Chapter 14
Nyx
My hands curl into fists as I force myself to take deep breaths, my heart beating so fast that I feel like it might explode out of my chest. I watch Thorian get a quarter of the way across, each of his steps sending the bridge into a slow, sickening sway, the ropes groaning under his weight, the drop yawning beneath him, and I press my lips together and don't look away and don't move, as though staying perfectly still might somehow keep him on it.
Then, Fenric shouts across the wind and rain for him to stop.
At first, I think Thorian might not hear him, but then he comes to a stop, sliding a bit before hunkering down.
My chest tightens as I watch him. Anything could go wrong.
The metal tower we built could fall apart.
The wind could pick up. Thorian could just not be able to hold on.
He could slip. The bridge could give out after so much time in a storm like this.
So many things could go wrong, but I have to hope they don’t.
I give a quick prayer to Soryn, the goddess of light and the celestial dome, the goddess who bet on us winning, and then my mind sharpens once more, focusing on Thorian.
The demi-god wraps both his arms around the thin chain railing, looping his hands together and dropping to one knee, creating a smaller profile for the wind to catch on.
I feel my pulse behind my eyes as I watch, my mind replaying the way the shifter fell from the bridge again and again.
This time, the wind that hurtles through the canyon seems to be three times as hard and fast, hitting Thorian like an arrow. It nearly knocks our group off our feet. I can’t stop the scream that rips from my throat, but Talon claps a hand over my mouth before it fully releases, quieting me.
Lowering his mouth to my ear, he whispers in his posh accent, “Let’s not distract him, love.”
He’s right. Thorian could hear me scream and think the other teams are attacking. The last thing I want to do is be the reason he loses his focus, loses his grip.
I dig my nails into my palms and force myself to stay quiet.
Fenric watches the bridge with an intensity I've never seen from him, reading the wind, tracking the lightning, following some invisible calculation in his head, and calling out to Thorian in short, sharp commands.
When the wind dies he shouts for Thorian to go, and Thorian moves, quick and deliberate, covering ground.
When the gusts pick back up Fenric shouts for him to stop and hold, and Thorian goes perfectly still on the swaying structure over that endless drop, waiting.
Go. Hold. Go again. Thorian obeys each one without hesitation.
Near us, the lightning strikes the metal rod every so often in a crack of white that makes me flinch, the thunder rolling through immediately after, but the rod holds, drawing it away from the bridge itself.
We're all soaked, but Thorian looks like he just emerged from the ocean, his clothes sodden, water rolling off him in sheets.
The wind drives the rain into him sideways, a barrage of stinging droplets, and still he holds when Fenric tells him to hold, and moves when Fenric tells him to move.
It does nothing to help assuage my fears that even as strong as he is, he’ll lose his hold and go tumbling over the side of the bridge.
Each time the lightning strikes, diverting to the lightning rod at the last second, it seems to come with more ferocity and anger. I wonder if Valtor is cursing somewhere above us, royally pissed off that some little berserker managed to out-wit him in his own game.
Even through the din of my worry and fear, thinking about Valtor’s anger makes me almost smug. After what happened with my mother, I buried my hatred for the god, focused on my life, but I won’t miss an opportunity to relish his defeat.
Finally, after several heart-wrenching bouts of running and stopping, Thorian finally hits solid ground, crossing over to the other side. The bridge rocks violently in the wind, and strikes of lightning batter the makeshift rod, as though in protest, but it’s too late. He’s made it!
Fuck you, Valtor!
It’s only when Talon shifts on his feet, guiding me toward the start of the bridge, that my relief from seeing Thorian make it safely across dissipates, because now it’s my turn.
Shit. How am I going to do this?
“You can do this,” Talon says, as if reading my thoughts. He squeezes my shoulder and leans down, just brushing his lips over my cheek. “Just listen to the berserker.”
When he steps back, Fenric throws his arms around me, holding me tight. Despite the rain and the icy wind whipping around us, he’s warm, and having his arms around me is like pulling a blanket from a basket by the fire.
