Chapter 22 #2
Silas moves immediately, his hand closing over mine on the rope. The contact steadies me more than the rope does.
“Stay still,” he says. “Three breaths.”
“What?”
“The gusts are peaking in intervals. Count.”
I listen as the wind rises, holds, then drops. One breath. Two. Three. Then we move together again, climbing higher. Silas matches his pace to mine. When the wind rises again, we stop at the same instant. I shift my weight and he adjusts similarly.
At the next opening, I notice the pines below bending in a rolling sequence.
“Wait,” I tell him.
Silas stops.
A violent crosswind tears around the cliff a second later, strong enough to rip the beanie from my head. Silas catches it against the rock with one hand. He looks at me, impressed.
“You saw that coming,” he says.
“It was the treetops, like you said. I saw the movement.”
He hands the hat back. “Nice work.”
We are the first to reach the top of the ledge, with the other competitors still scattered along the course behind us.
I spot Rowan and Georgina quickly approaching, Van and his partner not far behind them.
I scan farther down the path below, but Wren and Lena are nowhere in sight.
A brief flicker of worry passes through me.
“They’re fine,” Silas says, knowing exactly who I’m looking for.
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re right.” He sighs. “I was trying to make you feel better. They’re probably not fine, and we won’t be either if we don’t keep moving.”
I expect his cold bluntness to annoy me, but strangely, the truth hurts far less than false reassurance.
Directly ahead of us lies the greatest challenge so far: the bridge.
It stretches across a deep ravine, much longer than it looked from below, bucking and swaying in the wind.
A narrow line of planks and rusted cables disappears into the darkness between two rocky outcroppings.
Several boards are missing, while others hang crookedly from the cables.
A single safety line runs overhead, clipped at intervals to metal rings, with several climbing harnesses hanging from the posts at either end.
Silas crouches beside the first anchor point and pulls hard on the line. It gives several inches before catching.
“Looks like it should hold,” he concludes.
“Should? Well, that sure inspires confidence.”
He glances up at me, a slow rakish grin pulling at his mouth. “Don’t worry, Mercer. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
That damn smile does something annoyingly pleasant and inconvenient to my insides, which seems particularly ill-timed considering I may be about to fall to my death.
“Come on. Let’s get you strapped in.”
Silas takes one of the harnesses from the post and loops it around my waist. His body is suddenly inches from mine, close enough that I can feel his warmth as he reaches around me to secure the first buckle.
His knuckles brush the sliver of skin beneath the hem of my sweater, and a spark of heat races through me.
He either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.
His attention remains fixed on the harness as he works his way through each strap with focused precision, tightening and testing every buckle.
Efficient. Deliberate. Maddeningly thorough.
Like he’s done this a hundred times, though I doubt strapping women into climbing harnesses is a typical Blackhollow pastime.
Then his hand settles at my hip.
His fingers tighten around the lower strap as he gives it another yank, but instead of letting go, he uses it to pull me even closer.
My body comes flush against his, his hips pressed against mine as his hand trails slowly along my side.
Heat sparks beneath his touch and races up my body.
There’s a faint amusement in his eyes, and this time, I can’t help feeling like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He lowers his face until his lips are only inches from mine, then slides two fingers beneath the strap at my hip as if to test the fit.
“Does that feel… okay?” he asks, his fingertips grazing my bare skin again.
“It’s fine,” I say, pushing him away and looking down to hide my flushed cheeks. “I can manage a buckle, you know.” My fingers tremble as I check the clips myself, confirming the harness is secure. The effect this man has on me is obscene.
“I’m sure you can,” he says. “I’m merely taking precautions.
If you fall to your death, I’ll have to find another partner, and that sounds rather inconvenient.
” Before I can protest, he steps into my space again, his tall frame looming over me as he checks each strap once more.
“Keep in mind, the safety line will stop you from falling, but it won’t get you back onto the bridge.
You’ll have to move quickly. If the main supports fail, you’ll go with it. ”
“So it’s less a safety line and more a temporary delay of death?”
He considers this for a beat. “My best advice? Don’t fall in the first place.”
“Noted.”
Footsteps scrape behind us as Rowan and Georgina emerge from the trail, both breathing hard. Georgina’s ponytail has loosened, and one sleeve of Rowan’s coat is torn at the shoulder. Rowan’s gaze lands on Silas, who is standing in front of me with his hands still on my harness.
“Careful, Jack,” Rowan says, his blue eyes going flinty and small. “You may start thinking he actually wants you—instead of simply wanting something from you.”
“I’m trying not to get carried away,” I say dryly.
“Did he shower you with compliments? Tell you things like how ‘useful’ you are?” Rowan smiles without warmth. “That’s how Blackhollows operate. They start with flattery and then make obedience feel like partnership.”
Something cold opens beneath my ribs, because that is exactly what Silas said to me.
But how does Rowan know—
“He did, didn’t he?” Rowan’s satisfaction is immediate. He sees the fracture and presses harder, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “How utterly unoriginal, Silas. I expected better. Thought you were smoother than that.”
Silas’s expression barely changes. “You would know a great deal about manipulation, Ashcroft.”
Rowan’s fists clench at his sides. He takes one step toward Silas, but Georgina catches his arm.
“Not here,” she warns.
The bridge groans, wind pouring through the ravine and lifting the loose ends of the ropes. Somewhere along the ridge, an iron bell rings again.
Silas doesn’t spare Rowan another glance. He looks only at me. “You can decide what my intentions are after we survive this night.”
It is not reassurance. It is not even an apology. But he says we, like we’re a team, and that matters. Maybe more than it should.
A competitor I recognize vaguely from one of my accounting classes rushes toward us. His name is Evan, or Ethan. I can’t recall which. I’ve never had much interaction with him, though I’ve seen him around campus with Van. That alone is reason enough to avoid him.
“Get out of the way,” he says, pushing me aside as he hastily slips on a harness and clips himself to the safety line. He rushes onto the bridge, which immediately dips beneath his weight.
The gust arrives an instant later and slams into the bridge broadside, twisting the structure violently.
His clip races along the line as he falls sideways, and for one suspended second, he hangs over the ravine.
Then the metal ring above him tears free, and he plunges into the dark abyss below, his screams echoing after him.