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Then there was nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael grabbed a fistful of the nearest man's shirt, attempting to remain upright as the air howled around them.
The stranger instinctively stepped back, and for a moment, they both teetered over the edge of the whirlpool of magic that sought to suck them to God knew where.
Michael reached out with his thoughts, trying to touch his anchor's mind, trying to break the control Dunleavy had over him in order to save them both. But at that moment, the man raised the stake he held in his hand and stepped forward. The whirlpool grabbed them, dragging them into its depths. And suddenly he was free falling, tumbling down and down and down. Even a vampire couldn't escape a hole as deep as hell itself. He wasn't about to get trapped in hell. Though disorientated, he flung out his arms, trying to get some idea as to what was around him. He hit flesh first and grabbed the man, knowing he had to save him if he could. His free hand brushed walls, but they were too smooth to provide any real purchase. Then he hit wood, but it slithered past too fast for him to grab.
More smooth rock. Another piece of wood.
This one he managed to hook his arm around. The abrupt halt tore at muscles, and the sudden deadweight of the stranger damn near popped his left shoulder out of its socket. He hissed, fighting pain, fighting to keep his grip on the wooden beam and the stranger against the pull of the magic and gravity. He blinked the beads of sweat from his eyes and looked around. They were in one of the vertical shafts. It wasn't all that wide, and aging beams lined the drop, with supporting beams spanning the gap north to south. If he'd hit any of them in those first few moments of free falling, he probably would have broken his back. But luck had been with him, and he'd fallen right through the middle.
He couldn't see the top of the shaft, and he had no idea just how far he'd fallen. He glanced down. The beams continued on for a while, and then the wood gave way to unnaturally smooth rock. Dunleavy's doing, he suspected. The bastard was probably trying to ensure the hole was deep enough to cage a vampire. If he'd fallen much farther, he would have been caught in that cage. Material tore, and the stranger dropped a little. Pain ripped up Michael's arm, burning through the rest of his body. He swore softly. The man's weight must have torn ligaments when they'd come to that sudden halt. And it wasn't like he could shift his grip and make both of them more comfortable. He needed help.
Needed to know if Nikki was okay.
He reached out to her, but the link between them was little more than a black wasteland. He swore again. Dunleavy had her. He knew that without doubt.
He tried instead to use his kinetic skills, but they were still locked in glue. Nikki was right. The circle around this town was blocking basic psychic abilities. So why could she use her flames? And how could he siphon her ability to sense evil when that, too, was a psychic skill? Was the fact that they shared that skill somehow able to give it immunity from the spell?
Right now, that was a question he didn't have the time to ponder. He glanced down again and lightly toed the stranger in the face. “Wake up.” Though he knew it probably wouldn't succeed, he tried to reinforce the words telepathically. The man's mind was a mental minefield he didn't have time to traverse. He had to get to Nikki. Had to get moving. He toed the stranger again, less carefully this time. The man jerked and cursed, and Michael hissed in pain as the fool's action sent them both into a gentle swing.
"Keep still,” he snapped.
The man's gaze jerked to his. There was no awareness of the situation, no life, in the blue of his gaze, only a curious blankness. He was still under Dunleavy's control. And Dunleavy wanted Michael suffering, then dead.
The stranger swung the stake he'd somehow clung to, rapping Michael across the shins. He cursed and shook the idiot, trying to make him lose his grip on the stake. It didn't do any good. The wood hit him again, and the nails that had been rammed along its length tore past his jeans and into flesh. There was only one thing to do, and he did it.
The stranger didn't even scream as he fell, but rather, was still mindlessly trying to hit him. After a few moments, water splashed. With any luck, Dunleavy had left the stranger with enough common sense to tread water. Though whether he'd be able to stay afloat long enough for Michael to get help was anyone's guess.
And right now, he had more important things to worry about. Kinnard's threat rose to haunt him. He pushed it away savagely and hooked his other hand around the beam. Pain slapped through him, and his breath hissed through clenched teeth. His shoulder had definitely been damaged, but at least he could still move it. Could still hold on with it, though it hurt like hell, and his grip was a lot weaker than it should be. He took a breath and swung his body, hooking his feet around the beam before carefully climbing onto it. Once secure, he took another breather, wiping the sweat from his eyes as he glanced up. The next beam was about eight feet away. Not much of a leap if he stood. He edged his way along the beam until he reached the wall. Using it to steady himself, he carefully climbed to his feet. For a minute, the tunnel swam around him. He blinked the sensation away and looked upwards, judging the distance. Then he lunged.
He caught the beam, holding on for grim death as his body swung like a pendulum and pain burned white hot up his left arm. Ignoring it, he swung his legs, hooking them around the beam and clambering on top of it.
He repeated the process over and over.
By the time he neared the top, he was drenched in sweat, and the burning in his shoulder had spread to the rest of his body. He was shaking with exhaustion, and his vision was so blurred he could barely see the beam beneath him.
He needed blood. Needed to replenish what he had lost.
And he didn't have the time to do it, because Nikki was running out of time. The longer Dunleavy had her, the more he could do to her. The images he'd seen in the woman's mind rose to haunt him again, and he swore savagely.>After a few minutes, the walls began to ease back. She felt no sense of relief. Though she could hear little beyond the harsh note of her own breathing, she couldn't shake the sensation that the men were close enough to almost touch.
The link sprang to life, wrapping around her fear, gently easing it away. They're not yet within reach . How far, then?
A few minutes.
And the shifter?
Paralleling us.
What about the pentagram? How far away are we from that? Though she asked the question, she very much doubted whether they'd get that far. This all reeked of a well-laid plan. If my sense of direction isn't leading us astray, we shouldn't be that far from it. Good.
The tendrils of slime began to recede as warmth touched the air. Not that it was actually that much warmer. She shivered again, this time more from the cold than fear. The tunnel began to open up, eventually leading into another cavern. Her footsteps seemed to echo forever, lending the darkness a feeling of enormity. Michael paused, and the sensation of wrongness hit her so strongly it felt like a punch to the gut.
There's something here, she gasped.
