stretch up to the next toehold? The physical activity took over until he was nothing more than a climbing machine.
Vaguely, he was aware of the colossal stupidity of his choice to climb the cliff without helmet or gloves or climbing shoes or a partner or belay gear or any of the accoutrements that marked his usual climbing expeditions. Hell, he didn’t even have a bag of trail mix.
However, none of that mattered. Right that moment he didn’t care if he reached the top or if he fell to his death. All he cared about was the climb. While he was climbing, he couldn’t think about anything else. While he was climbing, he was free.
His hip moved well and bore his weight admirably, better than he expected for the first two-thirds of the way. That last stretch, however, was another matter.
The handholds grew scarcer and he methodically checked his ascent path for alternate routes to the top. Maybe if he shifted a few feet to the right, he would find more accommodating structures.
The next few feet went better until he reached out for a narrow ledge, only to have the handhold shear off in his fingers, throwing him off balance and shifting all his weight onto his injured hip in a painful bind.
“Damn it!” He sought another hold to relieve the strain on his leg. Finally, his fingers caught on a new crack in the rock, and he pulled as hard as he could to adjust his position.
What the hell was he doing? He only had about eight more feet to reach the top, but he was exhausted. His injured leg trembled beneath him and his fingertips were practically numb. He was bleeding in several places where his knees and elbows had scraped the rock face.
He pressed his cheek against the cold stone wall, feeling its gritty roughness beneath his skin. Adriana’s face rushed into his thoughts. What if he never saw her again? What if he dropped out of her life just like dropping off that cliff?
His cool detachment collapsed upon itself. His muscles began to shake uncontrollably and his breath came in panting heaves as panic took hold. In that instant an unspeakable terror gripped him, a terror of losing everything—not just his life but his future, a future he hadn’t even known existed until her. If he dropped off that cliff, she’d never know. Adriana would never know his last thoughts had been of her.
With a grunt, he forced his body to the next handhold, then the next, hauling himself up the last few feet of that wall in a dusty, bloody burst of energy and iron-willed determination.
At last, he dragged himself over the edge onto the grass and lay there, panting. The sun hung low in the sky as he pulled to his feet and looked around. Behind him, the chateau stood in the distance through the trees, the afternoon light glinting off the diamond windowpanes.
The island was much larger than he’d originally presumed. A large heavily wooded forest stretched into the distance. The best way back down the mountain would be to cut across the island and toward the beach.
He traveled the top of the cliff face for at least three miles, intrigued that the sheer drop continued in a long unbroken line, possibly to the edge of the island itself. It made a formidable barrier between the forest and the chateau, almost a natural fence line.
This fence line wasn’t such a bad idea. Odd noises rustled in the woods beyond, whispers and calls from animals that didn’t sound familiar to him at all.
He’d spent a lot of time on the cement of skateparks around the world, but he’d grown up in the Deep South where time in the outdoors spent hunting and fishing made up a young man’s rite of passage. He’d also climbed some of the most rugged peaks in the country, living through encounters with everything from mountain lions to rattlesnakes to bears.
But the shapes that darted through the woods on the edges of his vision didn’t match anything he’d ever seen before. From a nearby branch, a squawk pierced the air, and what appeared to be a
Vaguely, he was aware of the colossal stupidity of his choice to climb the cliff without helmet or gloves or climbing shoes or a partner or belay gear or any of the accoutrements that marked his usual climbing expeditions. Hell, he didn’t even have a bag of trail mix.
However, none of that mattered. Right that moment he didn’t care if he reached the top or if he fell to his death. All he cared about was the climb. While he was climbing, he couldn’t think about anything else. While he was climbing, he was free.
His hip moved well and bore his weight admirably, better than he expected for the first two-thirds of the way. That last stretch, however, was another matter.
The handholds grew scarcer and he methodically checked his ascent path for alternate routes to the top. Maybe if he shifted a few feet to the right, he would find more accommodating structures.
The next few feet went better until he reached out for a narrow ledge, only to have the handhold shear off in his fingers, throwing him off balance and shifting all his weight onto his injured hip in a painful bind.
“Damn it!” He sought another hold to relieve the strain on his leg. Finally, his fingers caught on a new crack in the rock, and he pulled as hard as he could to adjust his position.
What the hell was he doing? He only had about eight more feet to reach the top, but he was exhausted. His injured leg trembled beneath him and his fingertips were practically numb. He was bleeding in several places where his knees and elbows had scraped the rock face.
He pressed his cheek against the cold stone wall, feeling its gritty roughness beneath his skin. Adriana’s face rushed into his thoughts. What if he never saw her again? What if he dropped out of her life just like dropping off that cliff?
His cool detachment collapsed upon itself. His muscles began to shake uncontrollably and his breath came in panting heaves as panic took hold. In that instant an unspeakable terror gripped him, a terror of losing everything—not just his life but his future, a future he hadn’t even known existed until her. If he dropped off that cliff, she’d never know. Adriana would never know his last thoughts had been of her.
With a grunt, he forced his body to the next handhold, then the next, hauling himself up the last few feet of that wall in a dusty, bloody burst of energy and iron-willed determination.
At last, he dragged himself over the edge onto the grass and lay there, panting. The sun hung low in the sky as he pulled to his feet and looked around. Behind him, the chateau stood in the distance through the trees, the afternoon light glinting off the diamond windowpanes.
The island was much larger than he’d originally presumed. A large heavily wooded forest stretched into the distance. The best way back down the mountain would be to cut across the island and toward the beach.
He traveled the top of the cliff face for at least three miles, intrigued that the sheer drop continued in a long unbroken line, possibly to the edge of the island itself. It made a formidable barrier between the forest and the chateau, almost a natural fence line.
This fence line wasn’t such a bad idea. Odd noises rustled in the woods beyond, whispers and calls from animals that didn’t sound familiar to him at all.
He’d spent a lot of time on the cement of skateparks around the world, but he’d grown up in the Deep South where time in the outdoors spent hunting and fishing made up a young man’s rite of passage. He’d also climbed some of the most rugged peaks in the country, living through encounters with everything from mountain lions to rattlesnakes to bears.
But the shapes that darted through the woods on the edges of his vision didn’t match anything he’d ever seen before. From a nearby branch, a squawk pierced the air, and what appeared to be a
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