“Onward,” I said. I caught his gaze, leaned toward him, saw his eyes go expectant . . . and then I wiggled past him and headed down the narrow hall. I know. Mean, right?
Drake grabbed my arm, spun me around, and said, “No, Moira.” Then he pulled me back and moved toward the door, practically towing me behind him. When he reached the stone door, he hesitated.
“Did you miss your Hieroglyphs 101 class?” I asked sweetly.
“I was too busy taking advanced Kick Your Ass courses,” he replied. He spent useless seconds staring at the images he could not possibly interpret, and then sighed. He stepped aside and gestured eloquently. “My lady.”
“Thanks.” I moved past him and studied the hieroglyphs, which were the same as the others—prayers and threats. There wasn’t a circular opening like the one in the other door, but there was a particular glyph in the middle. I stared at it. “Shit.”
“What?” asked Drake. He looked over my shoulder. “What does it say?”
“Basically? It’s a closed exit sign. This is a false door.” I turned, and found myself practically nose to nose with him. He stayed put, his gaze on mine, hushed expectation falling between us, stretching into a moment so fine and thin it cut like a blade. And then he stepped back. The spell was broken, but my body hummed. Him, him, him, it seemed to chant. Now, now, now.
“We have to go into the pit,” I said.
“It says that?”
“Not exactly. But it’s our only option.” I walked to the pit, and Drake followed. I pulled the small flashlight out of my pocket and aimed the beam into the darkness below.
As far as I could tell, there weren’t any spikes or skulls or snakes. It was too far down for me to just leap, but when I glanced at Drake, I could see him contemplating the distance.
“I’ll jump down there,” he said in all seriousness.
“That’s a terrible idea! What if you land on a sharpened stake?”
“It will hurt.”
“Or kill you. Werewolves aren’t immune to death, are they?”
“Most aren’t,” he conceded. “There is nothing down there.” He tapped the side of his temple. “Werewolf vision. I’ll jump and then you follow. I’ll catch you.”
“You’ll catch me?” I asked. “Um . . . no.”
“I cannot lower you down first,” he said reasonably. “Even if I did so, the distance would still be too great for you to land safely.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Trust me.”
I considered the pit, then him, then the pit. I didn’t really have a choice. I’d entered the pyramid with sparse equipment, not that there was exactly a place to put in a pulley system. I was all about trying to control situations, and I was used to considering all the angles and making quick decisions. In archaeology, you didn’t always have the luxury of time. So, my initial blood sacrifice got us inside the pyramid. After that, I had no idea what else awaited us, or how much blood I would be giving in the name of saving the Ancients. Getting through this mess as quickly as possible suited me just fine. I was hopeful, but not exactly confident, that I would leave this pyramid alive.
“Okay.” I kept the beam aimed at the dirt floor below, and Drake stood, then jumped.
He landed on his feet.
In the narrow light, I saw him curve his arms. “C’mon,” he said. “Jump.”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” I considered how long the drop was, the equivalent probably of jumping out a second-story window of a house, and felt my heart skip a beat. I wasn’t usually afraid, but this was big leap . . . of faith. It wasn’t like there was another option, though.
“Catch,” I said, and threw the flashlight down.
He caught it one-handed and set it upright, so the beam shined upward.
“I will catch you, Moira.”
I took a big breath, and then . . . jumped.
The three seconds of free fall made my stomach roil, my lungs heave, and my heart pound.
Then he caught me.
He didn’t even “oof” or stumble backward. He just caught me like I was a pillow that had been lightly tossed at him. He cradled me to his chest, and then said, “What I catch, I keep.”
“Interesting philosophy.”
He chuckled and then swung me down. When my feet touched solid ground, he let me go. I picked up the flashlight and aimed it around the four walls. The nearest wall was the only one with any glyphs—a narrow series of brightly painted hieroglyphs. We stood and walked to it. I studied the glyphs.
“They’re in a random order,” I said. “If you try to read them, it makes no sense, not even for ancient Egyptians.” I paused. I thought about my vision of Patrick and Jessica, and the clues offered by that experience. Damn. None of the glyphs was the equivalent of “ring” or “chains.” But there was one for “mate.” Was that the clue I was supposed to get from the first vision? I studied the other glyphs. Different words, but none that made sense when put together . . . and I couldn’t puzzle out a particular phrase or meaning. I kept returning to the word for “mate.” Love will lead me, right?