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I never thought I’d be happy to smell rotted leaves, dirt, and dead things, but here we were.

The sewer itself, luckily, was not functioning in any kind of way. This area of Dreadwood Falls was forgotten about because it was off the beaten track enough not to besmirch the image of the town, not hot real estate for the next Pilates studio, wine bar, or artisanal grocer.

The perfect spot for a supernatural entity to drag children back to then slowly torture and feast on their essence until it was sated enough to hibernate like a bloated bear.

I heard no screaming, no whimpers of pain, no quiet sobbing. Nothing but the splash our boots made in the mix of water, dirt, and old shit we were wading through.

The silence was eerie, though. Thick, primed. Waiting. Wholly unnatural. Sewers generally didn’t have a bunch of wildlife making homes within them, so I wasn’t expecting to hear the rustling of a squirrel, but all my Spidey senses were ringing at that point.

We were in the right place.

I pulled my iron blade from my belt. I had a gun with the iron bullets Dante had supplied but shooting in an enclosed space was a last resort, even if I trusted my aim. On the off chance this boy was still alive, a knife was the safer option.

“There better not be a clown instead of a Black Annis at the end of this fucking rabbit hole,” I muttered.

“A clown?” Dante asked, voice faint. “Why in the fuck would there be a clown?”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t go any further down in my estimation, you don’t even understand Stephen King references,” I sighed.

“Well, excuse me. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about the man,” he chuffed. “Rumor is that he’s a retired hunter; that’s why he knows so much.”

I rolled my eyes. The rumor mill of the hunter world was something to behold. As were conspiracy theories. Donny was full of them.

“There’s no such thing as a retired hunter,” I countered. “Retirement is a coffin and a tombstone.”

Silence pulsed between us at my words. It was the truth both of us knew all too well. If we were lucky, our deaths might be far away, but there was almost a guarantee they’d be painful and bloody.

I told myself I didn’t regret the quietude when I remembered Dante’s whole family was dead and buried.

“Did I sense some sexual tension between you and the cop today?” Dante sounded like he was trying to make idle conversation. “He seemed mighty mad at you. And like he wanted to rip all of your clothes off and screw you on the lawn. Politely and in missionary, no doubt.”

I clutched the knife tighter, hating that Dante was witnessing all the ugly dynamics between Colton and me, and of course, coming to the wrong fucking conclusions.

“We’re doing this quietly,” I hissed at him.

“So you don’t want to fuck after we’re done?” Though he was mostly fucking with me, I could hear the undertone in his voice, sensual, deep, and inviting.

Even in the cold, damp muck I was trudging through, parts of my body warmed pleasingly.

“Because I promise I won’t be polite, and though there is nothing wrong with missionary, it’ll be the last on the long list of⁠—"

I stopped walking, spinning around to glare at him. “I swear, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll tie you to a rusted pipe and go after the Black Annis myself. And maybe if I’m lucky, once I’m done, while the werewolf is distracted by chewing on your apparently soft heart, I can kill it too.”

“Sounds like you’re into bondage,” Dante drawled. “I like to be tied up.”

I sighed long and hard, deciding I’d just pretend he didn’t exist, hoping the Black Annis dropped from the roof and tore his throat out.

We resumed walking.

Yet we both paused the instant we heard it.

A low, snuffling, keening sound. The hairs on my neck stood on end, and my heart rate spiked. The sound was off. Wrong. Grotesque.

The tunnel snaked and turned in front of us. From around the corner, there was a soft, flickering glow from some sort of light source.

A low whimper.

Human.