He tugged her forward again. The floor around them was littered with rocks and deeper, darker spaces that suggested holes.
Old mines shafts, Michael said. Looks like the miners decided to dig for deeper treasures here.
Right through the rock?
Rock wouldn't have stopped them if they were following a vein of gold.
It would have stopped her . But then, she'd never have been underground hunting gold in the first place.
Riches of any kind had never called to her—except when it came to the richness of emotion. Something she'd been afraid to reach towards for more years than she'd cared to remember.
They were barely halfway across the cavern when he stopped. She was just about to ask what the problem was when she saw it. Or rather, him.
The shifter that had been shadowing them stepped from the tunnel on the far side. In his hand was a wooden stake.
Fear leapt into her throat, and for a moment she couldn't even breathe. Then she raised her hand and called to the fire. It leapt to life, spewing from her fingers in a flaming ball that shot light across the cavern as it arced toward the shifter. He stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear that she could almost taste.
But her flames were not meant for him. They hit the stake and wrapped around it quickly. With a squawk that was barely human, the shifter dropped it. It was little more than ash by the time it hit the ground.
She tugged Michael's hand. We need to go.
It's too late for that.
A scrape of sound made her spin, and she realized what he'd meant. The ten men who'd been following them now crowded into the old tunnel opening. They were trapped, with no option but to fight.
Michael spun and kissed her briefly. Take care of the shifter. I'll take the men.
He was gone before she could argue, so she ran at the shifter. He smirked, and in that moment, she recognized him. He was the driver of the van.
His form shimmered, reformed, becoming that of a wolf that snarled and leapt for her. She flicked the knife into her palm and slashed at him as she dodged his leap. The blade scoured his side, and blue fire flickered. The wolf yelped as he hit the ground, then he twisted, leaping for her again.
She sidestepped, slashing again with the knife. The sharp point tore past his coat and into flesh, deeper than before. He howled and twisted in midair, his sharp teeth slashing. His canines tore across the back of her hand, skidding up her arm. She cursed and backed away. His form shimmered as he hit the ground, becoming human once again.
"For this," he said, pointing to his bloody side, his voice gruff with anger and pain, "you die."
"I don't think Dunleavy will approve of that plan." And what the hell was it with shifters thinking she'd be easy meat?
"I don't give a fuck what Dunleavy wants. No bitch is going to wound me and live to tell about it."
The words were barely out of his mouth when he rushed for her. She dove out of his way, hitting the stone with a grunt and rolling back to her feet.
Air stirred. Too late she saw the shifter's leg sweeping toward her. The force of the blow against the back of her legs sent her flying. Her butt hit the ground with enough force to jar her spine, and her breath left in a hiss of air, leaving her wheezing.
Air stirred again, warning her. She rolled to one side, barely avoiding the foot aimed at her head. She twisted around, lashing out with her legs and striking his legs, sweeping them out from beneath him in much the same manner as he had hers. She scrambled upright as he crashed to the ground, but the shifting haze crawled across his body again, and in wolf form, he launched at her.
She dodged and pivoted, smashing her booted heel into his side and kicking him into the rock walls. He hit with enough force to make him grunt. She gave him no time to recover, throwing the knife as hard and as fast as she could. This time, she didn't miss.
The shifter was dead before his body hit the floor.
One less murderous kidnapper for the world to deal with, she thought, retrieving her knife and ruthlessly battering away the remorse that ran through her.
She spun and ran to help Michael. There were only five of the original ten left, but they were forcing him backwards, away from the tunnel and towards the deeper darkness that stank of evil. And then she saw how five men were managing to do this. Three of them were armed with stakes.
"Hey you," she yelled, launching herself at the nearest man just as he turned.
She hit him feet first in the gut and sent him flying backwards. He hit the wall with a crack loud enough to suggest broken bones and slid down to the ground. She scrambled upright, but he didn't move. Hoping she hadn't hurt him too badly, she spun and tackled the next nearest man.
This one was waiting, and his blow cracked across her face, sending her sprawling backwards. She half yelped in pain, and through the blur of tears, she saw him coming at her. She dropped and hooked his feet, making him stumble. She jumped upright, and before he could catch his balance, pushed him in the back. He hit the ground, sprawling on his stomach and sliding along the slick rock for several feet. She slipped her broken knife into her palm, flipped it so she was holding the blade, then stepped close to his sprawled form and hit him with the hilt as hard as she could. He didn't move. She checked his pulse, then spun and ran back to help Michael with the remaining three men.
There was blood on Michael's arms, and a cut on his cheek. They'd pushed him so far back that the magic they'd both sensed now pulsed around his body, spinning purple shards of light across the darkness. Fear for him rose, but she pushed it away and reached for the fire again. She aimed it at the stake the man closest to her was holding, then launched herself after her flaming arrow, intending to knock him down and away from Michael.
Only he twisted at the wrong moment, and she pushed him sideways rather than away. He cannoned into the other two men, pushing them forward—straight into Michael, thrusting him backwards into the pulsing curtain.
"No," she yelled, lunging forward.
The light closed around her hand, sucking her forward, her feet skidding across the stone even though she fought the pull.
Then evil leapt into focus and someone grabbed her, yanking her backwards. She spun, knife raised.
Saw Kinnard's mocking expression and a bright flash of light.
Then there was nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael grabbed a fistful of the nearest man's shirt, attempting to remain upright as the air howled around them.
The stranger instinctively stepped back, and for a moment, they both teetered over the edge of the whirlpool of magic that sought to suck them to God knew where.
Michael reached out with his thoughts, trying to touch his anchor's mind, trying to break the control Dunleavy had over him in order to save them both. But at that moment, the man raised the stake he held in his hand and stepped forward. The whirlpool grabbed them, dragging them into its depths.
And suddenly he was free falling, tumbling down and down and down.
Even a vampire couldn't escape a hole as deep as hell itself. He wasn't about to get trapped in hell.
Though disorientated, he flung out his arms, trying to get some idea as to what was around him. He hit flesh first and grabbed the man, knowing he had to save him if he could.
His free hand brushed walls, but they were too smooth to provide any real purchase. Then he hit wood, but it slithered past too fast for him to grab.