glaring at me. “What did you think I was just doing?”
“Holding back, that’s what you’re doing,” I shoot back. “Don’t be a cock.”
“Did you just call me a cock?”
“Well, I’d say pussy, but we both know which is really the weak one.”
Dmitri growls and launches himself at me.
With a feral grin, I neatly step to the side, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. But he uses the momentum of my movement to yank me up and over his head so it’s my turn to go flying.
No way am I letting goddamn Dmitri of all people beat me.
I yank him down so he’s on top of me, then I roll so I’m on top of him. His hands are everywhere, his body hard and solid beneath mine as we grapple together. It’s a lot of touching, and no body part is off limits for either one of us. My heart rate speeds up from more than just exertion, but I long ago got used to the fact that I get a bit turned on—okay, fine, a lot turned on—by sparring with Dmitri.
He clocks me with a left hook, and I retaliate. We go rolling in the grass, punching and kicking, but he’s still not using his magic. He could be phasing and duplicating like crazy, and it would definitely give him a leg up on me. What the hell is he playing at?
There’s an odd hush around us, but I don’t really notice it since the ringing in my ears is so much louder. I lose track of everything, including strategy, just fighting with everything I’ve got to beat him. I don’t care if I go out next—Cam or Asher will win, or at least I hope so—just so long as I can rub it in Dmitri’s face that I beat him fair and square.
I see an opening and take it, slipping around behind him and twisting his arm behind his back. Pressing my hand to the back of his head, I slam him face-first into the dirt, my knee digging into his back. Dmitri struggles to get up, but he’s got no leverage, and he can’t buck me off.
“Say yield,” I growl, tightening my grip.
Dmitri gives a vicious grunt in response, like we’re more animal than human at this point. Victory is coursing through my lungs, my blood, and I don’t know whether I want him to say he yields or for him to grab me and pin me down and fuck me right there on the grass like this really is some weird mating ritual.
Yeah, I’m a bit messed up, but that’s how it gets where Dmitri and I are concerned. Aggression and sexual tension tend to collide.
“Yield!” I repeat, raising my voice.
He could get out of this hold, feasibly, I think. Right?
“Fine,” Dmitri snaps, “I yield, okay? You happy?”
“Damn right, I am,” I reply, grinning savagely. Hell, yes. I’m never letting him live this down.
Even if he could get out of the hold? that little voice in my head whispers to me.
But if he could have, he would have. Dmitri doesn’t like me all that much, and he sure as hell doesn’t like losing. There’s no way he’d let me win.
As I let go of him, I become aware of something else. That weird quiet sound I wasn’t paying attention to because I was busy kicking ass?
It’s turned into absolute silence now.
I look up and around, and my heart skips a beat.
Holy shit.
Everyone around me is on the ground, or tangled up in some magic that keeps them from moving, or outside the arena. In short, everyone else is… is incapacitated.
The crowd stares at me, and I stare back as I realize…
I’m the last one standing.
The silence stretches on. I don’t think anyone expected a first-year student to win, especially not me.
My stomach churns. Are people angry I won? Do they want someone else to represent the school? Should I give up, concede to Dmitri?
“Yeah, Elliot!” someone yells.
It’s Cam.
“Elliot!” he starts yelling. “Elliot! Elliot!”
Other people start taking up the chant. I’m pretty sure I can hear Asher’s voice among them. “El-li-ot! El-li-ot! El-li-ot! El-li-ot!”
Holy shit.
Chapter 8
Everyone chants for a full minute until Hardwick gets them all to settle down.
Fuck.
I might throw up.
No fucking way. I’m the last one standing? How?
I didn’t even do this to win, exactly—I just did it to rub it in Alyssa’s face that I might not be the strongest mage in this school, but I can sure as hell kick her