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The idea shouldn’t bother him. What Truly thought of him shouldn’t mean anything, and yet…
Somehow, itdid.
Westvane scowled. His reaction was maddening. Confusing. Annoying. None of what he felt made sense, but the truth of it was — her opinion mattered.
Raising his torch higher, he examined the narrow path ahead. More bridge than ledge, the trail continued onto a narrow stone overpass. Not too long a span, but as the wall dropped away on the left side, so did the sense of security. The shift in terrain would tweak Truly, and she was already spooked enough.
Stopping where the cliff wall ended and the bridge began, he glanced over his shoulder. He clenched his teeth to keep from laughing. Freaked out, she stood right behind him. Practically breathing down his neck, her tension so thick it burned around her like an aura, pricking against his skin.
“Princess?”
“Yeah?”
“Relax.”
“Easy for you to say,” she said, voice full of strain. “You can see in the dark. I can barely see a foot in front of me.”
Leaning forward, he peered into the gully. Deep. Dark. Even with his night vision sparking, he couldn’t see the bottom. “So, here’s the thing…”
“Oh, God. What now?”
“There’s a bridge ahead.”
“What kind of bridge?” she asked, trying to look around him. He widened his stance to block her view. She didn’t need to see it before she crossed it. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. “Rope or stone?”
“Stone.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“You haven’t seen it yet, Triple,” Montrose said from behind her. “Narrow, Westvane?”
“It isn’t wide.”
“Railings?”
“No.” Nudging a pebble off the cliff, Westvane counted off the seconds.
He reached thirty before the stone hit bottom of the ravine.
A long, long way to fall if Truly lost her footing. He wasn’t worried about Montrose. Gargoyles were excellent climbers. Tough hides, sharp claws, hard heads upped the rate of Montrose and his species’ survival.
“Two options, princess.”
“Hit me.”
“I carry you on my back or —”
Truly scoffed. “Next.”
“You gut it out,” he said, relieved she didn’t want his help. With his strength waning, carrying her would cost him.
“Go, Westvane. I’ll follow.”
“If you feel your balance falter, get low. Drop to your knees and crawl, if you need to,” Montrose said. “No joke, Triple.”
She nodded, then tapped the back of his shoulder. “Go, Westvane.”
“Wait until I reach the middle, then follow me across.”
