Page 75 of Wild Fury (Fallen Royals 6)

The rest of the game goes like this: I watch and take photos, and whenever the crowd gives a shout—either our side or the section for the visiting team—I lean my head toward Ruby, and she translates what just happened.

Half time, Felicity and Miranda disappear to get all of us popcorn. There isn’t a big show or anything, just some peace before the cheerleaders perform, and the players rush back out to the field.

They restart, and I lose focus.

Honestly? I’m bored. I’ve lost track of Theo unless he’s sitting in front of me, but he hasn’t so much as glanced back. Not that I could tell, anyway. I peek at my phone and miss the next part.

The most crucial part.

A sickening crunch silences the crowd.

My head shoots up, trying to find Theo. He was on the field, I thought, since he’s not on the sidelines. But I can’t find him in the players who are still standing. There are a few on the ground, one flat on his back, the other at an angle.

Theo. My heart lurches.

“Shit,” Ruby says. “Shit, that’s—”

Without thinking, I lunge forward and spring over the wall separating our seats from the field. No one notices an additional person joining the madness, the rush for help. With my LBU sweatshirt, I even blend in.

Ruby and Felicity yell for me to come back, but I ignore them.

Theo was in the middle of that. And then the way everyone backed off…

My throat closes up, and I dodge a few players, ignoring everything in my attempt to get to Theo. I shouldn’t care this much. He’s probably fine.

Some players have circled around the fallen ones, creating a blockade of sorts. I duck under one’s arm and freeze.

Theo is sitting up, his head in his hands. His helmet is by his feet.

The other player lies flat on his back. His right leg is at an awkward angle, unnaturally skewed.

I push that image away, and the subsequent one of the DeSantis man that follows. The wet squish of the back of his head under my fingertips. How heavy he was to drag into the foliage. I shove those down as far as I can and jolt when someone grabs my arm.

“You shouldn’t be on the field,” someone admonishes.

“Fuck off,” I say.

Theo’s head snaps up. “Let her go.”

His teammate obeys, and I rush to him. I drop to my knees, gripping his chin and moving his head around. He just grimaces but lets me check him over. Not that I know anything about medicine or injuries. But he’s not bleeding, and nothing looks… broken.

“You’re okay?” I ask.

He nods once. “Maybe a concussion,” he allows. His gaze goes to the other player. “Sebastian kicked my helmet, I think.”

My mouth drops open, but he shoots me a warning glare.

“Get off the field, Lux.” He taps my chin, closing my mouth.

I slowly stagger to my feet and shove away. I can’t believe I’m obeying him so easily, without even putting up a fight. No one even stops me from going back to the wall, and I propel myself up and over, back into the stands.

“What the fuck was that?” Felicity demands. “You can’t just—”

“I had to see if Theo was hurt.” The rest of the words clog in my throat.

I can’t tell them about Sebastian’s leg, or the fact that he’s unconscious. An ambulance siren breaks through, and a moment later paramedics rush toward the huddled LBU players, a stretcher wheeled between them.

We wait. Everyone waits.

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