resumed crawling, and smacked my face into Marsten’s ass . . . again.
“Warn me when you stop,” I muttered . . . again.
A low chuckle. “At the next branch you can take the lead, then you won’t have that problem. I will . . . but I suspect I won’t complain about it.”
“You won’t have an excuse. Werewolves have enhanced night vision.”
“Mine’s been a little rusty lately.”
“You seem to be doing just fine.” I head-butted him in the rear. “Now move.”
After that, we did switch positions—three times—as we ran into three dead ends.
“I’m taking the next exit,” Marsten said on the fourth about-face.
“Not arguing.”
The next vent we hit, he hit, driving his fist into it and knocking it clattering to the floor. Guess I wasn’t the only one getting claustrophobic.
Marsten crawled out. I started to, then my dress snagged on a rivet, and I tumbled out headfirst, floor flying up to meet me—
Marsten grabbed me and swung me onto my feet. I regained my balance and took a deep breath of clean—reasonably clean—air.
“Well, there goes two thousand dollars,” he muttered, looking down at himself.
Both elbows of his jacket were torn, and the front of his shirt was streaked with dirt, as were his face, hands, and pretty much every exposed inch of skin. Cobwebs added gray streaks to his dark hair. His shoes were scuffed, as were his pant knees. While he surveyed the damage, he looked so mournful I had to stifle a laugh. Well, I tried to stifle it. Kind of.
“Don’t snicker,” he said. “You’re just as bad.”
“But I don’t care.”
As he brushed himself off, I looked around. We were in some kind of laboratory, with microscopes and steel tables and what looked like pots of bones in the middle of being de-fleshed. At any other time, curiosity would have compelled me to take a closer look. Tonight, only one thing caught my attention: the exit door.
As I strode to it, Marsten grabbed my arm.
“You can’t go out like that,” he said.
“Oh, please. My life may be in danger. You really think I care how I look? You stay here and pretty up, if you like, but I’m bolting for the nearest exit.”
His grip tightened as I tried to pull away. I yanked harder. He squeezed harder.
I glared at him. “That—”
“Hurts. Yes, I know. But you’ll hurt a lot worse if Tristan catches you.”
“We don’t know—”
“That he plans to kill you? He wasn’t heading to that closet to congratulate you on a job well done, Hope. He wants me dead, and to do it safely, without risking his own life on the repercussions, he needs to clip off his loose ends. That includes you and, later, those guards.”
“Kill four people because you embarrassed him?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What did—?”
“Whatever I did, it came after he retaliated because I turned down his job offer. It doesn’t matter. To a man like Tristan Robard, killing four people to avenge his ego is perfectly reasonable.”
He studied my face, then shook his head. “You don’t believe me? Fine. But at least give me the benefit of the doubt by not strolling out that door and testing my theory. You don’t think he’ll have all the exits covered?”
“Uh . . . yes, of course, but there are plenty of other exits. I know my way around—”
“Good. But if we start wandering the halls looking like this, we’re going to raise alarms. If not Tristan and his men, then a security guard or a concerned guest—”
“Who will cause a fuss, which will alert Tristan. Okay. Let’s pretty up then.”
M arsten declared his tux jacket a write-off. No big deal. It was nearing midnight, and jackets and ties would be coming off anyway as the party wore down. Under it, his shirt needed only a brisk wipe down. My dress had actually fared quite well, with only a rip under the arm and a smear of blood on the skirt. Take off my nylons, wipe down my dusty shoes and bloody knees with a damp paper
“Warn me when you stop,” I muttered . . . again.
A low chuckle. “At the next branch you can take the lead, then you won’t have that problem. I will . . . but I suspect I won’t complain about it.”
“You won’t have an excuse. Werewolves have enhanced night vision.”
“Mine’s been a little rusty lately.”
“You seem to be doing just fine.” I head-butted him in the rear. “Now move.”
After that, we did switch positions—three times—as we ran into three dead ends.
“I’m taking the next exit,” Marsten said on the fourth about-face.
“Not arguing.”
The next vent we hit, he hit, driving his fist into it and knocking it clattering to the floor. Guess I wasn’t the only one getting claustrophobic.
Marsten crawled out. I started to, then my dress snagged on a rivet, and I tumbled out headfirst, floor flying up to meet me—
Marsten grabbed me and swung me onto my feet. I regained my balance and took a deep breath of clean—reasonably clean—air.
“Well, there goes two thousand dollars,” he muttered, looking down at himself.
Both elbows of his jacket were torn, and the front of his shirt was streaked with dirt, as were his face, hands, and pretty much every exposed inch of skin. Cobwebs added gray streaks to his dark hair. His shoes were scuffed, as were his pant knees. While he surveyed the damage, he looked so mournful I had to stifle a laugh. Well, I tried to stifle it. Kind of.
“Don’t snicker,” he said. “You’re just as bad.”
“But I don’t care.”
As he brushed himself off, I looked around. We were in some kind of laboratory, with microscopes and steel tables and what looked like pots of bones in the middle of being de-fleshed. At any other time, curiosity would have compelled me to take a closer look. Tonight, only one thing caught my attention: the exit door.
As I strode to it, Marsten grabbed my arm.
“You can’t go out like that,” he said.
“Oh, please. My life may be in danger. You really think I care how I look? You stay here and pretty up, if you like, but I’m bolting for the nearest exit.”
His grip tightened as I tried to pull away. I yanked harder. He squeezed harder.
I glared at him. “That—”
“Hurts. Yes, I know. But you’ll hurt a lot worse if Tristan catches you.”
“We don’t know—”
“That he plans to kill you? He wasn’t heading to that closet to congratulate you on a job well done, Hope. He wants me dead, and to do it safely, without risking his own life on the repercussions, he needs to clip off his loose ends. That includes you and, later, those guards.”
“Kill four people because you embarrassed him?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“What did—?”
“Whatever I did, it came after he retaliated because I turned down his job offer. It doesn’t matter. To a man like Tristan Robard, killing four people to avenge his ego is perfectly reasonable.”
He studied my face, then shook his head. “You don’t believe me? Fine. But at least give me the benefit of the doubt by not strolling out that door and testing my theory. You don’t think he’ll have all the exits covered?”
“Uh . . . yes, of course, but there are plenty of other exits. I know my way around—”
“Good. But if we start wandering the halls looking like this, we’re going to raise alarms. If not Tristan and his men, then a security guard or a concerned guest—”
“Who will cause a fuss, which will alert Tristan. Okay. Let’s pretty up then.”
M arsten declared his tux jacket a write-off. No big deal. It was nearing midnight, and jackets and ties would be coming off anyway as the party wore down. Under it, his shirt needed only a brisk wipe down. My dress had actually fared quite well, with only a rip under the arm and a smear of blood on the skirt. Take off my nylons, wipe down my dusty shoes and bloody knees with a damp paper
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