Page 18 of Shadowed Bond

The rung beneath my boot snaps.

For fuck’s sake.

My leg drops, scraping down the jagged edge of broken metal before I catch myself on the side of the ladder. Pain burns up my shin, sharp and irritating, and I hear Charlotte inhale above me.

“Ares?”

“I’m fine,” I growl, annoyed more at the fact that I’m paying attention to the way she says my name.

Blood runs warm beneath my jeans, already mixing with rainwater and rust, and the ladder groans again like it is considering giving up entirely.

Brilliant.

I shove away from it and drop the rest of the way down. My boots hit the tunnel floor hard, water splashing around my ankles. The sound echoes through the tunnel.

I glance down at my leg. The tear in my jeans is long, the skin beneath scraped raw and bleeding, but it is already beginning to sting less. It’ll heal quickly enough.

“Ares, I can smell blood,” Charlotte’s voice comes again.

“The ladder’s fucked; I’m fine, just a scrape. So you’re going to have to jump.”

“Jump?” she repeats.

I nod and motion for her to come down. “Drop,” I say, holding out my arms.

She blinks and stares at me. “I am perfectly capable of landing.”

“Good. Then land in my arms.”

“You are remarkably arrogant. Who said I need you to catch me?”

“I don’t want to catch you, if that helps.”

“Then move,” she orders before she stands up, steps back, and jumps.

I don’t move back and catch her clean around the waist. The force of her landing pushes me back half a step through the shallow water. She grips my shoulders on instinct, fingers tightening against my jacket, and for one stupid second, the tunnel, the rain, the mission, all of it fades until all I can focus on is the woman in my arms.

The smell of her shampoo, the feel of her hair against my cheek, and her scent that drowns out the putrid smell of the tunnel.

She’s close.

Too close.

Grey eyes lift to mine, and I hear the quick hitch in her breathing as our eyes lock.

I’ve got to admit she’s a pretty thing.

Wait, what?

I should put her down.

Obviously.

Then I realise I haven’t, and quickly place her down unceremoniously, a little roughly, as she stumbles backwards, and I almost grab hold of her, but she raises her hand, stopping me.

“I told you I could manage.” She frowns.

“Yeah, I heard.”