A hand brushed my cheek. “I’m here.”
“Back-to-back,” I said.
Roman pressed his back to mine, a solid wall of strength as we braced for the next attack.
I slashed my blade viciously into the darkness, a silent prayer on my lips that I’d hit my mark. A bellow of agony and rage confirmed my strike. Triumph surged through me.
One left.
Grappling sounds erupted behind me. Roman shifted away—shouts, curses, and brutal impacts filled the air. I clenched my dagger tighter, my breath shallow. I couldn’t see anything.
“Roman!” I cried.
“Let’s go! Now, Olivia!” His icy grip latched onto my fingers. “The last one is dead. We need to move!”
We scrambled out of the cavern, making our way toward the door. My bodyshook as we inched through the room of glistening skulls. The bones lining the walls seemed to reach for me, whispering silent pleas of the damned.
A fresh wave of nausea twisted my stomach. “Oh, God—I think I’m going to be sick.”
Roman’s grip tightened like a vice, pulling me forward. “Don’t stop.”
I choked down my rising panic as my fingertips brushed endless skulls’ cold, hard surfaces. Their hollow eyes felt like they were watching me.
Then—solid ground. My foot found the first step. A rush of relief hit me so hard that I nearly collapsed.
Roman gave a triumphant shout, his voice ricocheting through the macabre chamber. Still gripping each other’s hands, we raced up the stone staircase, our footfalls echoing like war drums.
At the top, we slammed into an unmoving wall of wood.
Roman cursed. “The bookshelf! It’s shut. How do we open it?”
“There has to be a way from inside,” I panted, running my fingers over the smooth surface. “You start at that end—I’ll start at this one.”
A beat of silence.
“Olivia, we’re in total darkness—which end are you referring to?” Roman asked dryly.
I grabbed his shoulders, spinning him to face the opposite direction. “You go that way; I’ll go this way. If you find a lever, a pull string, anything that feels like it should be pulled, cranked, or tugged—do it.”
“On it,” he said.
I moved quickly, feeling along the wall, my fingers searching every crevice. Crouching low, stretching high—then finally—there.
A small protrusion beneath my palm.
I pressed it.
A loud click echoed through the hidden chamber.
The bookshelf groaned as it eased open a crack, revealing a sliver of moonlight.
Roman and I rushed through, shoving the passage closed behind us.
The office was bathed in pale silver light, illuminating the stark contrast of blood against our clothing.
Roman exhaled sharply. “What now? We both look like hell.”
I glanced at his fine doublet, now darkened with stains. “If you remove the soiled clothes, you’ll expose your tattoo.”
