Chapter Six

The Rope Bridge of Doom

“I’d kill for a hot cappuccino right now,” Lyla grumbled.

“As long as you’re not killing me,” Tristan replied.

She shot him a half-amused look. “Right now, I’m not at all opposed to the idea.”

He refrained from giving a response. It was a wonder that neither of them had tried to take out the other over the past four days. They still had not been able to remove the shackles, and Tristan suspected Lyla was just as annoyed about it as he was.

They continued traveling through the woods, deciding the trees would provide them more cover in case Angus and his men got close again. He led the way, although he remained close to her. He half-wished she was several paces—no, several hills —behind him. He could do with some time alone with his thoughts, away from her.

Next to him, Lyla tried to make conversation every few minutes or so. Tristan was seriously contemplating the benefits of dislocating his wrist and fingers in order to slip out of his restraints and get away from this woman. The longer he was bound to her, the more of a thorn in his side she became.

Then again, he couldn’t pretend there hadn’t been…interesting moments with her. He remembered the way she’d felt wrapped in his embrace as they slept in that cave the other night. And later, when he pulled her against that tree so that her soft body was pressed against his….

Good thing she had her eyes on his face instead of much lower right now. The last thing she needed was for her to notice the disturbance in his trousers.

“So…” she began, ignoring his groan. “Got anyone back home? In Elton, I mean.”

“ Elron ,” he corrected with a smirk.

“Whatever.” She pushed on, undiscouraged. “Do you have someone back home? A friend? A brother, maybe? A family? A wife?”

Tristan shook his head. He’d never bothered to take a wife. He’d claimed he was simply uninterested in matters of marriage, but often, a part of him wondered whether his reasons were rooted in subconscious fears. After all, if he never sired a child of his own, he would be reducing the chances of prolonging the curse that had haunted the Harrison bloodline for centuries. He suspected Ariadne believed the same.

“I have a nephew,” he admitted. “Lewis.”

“Oh.”

Silence passed between them for a minute. To his own surprise, Tristan began to find it uncomfortable.

“We’ve lived together in my cabin for the past fifteen years,” he went on. “He belonged to my brother, Jason.”

“Belonged?”

He nodded. “Jason was killed in an avalanche.”

The memory of a woman screaming, This is your fault, Tristan! You shouldn’t have let him! slithered into his mind, but he dismissed it quickly.

“Oh,” she said again.

“I’ve been taking care of Lewis ever since. Raised him as my own. It was the least I could do. All Lewis had left were Ariadne and me, and Ariadne…” He trailed off.

More silence hung in the air between them, broken only by the occasional crunch of snow beneath their feet as they traveled through the woods.

“What about the curse you mentioned the other day?” she asked. “You said it was a family thing?”

You don’t need to tell her a thing, Tristan.

Tristan sighed and then told her about the curse, anyway; how the Harrison bloodline had been cursed, how he and his family had believed the curse to have ended a long time ago, until now.

If she said, “Oh, ” one more time, he was going ahead with his plan to dislocate his fingers and break himself free.

He decided to change the subject. “You should tell me more about yourself.”

“I already told you the other day, didn’t I?” she responded. “I’m from the Bronx. I was on a plane before I got here. And I’m a hunter, like you are.”

He scoffed. “You and I are nothing alike.”

“It’s true. I hunt down people like you.”

Her words stung him harder than he cared to admit. “The only thing we have in common is that we are both bound to someone we cannot stand.”

It sounded less harsh than he’d intended it to. Lyla didn’t even seem the least bit fazed. Unable to come up with anything else to say, Tristan decided to drop the issue. They continued to travel in silence. He paused to scan their surroundings now and then in case anyone was lurking in the woods and watching them, or worse.

The sky had turned orange by the time they finally stepped out of the woods. The setting sun was a pleasant sight, but their gaze was riveted on the large mound of snow blocking their path, practically filling their line of sight.

“We’ll have to go around it,” he said. “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

It took even less time to get around the mound of snow. By the time they returned to their path, they found themselves faced with another problem.

“Is that…a bridge?” Lyla wondered aloud.

Tristan simply stared. Ahead of them, nearly a hundred feet away, a small wooden bridge stretched from the snow over a wide chasm toward another downhill slope. The bridge looked just as he’d remembered: old and narrow, worn away by foot traffic and the passage of time.

“It is,” he said. “We’re going to have to cross it.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. It’s the only way across that chasm. After that, we’ll travel for a few days more until we reach Alfanger. We could hide out there for a bit and recuperate.”

She blinked. “I don’t even know what that word means, but don’t you think you could have given me a heads-up about this, like, days ago?”

Tristan shrugged. “I’m telling you now. That is the only way across.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the Golden Gate Bridge,” she said, eyeing the bridge warily.

“The what ?”

“Never mind. Are you sure that thing can hold our weight?”

