I pause. My every word has been echoing throughout the Arena. Really, really loudly. I inspect the crowd. The angels sit still, their mouths contracted into an ‘o’ shape. The demons have actually stopped their ongoing battles for the best seats; they all face the Arena floor. Thousands of eyes fix in our direction. Part of me knows I should be humiliated right now, but the rest of me is too jacked up on rage to care.

My gaze flips between Lincoln and Connor. “Okay, how do we end this?”

The King rubs his chin, hiding a smile. “Perhaps if you set your hands like this?” He raises his arms to chest height, palms extended.

“Oh yeah.” I set my hands to match the King’s. Lincoln’s face is the model of calm as he balances the sword between my open palms. I let out a sigh. This nightmare of a morning is almost over. Then, Prince’s fingertips brush the skin between my gloves and sleeves. Where our bare skin touches, I feel an electric pulse of pleasure.

What. The. Hell.

I quickly pull my hands away, curling the sword against my chest. “Thank you.” I quickly glance into Lincoln’s face, seeing his façade of calm crack for a moment, revealing a look that mixes shock and desire.

So, he felt the connection too, but he still thinks I’m a disgusting demon. Great. My face burns with anger and humiliation.

The King and Prince bow slightly, then walk away. It takes forever for them to stride across the Arena floor. I pass the time picturing ways to kick Lincoln in the back of the head.

The next few minutes are a blur of marching heralds, blaring trumpets, and smiling courtiers. At some point, Walker pulls me into the safety and shadows of a nearby archway. His voice is low and gentle. “Are you ready to portal home, Myla?”

My eyes burn with feelings I don’t know how to name. “Walker, I was ready an hour ago.” I’m seconds away from bursting into tears. Some warrior.

“Don’t take it personally, Myla. Most thrax have never met a quasi. They don’t understand that you’re not a demon.”

“That didn’t bother me.” My voice breaks so much, I sound like I could be yodeling. Crap, I hate it when I do that. “Okay, that totally hurt like Hell.”

Walker wraps me into a hug. His body is warm and firm, not at all the chilly undeadly-ness that I expected. “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Not this time, Walker.” My head melts into his shoulder. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“Any time.”

7