Page 42 of Forged in Fire
I don’t know why that bothers me.
Chapter 13
Iris
The crack of the rifle splits the mountain air, and I don’t think—I just move.
His body slams into mine, sending us both tumbling behind a cluster of boulders as the bullet whistles through the space where I was standing a heartbeat ago. Stone chips explode around us, sharp fragments stinging my cheek as we hit the ground hard.
“Stay down,” he growls against my ear, and I feel warmth spreading across his sleeve where it presses against my arm.
Blood. His blood.
“You’re hit.” It shouldn’t upset me, but something cold and terrible unfurls in my chest at the sight of crimson seeping through dark fabric.
“Graze.” He’s already moving, scanning the rocky terrain with those sharp eyes. “They found us faster than expected.”
Another shot rings out, closer this time. Voices echo off the canyon walls—at least four, maybe six of them. Professional. Methodical. The kind of people who don’t miss twice.
“This way.” His hand closes around my wrist, and even through the adrenaline flooding my system, I notice how warm his skin is. How the contact sends tingles up my arm despite everything.
Not the time, Iris.
He leads us deeper into the maze of stone formations, moving on instinct. Behind us, boots scrape against rock, getting closer. These guys don’t give up easily—I’m learning that the hard way.
He stops beside a narrow crevice between two towering rock faces, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. “Here.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Would you prefer the bullets?”
Fair point.
I slide into the gap first, immediately regretting it as the walls close in around me. The space is barely wide enough for my shoulders, and when he follows, pressing in against me, there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape the heat radiating off his body or the way his breath warms my skin.
The wound on his arm brushes against me, and I feel him tense. More blood, the scent warm and metallic in the cold mountain air.
“How bad is it?” I whisper.
“I’ll live.”
Typical non-answer. Men and their stupid pride.
The voices are getting closer. Close enough that I can make out individual words—coordinates, search patterns, orders.
My shadows respond to the threat, rising from the rocky ground. They test the air, seeking, searching for anything thatmight give us an advantage. But the space is too confined, too exposed.
If they find us here, we’re trapped.
“What are you doing?” His voice is barely a breath against my ear.
“Keeping us alive.” I close my eyes, reaching for the darkness that’s always been part of me. “Trust me.”
The shadows answer my call like old friends, flowing up from the stone and wrapping around us both. Cool ribbons wind between us, over us, creating a barrier of living darkness that should hide us from searching eyes. Should make us invisible to anyone who doesn’t know exactly where to look.
I feel him go still against me as my power settles around him. His body heat increases, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch from the shadows touching his skin.
“What are you?” The question is wonder, not fear. His breath is warm against my ear, and something low in my belly responds despite the danger closing in around us.
