Page 34 of Steel and Ice
So, I grabbed Blair’s wrist and dragged him with me through a narrow side corridor that reeked of mildew. Mud suctioned at my boots, wet and thick.
A heavy iron door loomed in front of us.
Somewhere above us, the building exhaled and a cloud of dust shivered down in a slow fall.
We had no time to waste.
I shoved the door open, and we spilled into the graveyard.
Rain had stopped but the air hit sharp and wet, heavy with the scent of soaked soil.
Gravestones rose crooked and uneven from the ground. Their edges slick with rainwater, their names half-erased with time. Statues of angels watched us from above, their faces eroded into blankness by a century of Chicago cold.
Every shadow stretched further than the last, every sound lingered a moment too long. The graveyard refused to forget.
Blair stumbled as his shoes slipped on wet grass, but I caught him by his arm and dragged him upright before he could fall into the muck below our feet. He jerked away from me, but my grip didn’t ease. Instead, my palm burned against his wrist; a tether I wasn’t ready to sever.
Not here.
Not now.
“Let go,” Blair hissed, his voice low but fierce.
I growled at him. “Not a chance.”
Because at that moment, I heard it. The distant sound of footfall.
Blair’s entire body stiffened as his head turned toward the sound. He finally believed me. Travis was close.
The graveyard stretched around us in slick black shapes. Crooked headstones, angels marred with clipped wings. The sound of rainwater dripping from trees. But none of it masked the sound of the approaching man.
Hunting us. Possibly armed.
The silence between footsteps was worse than the sound itself. I could practically picture Travis pausing as he walked, trying to decide which of the graveyard’s winding pathways to follow.
I didn’t think.
Instinct drove me to move, and I shoved Blair down hard behind one of the larger tombstones.
“On your knees,” I commanded, and pressed him into soaked grass.
Blair gasped and sucked in air as anger sparked. “What the hell are you?—”
My palm stole the rest. “Quiet.”
11
BLAIR
Mud heldmy knees in place despite my attempts at resistance. Colt’s hand covered my mouth, firm and strong.
This is not where I should be.
Physically. Morally.
Ethically.
I couldn’t be here.
