“Emeline!”
Her fingers clung to a small handhold. Abandoning the rope, she wedged her other hand into the crevice. Hanging flat against the wall, she dangled dangerously, high in the air. Stones scattered down the cliff as her feet struggled to find footholds and couldn’t.Shit, shit, shit.Her hands desperately gripped the rocky fissure she’d placed them in while her arms trembled and burned from the burden of bearing all her weight.
“Hold on.” Beneath her, Hawthorne’s voice grew nearer. “I’m coming …”
Her fingers started to slip. Clenching her teeth, Emeline glanced to the rope swinging next to her, wondering if she should reach for it. If she missed, she would lose her hold for good.
Even with your trusty harness, a fall will be unpleasant.
Emeline squeezed her eyes shut, knowing her overexerted muscles couldn’t hold her any longer. This time when her sweaty hands slipped, the rock disappeared from beneath her fingertips.
She dropped—straight into Hawthorne.
The air seemed towhooshout of his lungs as her body careened into his. Somehow, he managed to grab the taut rope with one hand and her waist with the other as they fell. When her momentum slammed them into the rock wall, Hawthorne took the brunt of the impact as he clasped her to him, his grip tightening on the rope as they skidded to a stop.
They swung, suspended in the air. Emeline felt his muscles strain to keep them both aloft and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. If he fell, he had no harness to catch him.
Humiliated by her uselessness, she prodded the cliff with her foot, searching for something steady, wanting to relieve him of her weight.
“You’re doing great,” he said through a clenched jaw, face pressed into her hair, barely holding on.
“You are such a liar.”
His mouth curved against her neck in the whisper of a smile. For some reason, it gave her renewed strength. Taking hold of the rope again, she planted her feet on the wall.
Back in position, Emeline loosed a shaky breath. “Okay. I’m good.”
Hawthorne let go of her waist. Clinging solely to the rope now, he found his own hand- and footholds in the rock. Whenhe was secure against the cliffside once more, he pressed his forehead to the shale, eyes closed, taking a second to recover before continuing downwards.
Emeline followed.
When her boots finally hit the rocky platform, she leaned her aching body against the warm rock and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
When Hawthorne didn’t answer, she turned to find him facing down a dark cavern—one as wide and high as a small house.The aerie,she assumed. He had just lifted a finger to his lips when a massive shape materialized from the darkness, glinting as it stepped into the sunlight.
Emeline gaped up at it.
A silver sharp-toothed snout emerged first, elegant nostrils sniffing the air. The snout alone was roughly the size of Emeline’s hatchback. The rest of a head emerged, revealing filmy white eyes and gray tufts where ears should be.
Was this … Claw?
If so, he was definitely awake.
His massive paws were tufted too and tipped in sharp nails, reminding Emeline of a lion. But his wings were like that of a snowy owl, tucked primly against his sides. Feathers and scales rippled over his body, the color of silver coins.
A watchdog, Hawthorne had said.
More like a watchdragon.
THIRTEEN
“HAS THE WOOD KINGsent dinner to my door?”the dragon rumbled.“How thoughtful.”
Despite stepping into the sunlight, Claw continued to sniff, following his snout. He trod directly between Hawthorne and Emeline, separating them.
Emeline stepped slowly backwards. Away from those lethal paws. As pebbles crunched beneath her boot, Claw’s head swung to stare at her. Emeline froze. The dragon cocked his head, listening. As if he couldn’t trust his filmy eyes.
