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“For what?”
“To understand the futility.”
The beast huffed. “Think you can take me?”
“Forgone conclusion.” Flexing his hands, he relished the feel of his claws. Razor-thin, so sharp the talons sliced through muscle and bone, no sawing necessary. He stared at the Wendigo from beneath his brows. The look was aggressive. Westvane intended it to be. He wanted the Wendigo enraged. Anger would lead to an error in judgement. And a mistake would give him the opening he needed. “So certain, in fact, why fight at all? Give up. Go home. Keep all your limbs attached.”
“I’m not going back.” Seven-fingered hands curled into fists, it slammed a hooved foot into the floor. Stone cracked. The viper’s iridescent scales rose like spikes, then clattered back into position. “I’ll never go back to that witch.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” he said, understanding more than a little. He almost felt sorry for the Wendigo. Lyonesse wasn’t anyone’s idea of a prize. Neither was the prison cell she wanted to stuff the beast back into.
Claws dragging along the floor, the Wendigo snarled at him.
He growled back. The guttural rumble vibrated from his chest. Subtle, but nasty. Quiet, yet wholly disrespectful. A challenge issued in the old way, an insult intended to infuriate.
The Wendigo’s slitted nostrils flared.
Westvane waited for the eruption. When the beast hesitated, he raised a brow and gave it a push. “What’s the matter — you scared?”
That did it.
Fury sparked in its eyes.
Westvane almost grinned as, with a roar, the beast ripped a bench from the floor. Bolts exploded toward the ceiling. Steel rivets rained down. Wood creaked as the Wendigo swung the solid length like a club.
Wings flat against his back, Westvane ducked and dodged left.
The bench smashed into the wall behind him. Sharp shards flew across the train station. Pieces of heavy beam slammed into the petroglyph carved into the stone, ripping the figures off the wall. Chunks of rock rained down. Ignoring the spray of shrapnel, Westvane leapt over a staircase and tilted into a somersault. He conjured his twin swords in mid-air. Black flame rose from his hands. The blades solidified, settling familiar grips into his palms.
His feet touched down.
A door at the side entrance slammed open.
Truly ran into main hall.
Westvane cursed under his breath.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the Wendigo. Arms pinwheeling, she reversed course. Feet sliding over polished marble, she fought to stop her forward progress.
The Wendigo’s head snapped in her direction. Its focus narrowed a second before a gruesome grin flashed across its face.
Westvane clenched his teeth. Not good. The beast didn’t hide its intentions. He read the shift of strategy in its expression. Saw the nasty gleam enter its eyes. Knew the precise moment it changed strategy.
Kill the Door Master.
Close all avenues back to Azlandia.
Westvane raised his blades. “Truly — get down!”
Scrambling like an uncoordinated crab, she backpedaled. The clatter of her boots echoed in the huge space. Westvane heard her breath catch, felt her panic, then…
Truly stilled mid-scramble. In a move so idiotic it shocked him, she squared her shoulders and stood to face the beast. The snake hissed. The Wendigo laughed. Westvane mobilized. He didn’t know what she thought she was doing, but whatever her plan, it was a bad one.
No one who planned to live stood in the kill zone when faced with a monster. Somewhere along the way, Truly failed to learn that invaluable lesson. So…
It came down to him.
He must be the one to shield her — to save her, and along with her, his world. The future of his home rested on her shoulders. The second theEcotoneclosed for good, all hope in Azlandia died.
