Page 8 of Bleed the Shadows
I hoped she’d gotten what she’d wanted. One of us should have.
I ran until my lungs burned, slowing down as I approached the first of the digital clocks scattered throughout the tunnels. It glowed red, the numbers telling me that I’d been running for a full nine minutes.
Based on my pace on the track at Blackwell High, I should be about a mile into the tunnels (what can I say? I never claimed to be an olympic runner). Adjusting for the disorienting darkness, I figured I was at least three quarters of a mile past the start of the Hunt.
I slowed my pace and tried to listen for the men over the huff of my labored breathing, but as far as I could tell, it was quiet. The men were either far behind me or moving too stealthily to hear.
I called up the maps of Blackwell Falls I’d studied in the three weeks since I’d left the Butchers’ loft. Assuming I was right about my position, I was probably near Chasen’s, the upscale bistro on the north side of town. The restaurant was a recent addition to Blackwell Falls, renovated eight years earlier when the town started to gentrify, but thanks to my research, I knew the building was old and had been there since the late 1800s.
If I was right about the tunnels, they would end less than a half mile ahead if I kept going straight.
A dead end would be catastrophic, so I turned left, mostly because I’d turned right last time, and I hoped to throw theButchers off if they tried to retrace my steps from the last Hunt. I needed some new moves in my repertoire, and pretty much all I had at my disposal was the stamina I’d built running on the track after my shifts at Lushberry and my newfound understanding of the history and layout of downtown Blackwell Falls.
I’d stuck to the right side of Main Street during the first Hunt, and it felt strange to know I was traveling under the road this time. Far above me, Saturday night was underway, the north side of town closed up and quiet while bikers from the local MCs and members of the street gangs hung out at Syd’s or got riled up for Fight Night at the Orpheum on Southside.
I felt like I’d been entombed in the dirt, the tunnels silent except for the occasional drip of water from some unseen place.
I counted my steps as I crossed under Main and breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the other side. I’d counted the distance between the sidewalks on one side and the sidewalks on the other more than once over the past three weeks, adding a few to account for the extra steps inside the Orpheum where the Hunt had started.
Now I was pretty sure I was on the other side of the street. Still not safe — if I could get to the other side of the street then so could the teams of masked men prowling the tunnels — but with enough distance between me and the others that I could slow to a walk.
I’d been nervous to be caught by one of the other teams, but now I wondered if they would heed Bram’s warning. That was what the blood drying on my face felt like: a warning to the other teams.
Stay away.
Would the Butchers let me wander the tunnels alone all night — a piece of meat no one wanted — or would they come after me themselves?
I shivered at the thought. I’d been scared of the other teams because they’d been unfamiliar, because I didn’t know what they would do to me if I lost the Hunt.
But the truth was nothing was scarier than being claimed by the Butchers, the three men who’d already caught me in their tangled web.
7
POE
We didn’t move slowlylike we usually did. We stalked through the tunnels instead, outpacing everyone but the Hawks, who ran like maniacs through the tunnels like they always did.
Fucking obnoxious assholes.
This time, we weren’t here to hunt. This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t fun and it wasn’t about winning. It was about Maeve, about finding her and settling whatever had happened to make her leave without saying goodbye.
That was the part that had hurt the most: she’d left without saying goodbye.
And yeah, I’d known better than to expect that she felt anything for me. For us. I’d known better than to think she felt what I felt for her.
But damn… I hadn’t thought we’d meant nothing.
“Keep going?” Remy asked.
I looked at the ground, spotted the tracks from Maeve’s lug-soled boots.
“Yep.”
She’d run this time. I could tell that much from her footprints on the floor of the tunnel. They were deep, her toes making clear imprints in the dirt as she propelled herself forward.
I sniffed the air, hoping for strawberries, and came up empty.
“Think the others will stay away?” Remy asked as we approached one of the red lights hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel.
