Page 32 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

The floor gave a low, warning growl. A pillar across the hall cracked with a sharp report, hairline fractures racing up its length.

Con’s hand closed around my arm. “Time to move.”

The first real tremor hit—a deep, rolling jolt that shook dust from the vaults above. A rain of stone fragments pattered around us.

“The whole place is destabilizing,” he said.

“Good,” I replied, breath hitching as the temple shuddered again. “Let it bury itself.”

We turned for the tunnel just as an arch behind us sheared in half, slamming into the floor with a crash that shook my teeth. A fissure ripped open where the pedestal had stood, light spilling out of the wound like molten gold.

The temple was coming down.

We ran.

Our boots hammered the stone in sync, each step echoing like a heartbeat trying to outrun a dying god. The walls convulsed, centuries of dust exploding into the air until the world dissolved into smoke and streaks of light. Somewhere behind us, part of the floor gave way entirely, swallowed by darkness.

A slab broke loose from the ceiling ahead, the crack of it splitting the air. Con twisted, putting his body between me and the falling stone. It slammed into his shoulder hard enough to drive him to one knee, the impact echoing through the tunnel like a gunshot.

He snarled, a raw, vicious sound, braced both hands against the rock, and shoved.

The block skidded aside, gouging a trench in the floor, but I saw the way his arm dipped afterward—the torn fabric of his jacket, the dark stain already seeping through.

“Con—”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, already dragging himself upright. The set of his jaw said otherwise, but he didn’t slow. “Move.”

We hit the passage that led upward, narrow walls rattling around us. The sigils carved into the stone had gone completely dark now, their light extinguished. My head throbbed, my magic still sparking erratically from the backlash of breaking the ward.

We rounded a tight bend, and the world tilted. The air thickened, my vision tunneling.

“Cass—”

The floor rushed up at me, but his arms were already there. He scooped me up without breaking stride, one arm under my knees, the other braced around my shoulders. His injured side took the weight without complaint, but I felt the way his body tightened, and heard the slight hitch in his breath as another tremor shook the tunnel.

I tried to protest, but my body felt leaden, my limbs refusing to cooperate. The tunnel blurred into streaks of gray rock and falling dust.

He ran. The rhythm of his stride and the pounding of his boots became the only real sound, drowning out the roar of collapsing stone behind us. Smaller rocks crashed against his back and shoulders, skidding off as if they’d hit steel, but he kept his injured arm locked around me, refusing to shift the burden.

The world narrowed to the sound of his breathing—deep, controlled—and the steady pulse of the artifact clutched against my chest. It drew at me, drinking in what power I had left.

I forced my eyes open. The air was cooler now, fresher. We were climbing. The exit had to be close.

“Put me down,” I rasped.

“Not happening.”

“I said⁠—”

“Save it,” he growled, dark but not unkind. “You nearly bled yourself dry back there.”

“I can walk,” I muttered, fighting against his hold. The effort made the tunnel spin.

He stopped abruptly. The thunder of falling stone was softer here, distant. A thin blade of moonlight cut through a crack ahead, catching the dust like drifting ash. The mountain still rumbled, but the violence had faded into a tired, settling groan.

Con lowered me carefully, hands firm on my shoulders until my legs agreed to work. “Easy,” he said quietly.

I braced against the wall, dragging in a lungful of cold air. It burned, but it steadied me. The dizziness ebbed, enough that I could stand on my own again.