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Excellent point. One she needed to concede.
Westvane would kill her ex-boss-turned-gargoyle. Rip him limb from furry limb, then feed him to Hyraxes if something happened to her.
Her boot caught the edge of a tread. Momentum threw her forward. Arms pinwheeling, Truly tripped up three steps before righting her balance. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Not your problem.”
“Of course, it’s my problem!” she rasped, half-turning to run sideways up the rise. “He’s my friend.”
“Typical,” Montrose grumbled. “Only you could make friends with a Slayer.”
“Rosy!”
“You wanna help?” Reaching out, he grabbed her biceps and shoved, propelling her upward. “Run faster.”
Throwing him a killing look, Truly faced forward, and pumping her arms and legs, launched herself up the stairs. Air sawed in her lungs. Her chest started to hurt and…
God. Seriously. If the craziness went on much longer, she was signing up for cardio classes. Or joining a running club. If she didn’t, Azlandia would chew her up, spit her out, then grind her into dust.
Truly huffed as she reached the first landing. Gritting her teeth, she whipped around the narrow space. Whom was she kidding? Westvane’s side of theEcotonewas already kicking her ass, making her feel inadequate. Unable to do what a Door Master should be able to do — back up one of her teammates, an Assenta who took his job so seriously he kept putting himself in danger to protect her. The thing Westvane had yet to grasp was — she felt the same way about him.
She didn’t want him in the line of fire alone. Teammates worked together. Family stuck together. Friends backed each other up. And as strange as it seemed, in a short amount of time, Westvane had become all three.
Which made his sprint up the stairs (towards almost certain death) annoying. Though she had to admit Montrose was right. Westvane’s predatory nature dictated the play. He needed to be first into the fray. Being a warrior was embedded in his DNA. As much as she wanted to shield him, standing in his way wasn’t the right approach. Preventing him from engaging would only piss him off. Helping him, however, remained on the table, along with the full complement of weapons at her disposal.
First things first, though. She needed to catch up.
Rounding a turn, she pushed harder. Her legs pumped. Her arms swung, one hampered by the heavy torch as she took the stairs two at a time. Movement flashed up ahead. She caught sight of Westvane a second before he disappeared again, between two statues, into an opening along the cave wall.
Her gaze narrowed on it. Looked like a doorway. Tall. Narrow. Smooth stone jambs marked with symbols, rising to meet an arched lintel. Chiseled into the rock, engraved letters painted gold shimmered in the torchlight. The closer she got, the more details came into focus. Elaborate mosaic floors set at the feet of two stone-faced phoenixes. Huge statues carved by a master hand, with what looked like hieroglyphs carved into the stone bases.Hieroglyphs.Pictograms. The mode of writing used by ancient Egyptian civilizations. Which begged a question — what were they doing deep in a cave system on this side of theEcotone, far from shores of the Nile and North Africa?
She scanned the archway again, picking up more details. The carvings and symbols, the nod to Egyptian culture, seemed undeniable, but… was that assumption really true? Or had the tenets of ancient Egyptian society originated here, in Azlandia, a place rooted in magic and shrouded by mystery? The urge to stop long enough to carbon-date the statues prickled through her as she started up the last rise of steps.
Her attention bounded to the towering uprights flanking the entrance. More hieroglyphs chiseled in stone. More intricately laid mosaic tile and —
Something slid over the floor beneath the archway.
She dodged around an outcropping, trying to get a better look and…
Fingers.
Truly frowned. No, not fingers —tentacles.
Long and thick, slithering like snakes, moving with purpose. Dragging over the floor, beneath the tall doorway, following in Westvane’s wake.
Alarm clawed through her. Muscles contracted around her bones. Air rasping against the back of the throat, she crested the top step and…
Sensation sizzled through her, popping like fizzy bubbles against her skin.
She felt Weeping Hollow’s grip loosen as she sliced through the invisible barrier marking its boundary. One finger at a time, the forest spirit released her. Perception shifted. Her senses opened. Light sparked through her, smoothing out fear as magic coalesced in her veins. She felt the sparkling rush, embraced the power, eclipsing pain, and entered a state offlow.
Cold air heated around her.
The jumble inside her head cleared.
Mind and body in sync, her breathing even out as she moved with unnatural speed, nothing but the monster and reaching Westvane in her frame.
“Fuck,” Montrose rasped, sprinting now to stay close to her.
