you a crash course in gear removal before we start.” He sat down and began to unlace his hiking boots.
“You’re not coming with me.”
“You can’t climb alone. I told you about it . . . it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t break your neck,” he said, slipping on his climbing shoes. That wasn’t the only reason, Ardeth knew, remembering the coffee shop. His fingers had burned her skin that night, too.
“Mark, you don’t have to . . .” she began, suddenly afraid. Afraid for his safety as she was not for her own. Afraid that it would be a danger worse than the rocks, worse than falling, if he went with her to the top of the mountain.
“I do. Don’t worry. I’ve climbed this route more times than I can count. And I brought my headlamp.” He settled his helmet onto his head and clipped the detachable lamp to his harness.
I didn’t want to climb this alone anyway, she told herself, watching him. And it’s his choice. It’s a free mountain. I can hardly send him away.
But you could, the secret voice of her power reminded her. If you really wanted to.
But she didn’t.
Mark led the first pitch while she played out his rope from below, braced to support him if he fell. She let him take control of the climb, deciding his experience might outweigh her stronger senses, and doubtful she could persuade him otherwise anyway.
Then, too soon, it was her turn to ascend, while Mark hung above her, pulling in the rope between them.
It was different from the wall. The rock was real and rough against her fingers, scraping at her hands and knees, yielding unexpected holds and havens. In the moonlight, the mountain was a world drawn in black and white and all the shades of grey between. The cracks seemed the blackest darkness she had ever seen, the outcrops glittered with diamond quartz.
And despite the moonlight, despite her nights on the wall, despite her immortal strength, the first fifty feet were terrifying. She inched her way up, forcing her hands and feet to move, refusing to look down. The moments when she had to pause and remove the metal cams and other pieces of protection he had wedged into the cracks in the rock were especially agonizing, as she struggled to perfect the trick of easing them out and clipping them onto her harness. She knew Mark could feel her restrained panic but he paid no attention to it, calling down instructions and holds as casually as if they had been doing this for years.
She tried not to imagine the consequences of a mistake. If she fell and the rope failed to hold her . . . her vampire body might be strong but a fall on the rocks below could do her serious damage. What would happen if she broke her back? Would that kill her? And even if she were only injured, the results could be dangerous. She could end up in the hospital, facing discovery. She did not think Mark could be persuaded not to go for help and if she were badly hurt she might not be able to stop him by force.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself firmly. I can’t fall, there’s a rope, I can’t die, I can’t die. The words whispered through her mind like a chant and, after fifty feet passed and she had not fallen, had not died again, she began to believe them.
At a hundred feet, she felt the beginning of a rhythm, the first glimpse of what it would feel like to do this well, to surrender fear and thought and the future to the rough face of the rock and the smooth slide of her muscles. Her hand closed over a large hold, her foot pushed her up towards the next hold, her fingers caught the crevice and held her. The easy sweetness of it made her laugh and she caught a pale flash above her as Mark looked back from his perch.
“You OK?”
“Yes.” She laughed again. “I think I just figured out why you like this.” His laughter drifted down the rope to join hers.
They traded off again, Ardeth anchoring herself to the bolts set in the rock to mark the second belay point and
“You’re not coming with me.”
“You can’t climb alone. I told you about it . . . it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t break your neck,” he said, slipping on his climbing shoes. That wasn’t the only reason, Ardeth knew, remembering the coffee shop. His fingers had burned her skin that night, too.
“Mark, you don’t have to . . .” she began, suddenly afraid. Afraid for his safety as she was not for her own. Afraid that it would be a danger worse than the rocks, worse than falling, if he went with her to the top of the mountain.
“I do. Don’t worry. I’ve climbed this route more times than I can count. And I brought my headlamp.” He settled his helmet onto his head and clipped the detachable lamp to his harness.
I didn’t want to climb this alone anyway, she told herself, watching him. And it’s his choice. It’s a free mountain. I can hardly send him away.
But you could, the secret voice of her power reminded her. If you really wanted to.
But she didn’t.
Mark led the first pitch while she played out his rope from below, braced to support him if he fell. She let him take control of the climb, deciding his experience might outweigh her stronger senses, and doubtful she could persuade him otherwise anyway.
Then, too soon, it was her turn to ascend, while Mark hung above her, pulling in the rope between them.
It was different from the wall. The rock was real and rough against her fingers, scraping at her hands and knees, yielding unexpected holds and havens. In the moonlight, the mountain was a world drawn in black and white and all the shades of grey between. The cracks seemed the blackest darkness she had ever seen, the outcrops glittered with diamond quartz.
And despite the moonlight, despite her nights on the wall, despite her immortal strength, the first fifty feet were terrifying. She inched her way up, forcing her hands and feet to move, refusing to look down. The moments when she had to pause and remove the metal cams and other pieces of protection he had wedged into the cracks in the rock were especially agonizing, as she struggled to perfect the trick of easing them out and clipping them onto her harness. She knew Mark could feel her restrained panic but he paid no attention to it, calling down instructions and holds as casually as if they had been doing this for years.
She tried not to imagine the consequences of a mistake. If she fell and the rope failed to hold her . . . her vampire body might be strong but a fall on the rocks below could do her serious damage. What would happen if she broke her back? Would that kill her? And even if she were only injured, the results could be dangerous. She could end up in the hospital, facing discovery. She did not think Mark could be persuaded not to go for help and if she were badly hurt she might not be able to stop him by force.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself firmly. I can’t fall, there’s a rope, I can’t die, I can’t die. The words whispered through her mind like a chant and, after fifty feet passed and she had not fallen, had not died again, she began to believe them.
At a hundred feet, she felt the beginning of a rhythm, the first glimpse of what it would feel like to do this well, to surrender fear and thought and the future to the rough face of the rock and the smooth slide of her muscles. Her hand closed over a large hold, her foot pushed her up towards the next hold, her fingers caught the crevice and held her. The easy sweetness of it made her laugh and she caught a pale flash above her as Mark looked back from his perch.
“You OK?”
“Yes.” She laughed again. “I think I just figured out why you like this.” His laughter drifted down the rope to join hers.
They traded off again, Ardeth anchoring herself to the bolts set in the rock to mark the second belay point and
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