I breathe in his scent, that scorched earth, clean smell, and pull back. Fenric holds me for a second, his green eyes on mine. In them, I can see the weight of the responsibility he carries. Not just with his family, but right now, to keep me safe.
“You have to go,” he says, his voice rough, his gaze averted from mine. “Or I think I might not let you.”
Reluctantly, I pull away from his embrace, heart breaking.
I wish I’d met them in some other circumstance. I wish I could revel in the thing forming between us without having to worry for my life. But this is where I am, and I need to focus.
Lining up at the start of the bridge, I stare ahead at the long, tenuous path that lies before me.
It’s a simple bridge constructed of wood planks and metal chains, looped together and sagging over a massive canyon.
Even from here, and even through the rain, I can make out the glint of the metal weapons lying below.
“Go!”
I’m so caught up in studying the bridge that I forget what we’re doing until Fenric’s voice bellows through the roar of the storm.
The wind is calm, the lightning done striking at the rod, and I fight through a beat of hesitation before launching out onto the bridge, trying to run the way I saw Thorian do.
Instantly, I slip on the wood and fall.
“Nyx!” Talon and Fenric cry out at the same time. I’m on my stomach for a moment, the air knocked out of me, my hands wrapped in a death grip around the thin chain “rails.” After a second, gasping, I manage to struggle to my feet.
“Stay down!” Fenric bellows. “The wind is—”
But before he can finish that sentence, the wind makes itself known, blowing against me like a tidal wave. Screaming, I wrap my arms around the chains, trying to anchor myself like Thorian had.
The metal rips against my skin. The painful wind projects the rain into my face like gravel spit from the back of a horse’s foot. I hold on as hard as I can, bleeding and crying and desperately trying to make it through.
When I close my eyes, I see the bottom of the canyon. I can feel the crunch of my bones, the pain through my spine. I wonder how long I’ll live. How long I’ll suffer.
I sob against the wood as another torrent of wind tosses me around, and my hands begin to slip on the metal.
“No!”
I hear her voice as clearly as anything, and it breaks through the sorrow, the pain, the fear clouding my judgment. This time, behind my closed eyes, I see only my sister.
“You can do it, Nyx,” she says, her hands on my shoulders, her expression insistent. “You’re strong.”
And just like that, the wind stops.
My ears ring, but I still manage to hear Fenric screaming for me to get up, to run while I have a chance. My entire body feels numb, but I do what he says, rising shakily to my feet.
I don’t move as fast as Thorian, but I force myself to pick up the pace, sliding my bleeding hands along the chains, muscles twitching with readiness.
This time, I don’t trip. When Fenric yells for me to stop and hold on, I’m ready. I drop down, winding the chains around myself, breathing through the panic and terror. Wishing I had powers like Thorian to help me now.
Well, I do. Don’t I?
I reach out to the bridge with my magic, encouraging it to make myself heavy. Sticky. I imagine the bridge would never let me go. I imagine my men holding me tight, their warmth, their scents.
Even as the wind wails against me, battering, relentless, I don’t waiver. I just channel my magic, continuing to make myself stick to the bridge for as long as the wind strikes me.
Over and over this process follows. I make my way inch by inch across the bridge, praying, each time, to make it just a little longer. Thunder roars in my ears, and lightning continues to blind me every so often, as if reminding me of the asshole god.
By the time I reach Thorian on the other side, I’m shaking and boneless. Rather than try to hold onto some semblance of pride, I just collapse into his chest, sobbing into his leather jacket, which is steeped in his scent.
“Nyx, Nyx,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my hair, his voice hoarse. I realize, for the first time, that he was yelling at me from the side. That he was the one who said, You can do it, Nyx. You’re strong. And I heard it in my sister’s voice.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice cracking as he winds his thick arms around me, hauling me up to his body.
His hands plant against my lower back, drawing me impossibly close.
We stand like that for a moment, and I realize he’s fully supporting my weight. With the physical and magical exhaustion of the crossing, I can barely stand up straight.