He took his time before responding. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

“You should be fine as long as you don’t look down.” An irresistible smirk tugged at his lips.

She shot him a withering stare. “Thanks, Tristan. That makes me feel so much safer.”

“I was counting on that,” he told her. “Let’s not wait any longer. We have no idea how close Angus and his men are. The last thing I want is to have to face them while we’re so close to that chasm.”

They continued walking. Tristan couldn’t help noticing that Lyla’s pace was a little slower than before. The chain stretched taut between their wrists as they moved, and he had to slow his steps for her to keep up with him.

“How much farther is Ariadne’s house from here?” she wanted to know.

“Quite far,” was his reply as they arrived at the bridge. “Let’s cross.”

They stepped onto the bridge, which creaked loudly under their combined weight. Tristan thought he heard Lyla let out a gasp. He stared ahead. The bridge was about fifty feet across, a set of old wooden planks stretching across the abyss, supported by thick ropes. Beyond the bridge were more trees.

He’d crossed this bridge before, multiple times. So why were the hairs on the back of his neck rising now?

He glanced over his shoulder. There was no one after them. No one he could see, at least.

A chill settled in his stomach, but he continued moving.

Lyla held on to one of the ropes as they moved. “Why do you live so far from your sister?” she asked him.

She was talking to distract herself, he realized. This woman was more uncomfortable than she was letting on, and Tristan had to admit, so was he. Lyla kept her gaze riveted on the twin support columns at the other end of the bridge.

“Tristan.”

His expression must have turned sour then because she suddenly asked, “Is there bad blood between you and your sister?”

“Our blood runs pure,” he said, his chest swelling as he spoke.

Another series of creaks rose into the air. They were nearing the middle of the bridge.

“No, you idiot.” She actually chuckled—a surprisingly sweet sound that filled his ears like a gentle wind. “I meant, do you have an issue with Ariadne?”

He frowned at that. “Have you ever been told that you ask too many questions?”

She merely shrugged. “I like to be informed about whatever I can. Besides, I probably wouldn’t need to ask so many questions if you weren’t so—ahh!”

One of the planks suddenly gave way. An ear-splitting scream erupted from Lyla’s lips as she slipped into the gap that had appeared where her feet had been. Before Tristan had time to process what was happening, she fell.

“No!” he cried.

The hand clutching one of the ropes tightened its grip, leaving her suspended, her feet flailing over the chasm. Tristan’s gaze traveled past her to the broken plank; it tumbled helplessly through the air, sinking deeper into the dark depths of the void below. Tristan’s breath froze in his throat. If Lyla fell, it would be a long way down.

“Help!” Lyla shrieked, her dark curls sweeping across her face. “Help me—please!”

For the first time since he’d met her, the fierceness had completely vanished from her widened eyes, replaced by panic and horror. What’s more, he could see his own fear reflected in those eyes. His chest constricted as he stared at her flailing form.

She would not fall. He was going to make sure of that.

“I’m going to help you, Lyla!” he said. “Don’t look down.”

His words had the opposite effect. Lyla’s gaze dropped from his face. A second later, another scream pierced the air, nearly turning his blood to ice.

Tristan cursed. Muttering a silent prayer, he reached for Lyla’s hand as quickly and carefully as he could. For a moment, he thought she might pull them both over, but he held on. Again, the bridge creaked precariously. He had to be fast. He pulled, lifting her back onto the bridge. Before she could catch her breath, he ushered her toward the other end.

“Let’s go!” he yelled.

She was nothing if not compliant. Together, they sprinted for the columns at the other end of the bridge, the creaks and groans sending shivers down Tristan’s spine as they ran.

“Almost there!”

They reached the other end of the bridge and collapsed onto the snow.

Tristan didn’t realize they had their arms around each other until Lyla’s shoulders suddenly stiffened.

“We made it,” she said, pulling herself up.

He got to his feet, too. “We did.”

They shifted their gaze to the bridge. Surprisingly, it was still intact, except for the plank that had given way. The entire bridge swayed slightly in the wake of their mad struggle across it.

“That was a close one.” Lyla sighed, the fear slowly fading from her eyes. “Good thing we still had the handcuffs on, or I’d have made a huge splat at the bottom of that chasm. Let’s never do that again?”

Irritation flared up in Tristan’s chest. He’d just saved her life, and she couldn’t even utter as much as a thank you. He opened his mouth to utter a biting comment…and closed it instantly, lowering his gaze to their wrists where they were joined.

Of course. The shackles.

It hadn’t even occurred to him until now. He’d been worried that she would lose her grip and plummet to her death, but the whole time, they’d been bound together. She wouldn’t have fallen into the chasm unless he had as well.

“Titanium cuffs,” Lyla said, a faint smile playing across her lips.

“Oh,” was the only word he could muster.