Scythe

think all young women are cursed with a streak of unrelenting foolishness, and all young men are cursed with a streak of absolute stupidity.

“No,” Citra agreed, “he’s not.” But for the life of her she had no idea who he was now.

You’ll be fine, Citra. You’ll be back with Scythe Curie in no time—but you won’t forget what happened today. And I hope you never forgive me.

Her head was twisted practically backward. Her eyes were open, but no longer seeing. She was deadish as deadish could be. He bit down on his tongue until it began to bleed.

“You fell right into my trap,” he said. “Now you get what you deserve.” Then he flung her body into the air, twisting her head the other way. Her neck broke with a loud and horrible snap, and darkness came over Citra like a landslide.

• • •

Rowan dropped Citra to the ground as the crowd drew a collective gasp. Cervantes blew his whistle violently. “Illegal move! Illegal move!” Cervantes shouted, just as Rowan knew he would. “Disqualification!”

He must have been crazy thinking Citra would allow him to willingly throw the match. They both cared too much about each other. That was the problem. Citra would never willingly accept the scythe’s ring as long as her feelings for him got in the way.

“What’s the matter, Rowan?” she whispered. “Don’t know what to do when you’re on top of a girl?”

She countered by forcing him to roll over and pin her. He tried to release her, but she held his arms in place so he couldn’t.

He grabbed her, twisted, flipped them both down to the mat, landing with her in the dominant position over him.

She would sooner glean herself as her first act as a scythe than accept his sacrifice.