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Not that it mattered. Nothingmatteredunless shemoved.Out of the line of fire. Out of the kill box. Out of his way long enough for him to go to work.
Dropping in behind the Hyraxes wasn’t a good idea. The entire pack prowled inside the chasm, pacing, snarling, each waiting their turn to attack. Landing in that mess would get him nowhere. Hyraxes would die, sure, but so might he. He was durable, but not invincible. Even with Montrose at his back, fifteen against two weren’t good odds.
“Truly!”
Baring her teeth, she shoved against the inside of the sphere wall. The ball churned forward, moved an inch, then stopped. Her feet slid against the curve as she tipped her head back and glared at him.
Magic pulsed in the air around her.
Fierce, shimmering blue eyes met his. “I’m trying!”
“Try harder!”
She screamed in fury.
He vaulted off the cliff edge. Halfway down, he twisted into a backflip. Wind dragged through his injured wings. Rotating flaming blades in his hands, he beat back the discomfort and landed on the grassy plain abutting the rock field.
“Use your mind,” he growled, moving forward to help her. “Change the shape of the ball. Shrink it.”
“Stop criticizing!” A rock badger slammed into the sphere. Truly lost her footing, landing hard on her knees. “You come in here and try this!”
Westvane bit back a smile. Goddess, she was something. Such a fierce little thing, and as much as it chafed him to admit it, he admired her spirit. Enjoyed the fact she wasn’t afraid of him. Even in the middle of a life-and-death situation, she spoke her mind, standing up to him when no one else dared. Was she annoying? Yes. Did she irritate him most of the time? Without a doubt. But she was also brave and smart, and despite his tendency to dislike everyone, he couldn’t dislike her. He respected her never-say-die attitude too much.
Shifting to his left, he reassessed the situation and his next move. Montrose appeared at the top of one of the stepping stones. Westvane tipped his chin. Fangs bared, the gargoyle nodded and, leaping from one stone to the next, positioned to defend as Westvane spotted what he needed — an opening into the one-sided battle.
His nose flared as he ramped into a run. He couldn’t go through, so he’d do the next best thing — go up and over. If he used the side wall as a launch pad, and Montrose engaged from above, he might be able to create confusion. A few seconds, enough time to surprise and scatter the Hyraxes. The instant he entered the fight, the pack would turn on him, allowing Truly a clear avenue of escape.
At least, he hoped. He couldn’t be certain. The pack was hungry, frenzied by the hunt, the scent of Truly’s magic like chum in open water.
Tucking his wings, he sprinted toward the arch. The toes of his boots dug in, leaving divots in the grass. The smell of loam swirled as he searched the side wall for an adequate foothold. There. Right there. A couple feet above Truly and the sphere.
About to leap over the sphere, he looked at her.
Crumpled, dented along both sides, the sphere shimmered, changing color, moving from blue to purple, then gold, only to shift back again. The light show blinded him for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, he minimized the glint and —
A hole opened on the side of the sphere facing him.
Breaking stride, Westvane put on the brakes. Blue shimmer covering her skin, Truly stuck her arm through the opening. Her hand stretched out toward him. Feet sliding across dew-soaked grass, he opened his wings. Angling the feathered tips, he slowed his forward progress and spun to one side. His back thumped against the stepping stone. Shoving both swords into one hand, he grabbed her wrist and yanked.
She flew head-first out of the sphere. The ball popped like an air bubble. A loudcrack!eclipsed the howl of Hyraxes. Slime sprayed over her, all over him, splattering the ground, painting the area with blue ooze.
Rock badgers clamored through the gap. Paws slipping on the goo, the beasts fell over one another, landing in a pile as he tossed Truly out of the way.
Her feet left the ground. She landed somewhere behind him. Not that he bothered to look. He was too busy attacking. He heard the thump, though — and the creative cursing that followed — as he swung his swords. Catching a rhythm. Driving the pack back. Striking at the few already through the breach. The flaming tips cut through fur, severing muscle and bone. Hyraxes’ blood sprayed across his hands, chest, and arms.
He paid no attention.
And felt no remorse.
He would’ve preferred to leave the pack alive, but it was too late to change tact now. Instead of retreating, he made death his friend. In truth, he’d never lost contact with it. The ability to kill came when called, rising up, taking over until he became a harbinger, deliverer of death.
Somersaulting off a tower, Montrose landed behind him.
“Get her to safety,” he snarled, moving deeper into battle.
The gargoyle didn’t listen. Claws raised, fangs bared, he moved into position, determined to help Westvane defend. “Nowhere to go. We make our stand here.”
“The forest,” Truly said, breathing ragged, voice weak. “We go into the forest.”
