Bloodrose (13 page)

“It’s all right, Calla.” Shay’s voice broke through the whispers. “You’re almost there.”

But almost there meant I’d reached the final crevasse. I stared at what appeared to be a solid, sparkling ice surface. I only knew it wasn’t because of the way Shay’s rope line suddenly dipped well below it.

“Get a move on!” Sabine squeezed beside Shay at the entrance of the crawl space. From her vantage point on the other side of the pit she stared down at me, flashing a challenging smile.

Anger flared and I seized on it, swinging down into the crevasse. My feet scrambled against the sheer face and for a moment I panicked. But then my foot slipped into one of Shay’s holds and I could breathe again.

“You’ve got it!” Shay’s voice was both warm and relieved. “Just a few more feet.”

I pushed myself from hold to hold. My arms were burning. It felt as though the crevasse was trying to pull me off the wall, sucking me down into oblivion.

And then Shay’s hands were locked around my forearms. He hauled me over the edge of the crevasse and into his arms. I scrambled into the crawl space, knocking him backward. His face was buried in the crown of my hair.

“Hey. You did great.”

I almost pushed him away, not wanting to show any weakness and embarrassed that he so easily sensed my fear. Instead I let that impulse go and turned my face up to kiss him. When his arms went around my waist, all my anxiety from the climb faded.

“Thanks.” I smiled, deciding it was okay that I felt better leaning against him. After all, navigating death pits with climbing gear did not fall under an alpha wolf’s job description.

Silas coughed; he clung to the edge of the tunnel, waiting for Shay and me to make room for him to crawl inside—I guessed Connor had given him a reprieve. Shay pulled me farther into the narrow cavern toward where Sabine, Nev, and Mason were huddled. The Scribe was peering at Shay and me. “I just wondered if you might offer a comment as to where you think a relationship between a Guardian and Scion could lead? If we survive, that is.” He held his pen poised. I didn’t know what startled me more: the question or that he had his notebook out not five seconds after that crossing.

Shay shook his head, letting me go and turning to move farther down the crawl space. I smiled slowly at Silas, letting my fangs catch the dim light that slid into the tunnel from the ice cavern.

“Silas! I didn’t know you were writing gossip columns now.” Adne scuttled past us to the end of the rope, offering her hand to Connor as he climbed out of the crevasse. “I thought you were recording history.”

Silas turned beet red but didn’t answer.

“You good?” Adne asked Connor.

“Yeah.”

Shay, who was already heading for the silver gleam at the end of the tunnel, turned and called, “Let’s finish this.”

Sabine, Mason, and I exchanged a look, and in the next moment three wolves were at Shay’s heels. The second tunnel was dark like the first, though it was much narrower. I kept testing the air, but just like when we’d first entered the cavern, I could smell nothing. No monster lay in wait for us. We were alone.

The subtle flame bloomed into bright light at the far end of the passage. I closed my eyes, making a silent wish that we weren’t about to encounter another room full of deadly traps. Shay stepped into the light. And smiled.

We followed him into a room that was familiar and unfamiliar. The space was open and well lit. Unlike Haldis, which had been filled with warm hues, this room sparkled with cool silver and misty blue. I felt like I’d seen the colors before and realized that I had. The walls of this cavern mirrored those of the Tordis wing of the Roving Academy.

“Oh,” I heard Silas breathe behind me. I knew what he was looking at, what we were all looking at.

She was here, just like she had been at Haldis. A woman, ethereal, floating at the center of the room. But now I knew her name: Cian. Shay’s long-dead ancestor. The warrior who’d given her life, her act of sacrifice transforming her into the only weapon that could save us now.

Her hands were extended toward Shay. Once again I found myself locked in place, unable to move a muscle as Shay reached for her, swiftly crossing the space between them. When his fingers touched hers, the light vanished and darkness engulfed us. All was silent.

I waited, listening to the sound of my heartbeat.

“Are we dead?” Mason whispered, and I knew the spell had released us.

I couldn’t help it. Shifting forms, I laughed. “No.”

“Oh, good.” Mason began to laugh too.

Light slowly returned to the room. Cian had vanished, leaving Shay standing alone at the center of the space. A slender blade lay flat on Shay’s palms.

Silas stumbled forward like a man caught up in a religious vision. “Tordis.” He reached toward the blade, remembering himself at the last second and snatching his fingers back.

“Nice work, kid.” Ethan kept his distance but was eyeing the blade admiringly. Sabine stood beside him in human form, and I noticed that her fingers were interlaced with his.

“It’s so light,” Shay murmured.

Connor snorted. “As air?”

He grunted when Adne kicked him in the shin.

I took a cautious step closer and peered at the gleaming metal, though I didn’t know if metal was what I was looking at. The blade’s surface shimmered with movement, the roiling of swift storm clouds, the endless swirl of winds.

Shay’s jaw twitched. “Here goes nothing.”

He grasped the flat of Tordis’s blade between his thumb and index finger, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp edges. With his other hand he pulled Haldis from inside his coat. His forearms trembled as he lowered the blunt end of the blade toward the opening in the hilt. There was no sound as the objects met, but when the blade would travel no farther into the hilt, a ripple of light traveled from where Shay’s palm gripped the base of the sword to the tip of the blade.

With no warning, the ripple exploded from the tip like a solar flare, sweeping through the room, knocking everyone but Shay to the ground. The earth beneath me moaned, and the mountain shuddered.

Then there was silence.

Silas grunted and rolled to his hands and feet. “I hope that didn’t cause an avalanche. We might have just been buried alive.”

“Nice attitude,” Mason said.

“We’d have heard the avalanche,” Adne said quickly.

“Not necessarily,” Silas said, eyes bright with speculation. “We’re pretty deep, and I don’t recognize this form of rock. Who knows what sounds it can absorb or deflect?”

