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Pain radiated from my fingertips up my arms, an indescribable scorching chewing through my flesh. I let out a grunt of pain, but I did not let her go.

Using all my strength, I pressed the knife deeper and twisted, the blade crunching through gristle and decayed epidermis.

She let out another horrible, drawn out, ear-piercing, pain-filled howl. Black spots peppered in my vision, whether it was from the flames, the pain, or the unearthly sound, I couldn’t tell, and it didn’t really matter.

I held fast until I felt her flesh crumble underneath my force, even as my lungs ached, and dry, hacking coughs escaped my mouth.

I sucked in black smoke as my windpipe closed, and it became increasingly difficult to breathe.

Flames were one thing to survive, smoke quite another. It was the smoke that killed most of the time, I reminded myself, now that the supernatural creature was nothing more than shredded rags and a pile of bones.

Coughing again, I braced my ruined hands on my thighs, lowering myself to where the air was clearer.

Apparently, there had been enough to burn in the sewer to create enough smoke to kill me. I needed to get out of there. And fast.

How embarrassing would it have been to die of smoke inhalation? In a sewer, no less?

Absolutely not.

My eyes stinging, I stumbled in the direction of the exit, trying to breathe as little as possible. I made my way over bones and flaming remains, but luckily, none of my clothing caught fire. Leather was a good choice that day and always.

I braced myself on the cool stone of the sewer wall, using it as a guide toward the crisp, slightly shit-tinged air ahead of me. The smoke was snaking down the sewer as a terrifying amount of heat kissed my back. It should’ve burned out by now.

Lungs scalding, I continued forward blindly until the smoke cleared enough for me to see, to breathe a little better. When two shapes appeared in front of me, I pushed harder toward them.

My eyes seared like a motherfucker, as did my hands and fingers, but I could finally see a little better.

Dante was waiting for me where we’d dropped in, his flashlight illuminating the small space.

Smoke was beginning to billow from the flames in the cavern, making it tougher to breathe again. I covered my mouth with my sleeve, coughing into the fabric.

“He alive?” I croaked, squinting at the small shape in his arms.

Dante’s eyes flew over me in a quick assessment for injuries. “Yeah.” He gazed down at the boy. “Unconscious for now but steady pulse.”

I nodded in relief.

“You wanna say it now or wait till later?” Dante’s lips ticked up.

I scrunched up my nose, doing my best to ignore the throbbing pain in my hands, the agony in my lungs. “Say what?”

“You were right, Dante, for having hope, being optimistic about killing monsters, and being the hero.” He spoke with far too much cheerfulness for someone standing in a smoke-filled sewer holding an unconscious kid.

“You wait down here for me to say that,” I managed between practically hacking up a lung. “You’ll die of smoke inhalation and do us both a favor.” I unintentionally coughed, perfectly punctuating my point.

Dante’s brows narrowed in what looked like worry in the increasingly suffocating air. Luckily, the situation did not foster any kind of displaced male worry as there was a real, vulnerable person to be worried about.

And the very real problem of getting out of the sewer.

We’d jumped in from a grate but the opening itself, which was blowing glorious, fresh air toward us, was much too high to jump to. The walls were not scalable, especially not with a kid in tow.

The direction of the fire was no go. That left straight ahead.

Dante was watching my face, likely having already come to the same conclusion.

“Go,” I ordered. “I’ve got your back.”

There was no hesitation. Not one second of male ego stuttering at the command or the displacement of authority.