CHAPTER 14 #3
"Die quiet." I kicked his rifle away. "There."
The flashlight the guy dropped was spinning frantically on the wet floor, casting chaotic, strobing shadows against the dripping walls.
I stood over the two corpses, my chest heaving, the adrenaline acting like pure poison in my blood, making my hands shake.
Blood was dripping off my fingers into the puddles.
I looked like a fucking demon birthed straight out of the dark.
I needed to ground myself right now before I lost control of the whole situation.
I wiped the wet blade of my Ka-Bar on the second guy's tactical pants, watching the fabric soak up the dark fluid before sliding the knife back into its sheath.
"Don't move," I said to Margarita, my voice harsh and out of breath.
I looked at the bodies.
"They’re dead. They can't hurt you," I told her. "I need a second."
I turned back to the alcove. Margarita was tucked deep into the corner of the brickwork, her face a complete mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
She was staring at my dripping hands, staring at the way the fresh blood was literally steaming in the freezing air of the tunnel.
I could see the edge of her sanity severely fraying right in front of me.
She was clutching her own elbows so hard her knuckles were bone white.
She was completely frozen. If I couldn't get her to snap out of it and move right now, she was going to turn into a catatonic dead weight, and I didn't have the luxury of coddling her. She’s breaking. I need to bring her back to me right fucking now. I need her to realize there’s absolutely no going back to her nice little underground clinic.
"Look at me, Margarita," I demanded, stepping over a puddle of blood.
She didn't blink.
"Snap out of it." I closed the distance. "We have to move."
I reached for her. She violently flinched, a small, broken sound escaping the back of her throat.
I completely ignored her fear. I stepped right into her personal space and grabbed her jaw, my grip firm, possessive, and immovable.
I forced her head up, making her look dead at me, at the violent monster that was actively keeping her alive.
It was a power struggle. She wanted to retreat into the safety of her own mind, but I needed her present right here in the meat and the blood and the mud.
My thumb brushed over her lower lip, my skin burning hot against her freezing face.
"Look at me," I repeated, my voice low and dangerous.
Her eyes finally met mine, wide and terrified.
"I told you I’d protect you," I said, staring her down. "This is what protection looks like."
With my other hand—the right hand, completely slick and soaked in the mercenary's cooling blood—I reached out. I pressed two heavy fingers flat against her lips, deliberately smearing a thick, wet streak of red right across her cheek and over her mouth. It was a raw baptism of violence, a territorial marking that completely silenced whatever protest she was about to make. By marking her with the blood of the men I just butchered for her, I was binding her to my reality. It was a visceral, absolute act of claiming. I watched the way the crimson blood stained her pale skin, the contrast striking and gorgeous in the dim, strobing light. She tasted the metallic tang on her lips, her breath hitching hard against my hand. Now she’s marked.
Now she knows exactly what this is. We’re the same now.
"Not. A. Word," I warned, my face inches from hers.
She trembled under my grip.
"You taste that? That’s the cost of your life," I told her bluntly. "You’re with me now. Nowhere else to go."
I didn't wait for her to process it. I dropped my hand from her jaw, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her forcefully out of the alcove.
My bloody fingers interlaced with hers, locking her hand in mine.
We stepped directly over the bodies, my heavy boots squelching and splashing through the widening pool of red as I dragged her into the next dark corridor.
She was a ghost being pulled along on pure instinct.
I was the engine, driving us further into the labyrinth where nobody else could follow.
I felt her fingers twitch in my grip, a tiny sign that she was still alive in there.
"Move," I ordered, not looking back.
She stumbled after me.
"Keep up." I yanked her forward. "Don't look at the floor."
We plunged back into the absolute dark. I moved with terrifying certainty, navigating the dripping, narrow maintenance passages strictly by touch and the echoes of our footsteps. I ran my hand along the weeping concrete wall, finding a familiar notch in the stone to guide our next turn.
"We’re going deeper," I said to the dark.
The air got colder.
"They won't find us here," I added. "Keep moving."
Behind us, the dropped flashlight finally flickered and died out on the floor. It just meant I was going to have to feel for the rats with my boots instead of kicking them out of the way.