Page 43 of On Burning Paths

“I—” I swallow again, looking at each of them. “I care about you. Each of you.”

Thorian steps forward, taking my chin in his hand and tipping my head up to catch my gaze. “Don’t,” he commands. “Do not talk like this. We’re going to make it across.”

A moment later, there’s heat to my left, and I feel Fenric’s arms coming around me. “It’s going to work, Lady Nocturne,” he whispers.

“Of course it is,” Talon says, joining the hug after a moment, his other arm snaking around my back just under Fenric’s. Grinning at me, Talon says, “We’ve got this genius berserker on our team, don’t we?”

Before I can answer, the sky splits open again, striking down at the tower. I can feel the weight of the other groups watching, clearly curious about what we’re doing.

“We’ve got just a minute or two left,” Fenric says, as several consecutive strikes hammer down on the tower, which, somehow, still holds strong. “Right after the next lightning strike!”

“Got it,” Thorian says, pulling me in for a quick kiss, his eyes locking on mine before he turns back to the bridge.

“Okay,” I say, letting Talon pull me to his side as he puts his arm over my shoulders. “We can do this. It’s going to be okay.”

"The demi-god is annoying," Talon whispers into my ear.

Ever since that moment in the garden, Talon has had a way of soothing me. He makes my brain buzz with a contentment I don't understand. I turn my head slightly toward him.

"Why does being near you feel like this?" I ask quietly. “Like I’m safe?”

"It's because of vampire magic," he murmurs, then cracks a smile. "Just kidding. It’s all me."

I lean into him, watching as Thorian prepares to run over the bridge. The air sizzles. Lightning strikes once again, and the wind whips once more violently before dying down.

“Go!” Fenric hollers, looking up at the sky, then at Thorian. “Go now!”

Thorian doesn’t need to be told twice. A second later, and his great silhouette cuts a figure over the canyon, the bridge rocking under his weight.

“Oh, Gods,” I breathe, fighting the urge to close my eyes.

Talon pulls me closer. “It’s okay. Trust him. He can do this.”

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.