Page 42 of Immune

In the tunnel, Kaito stands too close behind me, his heat pressing through the narrow walkway, the air threaded with his scent that slowly bleeds into the rot and damp.

Burning wood.

Worn flannel.

Blood.

Alpha.

My Omega lifts her head again, the little hussy more than hopeful, and I mentally spray her with an entire bottle of “nope” before pausing when the tunnel turns left. I hesitate, listening, and only the sound of dripping water reaches me. Behind us, the sound of Zeds clawing at metal rings faintly through the tunnel, and somewhere in the walls, there are groaning pipes and the sound of an old building doing its best to survive.

I glance over my shoulder, but the space is so narrow that the movement brings Kaito’s face much too close to mine. Both of us freeze, his eyes meeting mine in the dark. There’s next to no light here, but I can still see the way his gaze drops for half a second to my bandana and then lifts again immediately, as if he didn’t mean to look down at all.

He doesn’t stare, doesn’t lean in closer, and doesn’t ask any questions. But still, my entire body grows as taut as a bowstring. When his voice comes next, it’s barely a whispered breath as he asks, “Which way?”

It’s a simple question. Some would argue that it’s practical. Me? I view it as an escape route out of the weirdly charged atmosphere that suddenly sparks to life with just one look.

“Left,” I answer, gripping my knife harder as I turn to face forward once more.

He answers easily, voice still low, “Gotcha.”

And so we go left, only for the tunnel to narrow that much more the further in we get. Because of course it would, since it seems the building was designed by someone who held a very obvious grudge against broad shoulders, oxygen, and the small case of personal boundaries.

The tunnel narrows so much that Kaito is forced to turn sideways in places, his jacket brushing along the wall while his boots scrape quietly over concrete. I can hear the pain he’s in with every breath he takes, even as he tries to hide it. I can also hear when he almost stumbles and catches himself before knocking into me. Because he’s being careful. Always careful. It only makes the closeness that little more unbearable somehow. I mean, if he crowded me, I’d actually know what the hell to do with that. I’d throw a mean elbow, threaten his life, and maybe stab him in the thigh if the situation called for it. Hell, if theuniverse was spicy enough, I might actually cut off a finger or two.

But this carefulness? That leaves me with absolutely nowhere to put the panic slowly building inside me.

I know he’s close because the tunnel is forcing the issue, not because he’s taking advantage of the situation, and the difference is crawling under my skin like a thousand ants have burrowed there.

Eventually, the tunnel opens into a wider junction with four paths splitting from it. An old map has been bolted to the wall, half-rotted under the grime and water stains, so I wipe it with my sleeve with a grimace.

With my nail-painted finger, I press against the map where we just were and whisper, “Clinic. Apartment block. Park facilities. Boiler access... wait. Park facilities.”

I tap the map twice, and Kaito asks carefully, “Think that will get us out of here?”

With a shrug, I answer, “It should do.”

And then a sound echoes behind us, the screech of metal scraping with force, and I wince. The maintenance door didn’t hold for as long as I hoped. Shit.

“Move,” I whisper.

And then we run. Well, I do my own version of running, which is more like an aggressive form of limping with determination and a heaping dose of ambition. Kaito remains close, matching my pace without once commenting on it.

The tunnel bends sharply, then slopes up, and all the while, my knee is screaming in agony, my lungs are burning for air, and behind us, something releases a high and awful shriek.

We keep going until an exit hatch appears ahead, built into a short stairwell of grossly green-painted concrete. The door at the top is chained, because why wouldn’t it be when the universe is set on humbling me today?

Kaito raises the pipe he still has clutched in his hand and says, “I’ve got this. Watch out.”

I step aside, and he slams it into the chain with so much force that my eyes widen slightly. The sound rings through the tunnel like a fucked-up dinner bell, and something behind us screams.

“Kaito,” I hiss.

“Yup, fully aware, thank you,” he grunts back, right before slamming the pipe down again.

The padlock cracks, but annoyingly holds, and I already know I’m going to have to do something I already hate the thought of.

I pull my gun from the holster, hesitating for only half a second. After all, I have one bullet left before the thing is rendered as useful as a paperweight. I hate this. I hate every single bit of this.