“You’re sick,” Connor replied. “Did you know that?”

“I’m merely pointing out—”

“Shut up, Silas!” Adne was shaking her head. “Even if a wall of snow is blocking the cave entrance, I can open a door in here. We’re not trapped.”

“Could we at least check?” Silas asked. I couldn’t believe how disappointed he sounded.

“No!” Mason and Connor shouted.

I scrambled to my feet and looked at Shay. He stood quietly in the middle of the cavern, eyes closed, both hands grasping the hilt of the sword. The weapon was a study in contrasts. The warm glow of Haldis radiated from between his fingers, while the blade gleamed cool and clear, like lightning striking from the sky to the hilt. It was the depth of the earth wedded to the breadth of the heavens.

As if he felt my gaze, Shay’s eyelids fluttered open and he offered me a smile of mystery. He pulled in a long slow breath.

“We have to get the other sword.”

Something in his voice stopped my breath—strength, fearlessness, and longing I hadn’t heard before. Part of me stood in awe of him—the Scion finding the source of his power—but a smaller, pettier voice told me I was also jealous.

Not jealous of his power, but of that stirring quality in his words. He was finding himself, his true self. Last night, I’d believed Shay when he said he wanted to stay at my side. That he would be my mate. Watching him now, the distance between us felt immense—he no longer seemed like a Guardian. He was only the Scion. What did that mean for me?

I’d never doubted Shay’s love, but Silas’s question no longer sounded ludicrous. What future could the Scion and a Guardian alpha have? Something cold and hollow settled in my bones that I thought might be grief. Was I losing Shay to his destiny?

“Get the other sword, huh?” Connor grinned. “Well, that
is
the plan.” He jumped out of the way before Adne could kick him again.

“I have an even better plan,” Mason said, putting his arm around Adne’s shoulders.

She lifted her eyebrows at him. “What’s that?”

“You open one of those pretty doors and get us the hell out of here.”

THE CACOPHONY OF
sound that flooded my ears when I stepped through the portal made me bristle. Was it panic? Fear?

I’d been caught up in the events of the ice cavern, lost in thoughts about Tordis, the sword, Shay—so that I’d almost forgotten that another team had been on a different mission.

How many had we lost so that Shay could retrieve the blade?

My growing fear splintered when it became clear that the loudest sounds of the din were raucous hoots and unchecked laughter. The celebratory noise died down as the rest of my party emerged through Adne’s portal. When Shay appeared, the room suddenly drowned in silence.

Anika stepped forward. Shay didn’t speak. He simply lifted the sword; its blade came to life and I heard a wind, like the rush of wings, bringing hope—that brightness was balanced by the subtle glow of Haldis, with the solid warmth of the earth itself.

The room erupted again. This time the cheers were deafening. Only Anika remained silent, her lashes wet with unshed tears.

Searchers swarmed Shay, gazing at the sword but careful not to touch it. Watching his newly formed entourage bask in the near-tangible power of the sword, I once again felt the tightness of loss, grief like an invisible hand around my neck.

I’m going to lose him.
I started to inch away from them, hoping the sensation would pass.

Connor pushed his way into the crowd and began recounting our journey; from the snatches I caught, he seemed to be embellishing our exploits a bit. My suspicions were confirmed when Silas shoved Connor aside, waving his notebook as he began his version of the tale. Connor took up a strategic position just behind the Scribe and made faces and crude imitations of Silas at appropriate—or rather, inappropriate—intervals.

“Wanna check on our boys?” Mason caught my arm, jerking his chin in the direction of Nev and Ren, who were talking with Pascal.

I met Mason’s teasing gaze, wondering what he meant by our boys. Nev was his partner, but did he expect that Ren would be mine? The thought made me bristle and I barely stopped myself from growling at him.

“Sure.”

I glanced back, expecting Sabine to join us. But she was standing apart, beside Ethan. Their heads were close, bodies turned toward each other, lips moving in swift whispers. The din of the room didn’t touch them, as if they were the only two people standing in Tactical.

Nev and Ren were grinning. The alpha leaned against the massive wooden table, looking as pleased with himself as ever. Nev was perched on a chair, sitting on its frame with his feet resting on its seat. I looked back and forth between them, puzzled, but it was Mason who asked first.

“What?”

Nev’s eyes sparkled. “Dude. Bears!”

Mason frowned. “You’re happy about bears?”

Ren flexed his shoulders. “They make for a good fight.”

“Oui.”
Pascal laughed, slapping Ren on the back.
“Les loups ont été trop pour les ours.”

“Mais oui!”
Nev grabbed Mason’s hands, pulling him into a hug. “Wolves kick bear butt. How did things go for you guys?”

Mason leaned his cheek against Nev’s. “No losses. Got the sword. I’d call it a win. You?”

Ren smiled; his canines were sharp. “Like he said before. Dude. Bears!” He turned to Pascal. “Besides, we had a kick-ass team backing us.”

“Merci.”
Pascal folded his arms across his chest, gazing at Ren as-sessingly. “But you made our job . . . less difficult than is usual.”

“Happy to oblige,” Nev said.

Pascal inclined his head. “I am sorry to say I had my doubt.
Les loups
have so long been numbered among our enemies. But you make
les bon guerre.
Better even than
les ours.”

“I didn’t follow that,” Mason said.

Nev elbowed him. “No wonder you always copied my French homework. He said we make good war, better than those Swiss bears.”

“The Keepers flubbed,” Ren said, still speaking to Pascal. “Bears aren’t good warriors. They’re too solitary. We could keep them off balance because they’re too eager to argue with each other instead of working as a team.”

“Go, pack!” Nev bumped Ren’s fist.