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Shrapnel flew in a wide arch.
Blown sideways, the gargoyle stumbled to his knees.
Knowing Montrose was right, Westvane didn’t hesitate. With a muttered curse, he sheathed his sword, putting it away inside his mind as he reached for Montrose. Precious seconds passed before he grabbed hold of the gargoyle. Raising his shield, he protected their backs as he turned and lunged toward the portal.
More yelling. The rumble of chaos behind him.
He heard two more missiles launch.
Reaching the doorway between worlds, Westvane hammered the opening with his shoulder. The panel resisted, the seam half sealed, holding firm. He pushed harder. An explosion rocked the ground. Fire licked up his back, attacking his wings. The smell of burnt feathers and flesh rose, making him stumble. The door gave way. Opening. Widening. Hinges groaning as he shoved Montrose into theEcotoneand followed in his wake.
* * *
Truly twisted,fighting the hand wrapped like a shackle around her ankle.
With a grunt, Samarin continued to drag her toward the house. Fresh-cut grass clung to her pant legs. She clung to hope, kicking her out with her free foot, clawing at the ground to keep from being dragged forward.
Her effort didn’t make a difference.
Samarin kept walking. She kept struggling. What she needed was leverage, a weapon of some kind, something to make him stop, drop her and back the hell off.
Too bad all she had were her fists… and fingernails.
Bent in half, she clawed at the back of his hand.
Samarin growled at her.
The nasty sound settled low, vibrating through her ribcage, making her heart pound harder as he heaved her up the stairs. Her knees fired like pistons. The backs of her boots clattered against the wooden treads. She arched wildly, rearing like a stallion, gaze ping-ponging, thoughts jumbled and chaotic.
She needed something to grab onto. The edge of a board. One of the porch columns. A piece of outdoor furniture. Whatever. The object didn’t matter as long it stopped Samarin from hauling her through the door and into the house.
Chest heaving, fighting for each breath, Truly grabbed the edge of the last step with both hands. Samarin yanked. She held firm, clinging to the board like a lifeline.
“Stubborn little thing.” Fingers twisted in her pant leg, he adjusted his grip. “Probably terrible eating. Tough and sour, I bet.”
The pause, his musings about how she’d taste coming out of the stew pot, allowed her to suck in a full breath. It also gave her a second to think. She scowled at the behemoth trying to pry her from her perch as she flipped through possible strategies, searching looking for a solution —thesolution — that would stop him where he stood.
She held one advantage.
Well, more than one — if her magic worked as Westvane assured her it would. Some day. At some point. Probably at a date too far in the future. But that complaint needed to wait for another time. Right now, she didn’t have Westvane’s sword at her disposal. All she owned was smarts, guts, and a little bit of knowledge. Not a lot, but maybe enough to turn the situation in her favor.
The way forward came to her like a lightning flash. Maybe if Samarin understood who she was, he’d get on board with the idea she wasn’t meant to be anyone’s meal.
Leaning down, Samarin reached for her hand. His intention clear — he planned to pry her loose.
Curled on her side, Truly protected her grip on the tread. “Don’t you dare!”
“Stop fighting.”
“I am a Door Master. Release me at once —”
He snorted. “Sure you are.”
His amusement ignited her temper. “I am! How do you think I got here from Earth Realm? Humans don’t live here. We live over there, you live over here. Simple enough to understand.”
Thick fingers flexed around her wrist. Samarin paused in his attempt to pry her free.
“Look, I know it’s weird,” she said, determined to convince him.
