’t keep track, but I throw him all the fire I’ve got.
A harsh kick in my lower back sends me flying face-first into the dirt. I whip my head up and roll away but another kick follows. The bastard wants to physically hurt me.
My bottom lip splits at the impact. Blood and sand choke me for a moment, but I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I crouch and spin back to Flynn. A third kick centered in my stomach launches me in the air, and my head screams as it collides with the ground.
“Stop the fight!” Mr. Osbourne shouts.
Flynn’s next kick gets stuck in mid-air. He straightens up and curtsies to the crowd. The applause makes my ears and heart numb. I shuffle to my feet, and Flynn towers above me, his tall silhouette standing between me and the sun, his mouth showing two white rows of teeth.
“That’s okay, mortal. Nobody here expects you to be good at this.” He leans in. “Do everyone a favor and drop out before we see you cry.”
I aim to kick his nuts, but I’m dizzy, and he sidesteps out of reach like the oily eel that he is.
Mr. Osbourne comes running. “Are you okay, Julia?”
“It’s Jules. And I’m fine. Why did you interrupt the fight? I didn’t yield.”