“You did such a good job,” Thorian whispers, finally, his voice low enough that I can only hear it this close. Wiping my sodden hair away from my face, he leans down and kisses me.
And I kiss him back.
I throw every ounce of wanting, of fear and pain and desire into it. When I rise up on my toes, he uses the hand anchored on my back to draw me in so our chests are flush, so I can feel his heat against my hardened nipples.
The adrenaline of surviving makes my body feel more alive than ever.
When we break apart, we’re both gasping, and his eyes are locked on my lips, like he wants nothing more than to keep going.
If we were anywhere else, I would.
But I hear Fenric’s voice ringing out through the canyon and spin around, watching as Talon races out onto the bridge.
“Watch this,” he calls, practically prancing, a grin spread over his face, “I’ll beat your record, Rian!”
“Be careful! It’s not a race!” Thorian commands, pulling to the side, but keeping an arm around me. My heart clenches with the realization that he means it. For whatever reason, Thorian cares about whether or not Talon lives or dies.
Of course, it could just be due to the fact that he's our teammate now. But deep inside, I know the truth. There's a bond between the four of us, and Thorian is starting to care for the other men the way I do.
In his worry for our vampire, Thorian didn’t even remember to tell him off for the nickname.
Halfway across the bridge, there’s a moment where Talon slips and nearly loses his grip on the chains, which makes Thorian growl in frustration, his hand tightening on my hip when I let out a half-whimper, half-gasp.
But Talon regains his footing and plays it off like nothing happened, even going as far as to take a little bow when he makes it to the other side with us.
“You idiot,” I breathe, stepping forward and throwing my arms around Talon, who’s still grinning like nothing is wrong, even when Thorian cuffs him on the back of the head.
“Sorry to worry you,” he murmurs into my hair, and I think he actually means it.
The wind dies down again, and we turn our attention to Fenric, who’s readying himself to start across the bridge.
Lightning strikes the rod, illuminating the space, making Fenric’s burgundy curls flash against the dark backdrop of the mud and forest.
And then, lightning isn’t the only electricity in the air.
“Fenric!” I scream, reaching out a hand to him as a streak of magic cuts a jagged line from where the warlocks stand to him.
He dodges the blast just in time, narrowly managing to avoid knocking over the lightning rod. Talon doesn’t hesitate, turning and making for the bridge, but Thorian steps in front of the vampire, holding his hand out.
“Don’t—”
“Get out of my way,” Talon warns, his voice dropping to a frigid command I’ve never heard before. It makes a shudder run down my back to hear it, but I can’t tear my eyes from Fenric, who is rolling in the mud, dodging another magic strike just in time.
“No,” Thorian growls, not even looking over his shoulder at our teammate. “You have to trust him to make it across.”
“Trust him?” Talon shakes his head and tries to out maneuver Thorian. And he nearly does, too, except Thorian catches him at the last minute and throws him back, so Talon stumbles before gracefully regaining his footing.
In the background, another flash of violet magic fights with the lightning for dominance.
“You’re going to let him die?” Talon roars, throwing a hand up in Fenric’s direction. For the first time since I met him, he looks frantic, his posh accent softening slightly. When Thorian doesn’t answer, Talon straightens up, growling, “You might be strong, but you can’t stop me.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“Stop—” I start, but there’s another flash across the canyon, and when I look, I see Fenric pivoting, running. The lightning has stopped. The wind is quiet.
And he’s taking the only escape route he has from the magic, directly onto the bridge.
The wind could start at any moment, and I can’t imagine he’s paying attention to it while trying to dodge the magic.
“Run!” I scream, my throat feeling cut with a thousand pieces of glass. I try to reach out to him with my magic, to make the bridge stick to him as it did me, but I’m depleted.
And Fenric doesn’t follow my directive.
Instead of running, he turns back toward the advancing wizards, says something I can’t hear, then raises one of the half-rusted blades and swings it, breaking clean through the bridge’s chains.
“Fenric!” Thorian bellows, while Talon just watches, stunned.
One moment, the berserker is there.
And the next, he’s nothing but another body at the bottom of the canyon.