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“Theo gave you to us,” Atticus says. “You’ve no choice but to go where we take you.” The idiot. Does he have no idea how to talk to women? Granted, we’ve been frozen in stone for a century but watching Rosemarie these past few months obviously taught him nothing. So much for his protest that he’s been reading. I should’ve made him watch more TV with me.
“I’m not Theo’s to give,” Rosemarie says. “Or anyone else’s for that matter.”
Atticus’s jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. While my twin’s slow to anger except when his queen is endangered, his temper is brutal. He doesn’t flash with a hot fury that burns. In fact, he rarely shows any emotion. But his cold rage makes the retaliation all the worse. I won’t let Rosemarie take the brunt of his cruelty.
I step between them. “Tell her about the trials. Let her make the choice.”
“There’s no choice,” he says.
“What trials?” she asks at the same time.
Atticus glares at me as if I’ve become the new focal point for that anger. “She’s the future queen. I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah,” I say, “but she’s not.” I don’t add that I’m not sure either. Instead, I brace for any fight that might be coming. Better we have it out now before crossing to the Borderlands.
“She’s right here,” Rosemarie says. “I’m no one’s queen so why don’t you start with telling me about these trials.”
“We don’t have time,” Atticus insists.
“Make time.” I don’t care that my twin’s looking at me as though he wants to slice his claws through me. I won’t relive the awful day when we picked the perfect winner of the trials, only to lose everything. “Do this for me, for her.”
“You know I’m right about her being the one,” he says softly, still ignoring Rosemarie.
“Unless it means we repeat what happened with our last candidate—” I can’t say Dyphena’s name—but it doesn’t matter as Atticus cuts me off.
“Not even if?—”
I interrupt him before he can spit out our punishment if we fail to bring a queen. “Not even then.”
We enter into a silent stare down, and I have no intention of giving in. It’s time I held my ground. If I’d been more cautious the last time, I wouldn’t have fucked everything up for all of us. Atticus does the eye twitch thing that terrifies other gargoyles since it means violence will be incoming. Yet I don’t flinch. I won’t back down—not if it means saving Rosemarie.
She pats me on the back between my wings, and damn, if that simple touch doesn’t feel good even as the soft brush of skin on skin hits like a punch to my gut. A warmth spreads through the hollow space where my heart used to be, and I remind myself to chill the fuck out. I haven’t been touched in a century, and no woman has ever voluntarily touched me without recoiling. I glance at her, not moving since I shield her from my twin.
“Scoot over, Jace,” she says, wiggling her fingers at me. Gods, she’s beautiful, blinking those big dark eyes up at me. Her smooth golden skin has a few freckles dancing across it, a constellation begging me to trace it with my fingers. I do as she said without thought, and she trails her hand over my left wing as she moves around me. I really need to explain how sensitive a gargoyle’s wings can be, but not if it risks her stopping. She aims a smile at me, and I would give her the world right now if she asked me to. Instead, she levels a less cheerful expression at Atticus. “Give me the short version,” she tells him.
My brother relents, still sending a fierce glare my way. “The Bridge of Souls requires a queen. You’re our candidate, one of only four in the world selected to compete in the trials.”
“Thanks.” She layers on the sarcasm, not sounding at all grateful. Smart woman. “I’m not so good with competing in stuff. Standardized tests are the bane of my existence.”
“You will win the trials.” Atticus sounds so certain.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Your Bridge needing a queen—is this a new thing or does it have one already?” The last she says with a glance my way.
“The Bridge always has a queen,” I answer. I don’t add that the queen’s worshipped nearly as much as the Bridge by gargoyles as a revered chosen one. I won’t give her reasons to agree to compete.
“Then what happened to your current queen?” Her wariness almost makes me smile. Forget smart. She’s brilliant.
Atticus takes over. “The queen is stepping down. She has served for more than a century, and her life force is dwindling. The Bridge requires a replacement.”
Rosemarie’s lip curls in disgust. “I already had one job that kicked me out for not having the right degree. I don’t want another that kicks someone out because they’re dying. What happened to having a cushy royal retirement?”
“Our realm rewards the queen,” Atticus says smoothly. “You would be showered with riches—jewels, gowns, prestige, luxuries you don’t have now.”
“Uh huh.” Suspicion, sharp and stinging, runs beneath her tone. “There’s more to life than stuff. What about these trials? If they aren’t standardized tests, then are they physical sports contests or something else? Because if you wanted a future lawyer or scientist, you grabbed the wrong woman from the haunted house.” She raises a finger. “Don’t even think of flying back to touch my friends. I don’t know how to hurt you, but I could figure it out.”
Atticus shakes his head. “The trials aren’t physical. The Bridge requires a queen who is wise of mind, pure of heart, and strong of soul.”
Rosemarie snickers hard enough to snort. From the look on my brother’s face, it isn’t a reaction either of us expected from her. “What a cheesy load of crap you’re serving up,” she says. “You definitely picked the wrong woman. Why don’t you leave me somewhere nice and public before you go off to find someone who might check all the boxes on your warrior nun list?”
