Page 19 of Shadowed Bond

“Hmph,” she says airily, as if trying to regain some kind of ground.

She smooths her coat as if nothing happened, but we both felt it. And I don’t fucking like it.

“Right, let’s begin,” she says, turning her back on me.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

I definitely do not need to think about how she felt in my hands.

Na, I definitely don’t.

The Tunnels

Charlotte

We have been walking for hours, and although we have covered a good amount of ground, including half-flooded tunnels and old drainage routes that doubled back on themselves, we wasted far too much time discovering that several of the maps were, as we were warned, inaccurate.

Still, we have not found the crack in the veil.

I sigh, frustrated, pushing damp strands of hair away from my face. Even my Schattenblüte outfit is beginning to itch now, clinging uncomfortably to me; it’s soaked with the water from down here, and the dirt sticks to me disgustingly. I want to shower and get into something dry and clean.

The tunnels beneath the Desert Storm Pack are worse than the grounds above. Old, dark bloodstains mar the stones where the water never rose high enough to wash them away. Some are a little more than damp smudges now, faded by time, but others remain disturbingly clear. The worst are the ones marked with deep scratches, gouged into the tunnel walls as if someone had dragged their nails through stone while trying to get away.

This pack…

I feel uncomfortable here.

And Ares can deny it all he wants, but he hates it here, too.

He walks ahead of me, his shoulders tight beneath his jacket, and for a man who complains as easily as he breathes, his silence says more than any of his insults ever could.

“Let’s stop for the night,” he says suddenly, his deep voice echoing along the damp walls.

I look up sharply.

There are only two nights until the Blood Moon ball, and I don’t want to miss it.

“We can keep going for another hour,” I say.

“It’s late. We’ll take a break, sleep, then come back and make a head start tomorrow. We need to find a place to crash, too.”

“We can just sleep in the car,” I reason.

His brow cocks. “Didn’t expect that from an Arden.”

I frown. “I’m not a Rossi.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I freeze. That sounded far worse than I meant it to.

There are, admittedly, a few Rossi women with very high standards, but it’s not a crime, and I do not particularly wish to be overheard insulting incredibly strong women. “I mean,” I begin, already regretting the words that had slipped out. “I have slept in worse places before.”

“Oh, I got what you meant, Princess.” His mouth curves into a smirk. “Hearing someone mock a Rossi, I’m not complaining.”

“They aren’t all like that,” I add defensively. He snickers, and I straighten, pointing at him. “You had better not tell anyone I said that.”

“Now that you’ve told me not to, I might just wanna.”

“Then you better not ‘wanna’.” I glare back at him.

“Alright, I won’t tell anyone you mocked the Rossi divas if you get your ass up and we get out of here for now.”