Rush The Game

walls and bodies that lie still and lifeless. The rush of adrenaline that kept me on my feet ebbs. My leg collapses under me. I reach down and feel the swelling through my jeans. I think my femur’s broken, and I don’t even know when, or how, that happened. Maybe when the chunk of desk hit me.
    It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Jackson.
    I scooch forward, gritting my teeth against the pain.
    “Jackson,” I say, glancing around, wary of attack. But nothing moves. No people. No Drau. Not a sound. Nothing. “Jackson,” I say again, the word broken, my voice broken. But he doesn’t answer.
    With a groan, I shift so I can reach his head. I turn his face toward me. His glasses are gone, knocked off at some point in this fight. Or maybe he took them off. Maybe he used his Drau eyes against them. Sweat and dirt streak his face. His hair is matted. Blood traces a thin line along his cheek. To me, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
    I reach for his neck and lay my fingers there, holding my breath, willing to give anything if I can just feel a—
    Yes. There. Weak and slow, but there, a pulse.
    The sound that escapes me is part sob, part cackle.
    I grab his wrist and turn it so I can see his con.
    Horror congeals in my gut. It’s almost red. No, that’s not true. No almost about it. It’s red with maybe the faintest hint of orange clinging at the edge. He’s dying. Jackson’s dying.
    I look around, panicked, ready to cry for help. From whom? Who will help us? I don’t even know if there’s anyone left alive. Luka? Tyrone? My heart feels like it’s been shoved through a meat grinder.
    “Jackson,” I say again, holding his cheeks between my palms.
    His eyelids flutter. Tears blur my vision. Then his eyes open and he’s staring up at me.
    “Miki,” he breathes, and the edge of his mouth curls in a whisper of a smile. “You’re okay.”
    I’m not. I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay if he dies here in my arms.
    “Don’t you die on me. Don’t you fricking die on me,” I snarl.
    “ Tsss . . . language . . .” His eyelids close. “What . . . makes you . . . think . . . you get a . . . choice?”
    My heart stops. “Jackson!” I tap his cheeks. “Jackson!”
    His eyelids flutter open again and I stare into his beautiful eyes. Drau eyes, which can steal energy. Eyes that saved him once before.
    “Look at me,” I order, my voice hard as diamond.
    His eyes widen, and he holds my gaze.
    “You take what you need. Do you hear me, Jackson Tate? You take what you need.”
    For a second, I think he doesn’t understand what I mean, and then he does. His expression turns to one of horror.
    “Never. Miki. Love. You.”
    My tears come fast and hard. I swipe them away with the back of my hand. “You think you get to do that? You think you get to tell me you love me and then die on me? You think you get to dump me in this game and then take off? You bastard!” His eyes are closed again. My hands slide to his shoulders. I shake him. I can’t help it. “Open your eyes! Open them. You look at me. You look at me and tell me you love me. You look at me, Jackson.”
    His eyes open, and they’re clear, free of pain, free of fear. That scares me most of all. He’s leaving me. He’s accepted that.
    And he won’t risk killing me like he killed Lizzie. He won’t take what he needs to stay alive till we get pulled.
    Well, if he won’t take, maybe I can give. It isn’t stealing energy if I offer it for free.
    “I don’t forgive you,” I grind out. “I don’t. You have to grovel. You have to stick around and earn my forgiveness for consigning me to this hell. You look at me, Jackson Tate, and you live. You live to make up for what you did. You owe it to me to live. Do you hear me?” I’m sobbing now, frantic. I drop my head so my cheek rests against his and I whisper, “I love you. I won’t let you die.”
    I rear back and grab his cheeks and stare down at him. Something flickers in his eyes. Something dark and dangerous. Predatory. Yes!
    “You have Drau instincts,” I whisper. “Let them out. Let them rule you.” I hold his gaze, thinking how badly I need him to live, thinking how I want him to take enough to survive.
    “Miki, no—”
    He sounds panicked. He tries to jerk away. Too late. I feel it, the pain of the Drau pulling my life away. But not Drau this time, Jackson. And I’m giving it to him freely, though he doesn’t want to take it. He’s trying to wrench