Page 107 of The Hunter

“We can split up in the meantime,” Blackwell suggested.

Yes,Argent thought. He had to dosomething. He addressed the dangerous men behind him. “Each man takes a tunnel, go three hundred paces, mark your place and double back. Look for drag marks, scraps of clothing, flickering lights, holding cells,anythingyou can find. We’ll meet here and then venture farther if nothing turns up.”

“I’m coming with you,” said the Blackheart of Ben More.

“Every tunnel needs—”

“I counted. They’re covered. I’m not leaving your side.”

With a grunt, Argent turned and they silently jogged three hundred paces through a labyrinth with absolute vigilance. It was maddening. Every footfall could be bringing him closer to her, or taking him farther away. There was no way of knowing. The earth was either packed dirt or stone. Sometimes disturbed, other times not. But he found no sign of her.

They beat half the men back to the hub, and none of them could meet his eyes. “Sorry, sir,” the one called Chappy muttered. “I couldn’t find no’fing.”

Argent contemplated separating the man’s head from his shoulders out of anguish and violent frustration before a frantic echo sounded from their left.

He felt sick. Whether with hope or dread, he couldn’t tell. Surging down the tunnel from which the clamor ricocheted, he almost trampled Gregory Tallow, the slim, wily invert with a dreadful stutter.

“I—I didn’t hear them u-u-u-until I was almost b-back here.” Tallow panted, pointing down the tunnel. “S-s-s-screams,”

Screams.

“Millie!” Argent shot into the darkness, his long legs eating up the earth, faster than he’d ever run before.

“Argent?” Blackwell’s voice sounded far away. “Argent, wait for—”

The tunnel wound in sharp, perpendicular turns rather than snakelike curves. A few other doors and iron gates shot off into dark directions. It smelled like death down here. Like terror and pain and blood.

Then he heard it. Distant and chilling, like the sound of a reaper whispering in his ear.

Screams.Herscreams.

“Millie!” He ran faster, sliding around turns and pushing off walls. His legs felt alternately strong and weak. She wasalive. She was in pain. She was screaming. Desperate sounds of strain and fear punctuated by moments of terrible silence.

God, what was happening to her? What sort of unspeakable terrors had Dorshaw already enacted? He hadn’t had her in his clutches for long… but every moment was a drop of blood, the slice of flesh, the space of a breath.

Every breath she took was precious. Every inch of skin was beyond priceless.

Though he’d never heard anything so horrifying in his life as the sound of her cries, Argent prayed for them to continue. They were his beacon in the dark. They were his torment. His hell. But he needed them to find her. So he could rescue her.

So he could pull every scream of hers from Dorshaw’s own throat a hundredfold.

Dorshaw’s malevolent voice repeated through the catacombs. His awful threats invoking a dark, evil rage within Argent’s chest.

He turned the corner and caught the dim flicker of lanterns on stone. His vision narrowed. Chains rattled against walls. A struggle ensued behind those bars.

“Christ, no…no.” With a burst of speed, he leaped for the narrow ancient iron gate.

And nearly choked on his astonishment.

Millie,alive. Her dark hair in wild disarray, her shimmering teal bodice torn away and milky breasts heaving above her black silk corset. Her dark eyes snapped with an unholy fire. Her teeth were bared in the savage imitation of a lioness, the chain manacled to her delicate wrists wrapped around Dorshaw’s neck as she used her knee for leverage. Her slim elegant muscles strained against the skin of her bare arms.

In that lightning flash of a moment, Argent knew two things:

That her fierce strength was waning and she might not be able to hold the struggling, bleeding Dorshaw in check long enough to choke him unconscious. And—

That he was in love with her.

“No,”he whispered. Not certain which fact terrified him the most.