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It had been a good long time since I’d asked for his hands on me, so I could understand his uncertainty, especially given our current location.
“I’m wigging out a little. I need the soul bond. It calms me down.”
“God, Secret, why haven’t you ever asked for it before? All those times—”
“I’m asking now.”
He placed his hand on the exposed skin at the back of my neck and squeezed. It wasn’t a perfect calm—I could still feel my pulse tripping, and the bleak edges of panic were threatening me even as the taste of lime filled my mouth. But it was better than the hysteria I’d sensed, and the flashback crawled away, leaving me my normal, mostly functional self. At least now I could focus on the lock instead of my mental state.
It took a few attempts, and some choice curse words, but when the tumbler finally clicked, I couldn’t help but let out a little whoop of triumph. Desmond let his hand drop away, and as I stashed the tools back in the bag, I handed him the shotgun.
“You ready for this?” I asked.
“Am I ready to hunt down the guy who has tried to kill you on a dozen occasions? Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I was born ready for that.” He opened the door, but I grabbed his wrist to still him.
“I don’t want you going after Peyton.” A dreadful image of the redheaded vampire ripping out Desmond’s throat filled my mind. It wasn’t a flashback, but it was grim enough to set my heart rate going again. “There will be plenty for us to deal with in there, and I’ll need you to watch my back when I finish him. But this is my fight, Desmond. I don’t mean to be all vigilante about it, but I need to be the one who kills him.” I stared at him, hoping my eyes were dire but not crazy. Either way he had to understand. “I have to kill him.”
Desmond stared at me for a long moment, his violet-gray eyes dark with worry or fear, but after a pause he nodded. “Don’t you go taking any stupid risks in there, woman.”
“You either…man.”
When I let go of him, he set down the gun and grabbed hold of me, hauling me into his arms so I had to look up at him lest my face be crushed against his chest. He was warm, and breathing in his scent washed away the nasty reek of the tunnels.
“We’re both coming out of this alive.” His voice was all promise, bordering on a threat. As if I had no choice but to comply.
“We are,” I agreed.
He dipped down and kissed me, cradling the back of my head with both his big hands. His lips were hot, and when his tongue brushed mine, a sizzle of electricity shot through me, radiating from my hair right down into the arches of my feet. I gave a little shudder, sighing against his mouth. For the first time in a long time I didn’t want him to stop.
When he broke away, he whispered, “I love you.”
Bracing my hands against his chest, I gazed up at him and gave a weak, watery smile. “And you think I’m the crazy one.”
Chapter Eight
Inside the doorway, the stink of urine vanished, replaced with a smell that reminded me of coal or old firewood. A sort of aged char scent that I couldn’t place and didn’t have time to wonder about. Anything was better than the reek of piss, so I’d take it.
Desmond shut the door behind us, casting the small corridor into darkness. I might have decent night vision, but I couldn’t see in the dark the way a full-blooded vampire could. I’d brought a small flashlight along, foreseeing this as a potential issue. Once we got to the actual sewers, I’d have to turn it off, but it would take us twice as long to get there without a bit of light.
We bumped our way along the passage, Desmond hauling the bag and me trying to duck under low pipes, snagging my sword several times. Without the flashlight I probably would have beaned my head at least once. After taking one wrong turn and having to backtrack, we finally found ourselves at a door that read L’accès D’égout. Sewer Access.
Yet another metal door, but thankfully this one opened with a round wheel handle instead of a lock. I didn’t have the patience for more locks at this point. Desmond did the honors of opening the door, and as soon as it swung inward we were assaulted with a new smell.
It wasn’t what I expected from a sewer, though, and definitely not as foul as the sewer tunnels back home. The Alma-Marceau Sewer Museum, from my understanding, let tourists explore the Paris Underground, and this section of the sewers was actually dry.
I angled the flashlight around the catacomb-like arches, getting a sense for what direction we’d be going in the darkness. Mouse had given us a rough idea of where his friend left goods for Peyton, so once we found the drop point, we’d keep going from there.
Inevitably we were going to end up wading through flooded passages, but I was glad we’d get to start the hunt with dry legs. I didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked by dingy sewer water, but I would have slogged through a lake of blood if it meant getting to Alexandre Peyton at the end.
In spite of knowing my guns were armed, I checked the safeties again and let out my breath in a little huff.
It was time. I was going to do this.
I’d been waiting to kill Peyton since I was sixteen, and now I was going to get my chance.
“Let’s do this.”
I removed my sword from its scabbard, wanting to hold off on using the guns until I absolutely had to. They’d create an insane level of racket underground, and since I wasn’t sure where all the walls were, I didn’t want to risk hitting myself with a ricochet.
