Nikita kicked the ball out of Stas' grasp, and it treacherously slid across the water's surface toward the approaching Arthur. Water splashed everywhere — he was quickly and powerfully stroking with his arms. His muscular arms cut through the calm water time and again with precision, and from the side, it looked intimidating: even the deep water couldn't hide the formidable body of the vampire, which hid within it the gentle heart of a joker — Arthur's smiling lips constantly spread into a grin, making everyone around feel warmer. Of course, unless you were in the way between Arthur and the ball.
Stas and Nikita raced toward the ball, trying to grab it before the other. Nikita tripped Stas, and for a moment, our captain's head disappeared underwater. With a short shout of triumph, Nikita skimmed his fingertips over the surface of the wet ball, but it slipped out of his unwanted grasp. At that point, Stas resurfaced, shoved Nikita with his shoulder, and tried to break through to the prize, but met resistance. The splash of water, the sprays — it seemed that the guys got too caught up in their fight with each other, forgetting that the ball was gently drifting with the waves and gradually moving straight into Arthur's grasp, who was watching the prize hungrily and getting closer like a hungry orca approaching a lone sea lion among the snow-white ice floes.
"Stas, the ball!" I shouted, and started leaping out of the water, waving my arms, hoping to catch my partner's attention. He quickly turned to me, still interfering with Karimov's attempt to grab the ball. His eyes slid from me to the goal area. Tatyana, with sincere pleasure, was lazily watching the boys' struggle, and there might not be a better moment to score a goal. I understood that, and judging by what happened next, Stas did too: once again, instead of knocking Nikita's hands off the ball's trajectory, Smirnov grabbed his opponent by the forearm and gave it a good spin. The inertia of the water easily swept Nikita away, despite his attempts to resist. If we were playing with referees, Stas would have surely been penalized for this, but who cared about the rules when the main thrill was in the poorly concealed desire to mischievously spank each other under the guise of the game?
Karimov missed his moment, and Stas managed to snatch the ball right from under Arthur's nose, who had just leapt out of the water and had already raised his wide hand to seize the prize for himself, but nothing came of it: Stas acted much faster.
Our eyes met, and I nodded briefly, signaling that I was ready for the pass. Stas raised his arm over his head, trying to put more power into the ball, but Tatyana unexpectedly came to her senses and screamed, "Arthur! Over here, quickly!"
The big guy had no peace for even a minute. The ball soared high into the air and flew toward me, but it was moving too slowly, and I groaned in frustration. Stas had overthought things, depriving us of the element of surprise. Arthur was already paddling toward me, and I felt an unpleasant chill run down my neck: there was no way I could handle him alone, but there was nothing I could do. I watched the ball and tried to adjust to its trajectory, swimming slightly to the left, when suddenly, the projectile jerked in the air and then flew directly toward Arthur. For a second, I was confused, not understanding how that could happen, but quickly realized, hearing Viola's laugh behind me, that she had probably decided to help her beloved and annoy me once again.
Once upon a time, Viola seemed like a pleasant, though straightforward, girl. I wonder what changed her so much, as in such a short time, she managed to go from being a pleasant, free-spirited peer to a real thorn in the side that couldn't be removed even with tweezers or the tip of a needle? I understood that she must have gone through a lot of upheavals in her own home: first, Vladimir's revealed secrets, then her mother, who easily renounced everything she had created just to risk everything to find out what it was like to become human, paying an unbearable price — giving up her life — for that choice. Viola must have felt rejected and abandoned, but instead of showing others her soft nature, she preferred to sneer and hide behind the impenetrable facade of the tough girl she had built over the years. She seemed to be deliberately testing the strength of others' boundaries, waiting for someone to finally come along with whom she could truly release all the accumulated pain and anger. We were in the same boat.
But instead of feeling compassion for Viola, I could only feel my own anger, sensing how between the lines, she blamed me for the chain of events that had unfolded in our fates. The truth, however, was that it all started too long ago, and we weren't the ones who started it, so none of us became the "punching bag."
Well-well. He who laughs last, laughs best.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, searching for a response from Kaandor, who didn't need to be asked twice: sometimes he knew my true desires and plans before they could even form into words. The power hummed pleasantly at my fingertips.
Max swore loudly and rushed to my aid, leaving Dasha to defend our half of the playing field, but I knew perfectly well that no matter how quickly he swam, he wouldn't make it in time. Nikita intercepted Stas in the water, not allowing him to get any closer to Arthur. The veins on Stas's hands swelled from the struggle, emphasizing the defined contours of his arms, which hid a strength beyond the reach of mortals. For a moment, I found myself staring at him again, but quickly snapped out of it. Why, why didn't Stas swim with a shirt on?
All hope of taking possession of the ball now rested solely on me. I had to pull myself together.
"It's time," Kaandor's voice commanded inside my mind, and I didn't swim, no — I started slicing through the water barrier as if it didn't exist at all. My body was carried through the water like it was drawn by a magnet, the distance between me and the ball, which Arthur was almost about to grab, shrinking. Suddenly, the big guy leapt out of the water, and his tensed torso appeared above the bluish surface. Arthur arched his body mid-jump, trying to push himself further just to reach it. He spread his fingers wide, hoping to grab the ball tightly, and it was then that I made my final lunge and flew toward him with a loud groan that escaped my lips.
And yet, I missed the ball. But I didn't let Arthur get it.
Arthur's fingers slid along the edge of the ball when I slammed into Smirnov's chest with my shoulder. The impact resonated in me with such pain, it felt like every muscle in Arthur's body was made of metal. Colliding in the air, we both fell and plunged underwater, with all surface sounds swallowed by the water. My ears rang with a familiar hum, and soon I began to hear the beat of my own heart, as always when the relentless power inside me began to overflow and wash over, like a wave, drowning the echoes of the inner voice that had kept the animal side in check, waiting for its moment to emerge.
And that moment had come.
In the water, scarlet, thin ribbons like satin appeared, lines twisting and curling. Their smooth contours undulated, picked up by the waves, forming intricate rings that gradually blurred as the lines started to dissolve in the water. At first, I saw the mesmerizing lines, and only then did I tilt my head back to understand where they came from — and found myself face to face with Arthur. Forgetting myself, I sharply inhaled underwater. A disgusting sensation immediately filled me, and my throat felt as though thousands of sharp sand grains were tearing at the delicate mucous lining. I hastily resurfaced and immediately began coughing, spitting out the remnants of the water that had accidentally entered my mouth, tasting of a familiar saltiness with treacherously tempting notes.
There was blood in the pool. And not just anyone's — Arthur's, whose nose I had probably broken by accident.