Page 13 of Rule the Night (Blackwell Butchers #1)

MAEVE

The footsteps behind me were growing closer despite the fact that I’d been trying to lose them for the past twenty minutes.

They’d been far away at first, faint enough that I’d wondered if I was imagining them, but they’d gotten louder even when I’d taken a series of turns that had me hopelessly lost.

The least of my problems, especially now.

The red lights that had seemed eerie when I’d first stepped into the tunnels were now my only source of comfort. Under their glow, I could orient myself, look for more junk I might hide behind.

Except there wasn’t any. Not in this part of the tunnel system. There was just the rough stone walls, the dirt floor, the smell of damp.

And the footsteps, growing closer by the second.

I picked up my pace, then heard the footsteps do the same. I didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to admit that my situation was dire enough to warrant it, that the Hunt might be coming to an end and I was going to lose.

But they were close enough to know I was walking faster, and that meant it was time.

I broke into a sprint, moving through the red glow cast by the bulbs on the ceiling, then plunged back into darkness so thick I braced myself to run into a dead end, trip over a pile of junk, fall like I had when I’d hurt my hand.

The hunters behind started running too, their footfalls heavy on the packed dirt floor of the tunnel.

I ran and ran, the throbbing of my injured hand giving way to the burning in my legs, my lungs heaving as I gasped for air.

I wasn’t exactly the athletic type, and I cursed myself for not training for this part of the Hunt.

I’d brought my gun — a weapon that had been taken away from me before the Hunt had even started — but hadn’t bothered training for the physical toll of being chased in the dark.

Stupid.

But it was too late now, and I ran as fast as I could, in denial about the fact that my legs felt heavy and my pace was slowing.

I hit a patch of red light and spotted a tunnel up ahead on the left. It gave me the motivation I needed to keep pushing — every tunnel offered the possibility of a place to hide — and I sprinted for the turn, made it without sliding on the dirt floor.

And smacked right into a wall of inked, muscled flesh.

I staggered from the impact. My wobbly legs buckled and big hands came around my upper arms to keep me on my feet.

My gaze traveled up the sculpted chest of the man holding my arms, past his broad shoulders to his face.

I recoiled from the dark eyes staring down at me from behind the bone mask, the black energy that threatened to suck me into its void.

Anyone but the Butchers.

When he spoke, I recognized the deep tenor of his voice from the holding room, felt it in my bones.

“Got you.”