“You did it, Master Wilder,” Larad said, gazing at the fallen statues in fascination. “You stopped them.”
“And us as well,” Farr said, face haggard. “The doors are blocked.”
Travis stared as elation gave way to new fear. Farr was right. The debris from the statues was piled in front of the doors. And the doors opened inward; they could not be opened without clearing away the rubble. Farr pushed against the falcon‑beaked head, but it was no use; it had to weigh two tons.
Grace was looking at him, her green eyes overbright. “Now what do we do, Travis?”
Nothing, he wanted to say. However, before he could speak, a high, keening wail filled the hall.
The sound was like a siren, only higher, louder, threatening to split Travis’s skull. He thrust his hands against his ears, but it was no use. The sound kept building. He turned to see Ti’an no more than a dozen paces away. Her mouth was open; she was making the noise. It was a scream of fury.
Just when Travis was sure the keening would drive him mad, Ti’an’s mouth shut, and the sound ceased. Farr slumped to his knees with a moan, and Nim was sobbing as Vani clutched her tight. Travis knew they had to do something, but the piercing wail had addled his mind; he couldn’t think.
Before he could react, Ti’an thrust her hands out before her, and the gem on her forehead blazed with renewed flame. A sound like an earthquake filled the hall.
Larad stared up, his shattered face going white.
“No,” Grace murmured. “Oh, no.”
All along the length of the hall, on either side, crimson light flickered to life in the eyes of the statues–not two of them this time, but all–twenty or more. Dust clouded the air as the statues stirred, swinging stone arms and legs, turning ancient faces toward the intruders. The floor shook as they stepped down from their pedestals.
Travis pushed Grace aside as one of the male statues bore down on him, falcon beak clicking. It opened its gigantic hand, grabbing for Travis. Stone fingers, each as thick as a tree trunk, began to close around him. He rubbed his hand against them, smearing them with blood. The blood vanished, and the stone fingers ceased moving. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and out of the hand, then leaped away, hitting the floor and rolling.
He lay stunned for a moment, listening to the crash of breaking stone behind him. Had the statue turned to fight the others? A high‑pitched scream jolted him out of his stupor. It was Nim. He lurched to his feet, and pain sparkled in his ribs. He turned around to see what was happening.
Then he froze. Ti’an stood before him. Her golden body shone through her beaded garment, as if she were clad only in light. He could see the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts, and the darker bronze of her nipples. Again fire surged in him, and he could not move. The shouts and noise of breaking stone faded to a dull roar in his ears.
Ti’an tilted her head–he was by far the taller–to look at him. Her face was expressionless, a thing of flawless beauty forged of gold. However, in her eyes smoldered an ancient fury. She reached for him, to draw his head down close to hers . . .
With the last shred of his will, Travis flung his hand up in a warding gesture and stepped back. Blood flew from his wounded knuckles, spattering her outstretched hand. Ti’an paused, gazing at the red droplets on her finger. Then, languorously, she brought her finger to her mouth, touching the drop of Travis’s blood to her lips.
Ti’an’s onyx eyes went wide. A shudder passed through her, rippling her garment. Then a new light shone in her gaze–not fury but something fiercer, hungrier. Her full lips parted to reveal white, pointed teeth.
“My husband,” she said, and before he could move, Ti’an reached out and pressed a hand against Travis’s chest.
Her hand seemed to burn through the cloth of his serafi, and through skin, muscle, and bone as well, so that it felt as if she was touching his heart, wrapping her fingers around it, setting it afire. The sounds of the struggle behind Travis faded, replaced by a rhythmic drone. He was aware of shadows moving on the edge of his vision, some large, some small. It almost seemed he recognized one of them.
Grace?he tried to say. He started to glance toward a woman who had stumbled to the floor while a massive shape loomed above her.
A hot finger touched his chin, turning his head with inexorable strength. Ti’an’s face filled his gaze, and he could see nothing else. Her finger traced a smoldering line down his throat, his chest, his stomach.
The heat burned in him now like a sun in his chest. A sweat of desire slicked his skin, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. Her beads shifted as she moved, and he caught a glimpse of the triangle between her legs, dark with mystery. He felt his body stir, wishing nothing else than to become one with her. All other thoughts fled him. He moved close to her, bending his head, wanting to join his mouth to hers.
“Not yet,” she said, her voice like sharp music, pushing him back with irresistible strength.
For a moment Travis felt an anguish such as he had never known. How could she spurn him? He would rather die than not have her. Then his pain was forgotten as she took his hand in her own, her slender fingers closing around his in a viselike grip.
“Come,” Ti’an said.
And forgetting the dim, struggling shadows behind him, Travis followed.
41.
The floor heaved as one of the gigantic statues struck with its fists, and Grace fell hard to her knees. The taste of blood filled her mouth; her teeth had clamped down on her tongue. She tried to get up, but the floor kept bucking and rolling like an angry sea.
“Travis, stop!” a voice cried out. It was Vani.
Grace managed to look up. Ti’an stood before Travis, gold skin gleaming. He was making no effort to run from her, but was instead staring with a rapt expression. As Grace watched, he took her hand, and together they began to walk toward the steps at the far end of the hall. The statues, many of them just stepping off their pedestals as they awoke, lumbered out of the pair’s way as if in deference to their mistress–or was it their master–then moved to join the others in the attack.
Grace stared after them. Why hasn’t she kissed him like she did Avhir? What’s she doing with him?Then, with a jolt of dread, she realized where it was Ti’an must be leading him. She’s taking him to the throne room.
Before she could consider what that meant, a shadow fell over Grace. She looked up, and rational thought fled her. A statue loomed above her, its multifaceted eyes glowing crimson. It bent down, reaching for her . . .
Strong hands grabbed Grace’s serafi, dragging her to her feet, pulling her out of the way. The statue’s fingers closed on thin air. It rose up, opening its mouth to let out a soundless cry of fury. Grace turned around and gazed into Farr’s grim, handsome face. He opened his mouth as if to say something.
Grace’s eyes grew large. “Run!” she shouted, grabbing his hand and pulling him to one side as another statue reached for them. They sidestepped a blow from the female statue that had tried to crush Grace, then ducked between the legs of one of the falcon‑beaked men. They made it to the wall and pressed their backs against it, panting.
They’re big and slow, Grace. If we just keep moving, they won’t be able to get us.