Bryce switched his phone to silent. Then he turned and went down into the gloom.
Chapter Twenty-eight
TOM
Tom had reached the deepest part of the stacks, where nothing but rats had ventured for years. The emergency lights struggled through thick layers of dust, but at least they were on, casting the rooms into pools of light and shadow. Even enhanced eyesight wouldn’t be able to see in pitch darkness.
If they were non-shifters, he’d be able to stay one step ahead of them. But as it was, they’d be able to scent him. He looked at a pile of fresh rat droppings for a moment then, with a resigned sigh, crouched and turned up his shirt sleeves. He retched at the reek—sour and acrid, like ammonia but somehow worse—as he smeared the droppings over his arms to cover his scent.
Moving on, he stayed in the shadows and slunk between the vast rooms, where old bookshelves stood in immense rows, reaching almost as high as the ceilings.
And then he heard it—a shoe scuffing against the linoleum. It had come from the other side of the room he was in.
Everything was silent again, as if whoever it had been was poised, listening, scenting the air and trying to determine if someone else was there.
The giant bookcases cut his line of sight to the doorway, so he ghosted between them, using them as cover. When he reached the last one and cautiously looked around, he couldn’t see anyone, but he could hear faint breathing from outside the room.
He worked his way along the wall, relying on his hearing to pinpoint his enemy’s position. At the last moment, he surged forward, whipping around the doorjamb to pin him against the wall.
He jammed his forearm across the man’s throat, cutting off his air, and snarled, low and furious, straight into his face.
BRYCE
Bryce rarely questioned his decision-making capabilities. He kept a cool head no matter what was happening around him, and when others were inclined to rush in, he had no problem taking that step back and examining all the angles before deciding what to do.
Not today. Today found him sneaking around the dark basement of some old building playing a deadly game of hide and seek with highly trained killers without a single plan in mind. But Tom was down here as well and he had to find him.Hadto, before he was hurt or worse.
He crept through a doorway into a cavernous room, empty bookshelves marching away into the distance as far as he could see, and froze as all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.He could hear nothing, smell nothing except must and old dirt, with a sharp, acrid undertone he couldn’t place. But he knew someone was there.
Heart thumping wildly, he retreated, pressing himself back against the wall outside the door as he waited to find out if he’d been discovered. He almost hoped he had been. If his presence distracted one of Tom’s pursuers and kept him safe a little longer, it would have been worth it.
He was straining every sense to detect their approach, but it came with deadly speed. A body slammed him against the wall, and what felt like an iron bar locked against his windpipe, while a hand bit into his right arm, twisting it so if he’d had a weapon, he would have dropped it.
Cursing, he struggled, but he had no leverage and he knew it. Black spots danced before his eyes as he fought for breath. The body pressing him against the wall was merciless, taut muscles holding him no matter what he tried.
Bryce didn’t give up, not ever, but he knew he was outmatched. Helpless frustration burned inside him that he hadn’t been able to help Tom, to save him. As the world went dark around him, that cruel pressure on his windpipe eased. Desperately he pulled in a breath and opened his eyes to find Tom’s shocked face staring at him.
“Oh, God,” Bryce said on a gasp. “Tom.”
He yanked Tom against him, feeling the warmth of him, the reality of his heart beating, and the terror he’d felt at Tom being alone down here began to fade.
Tom resisted at first, his body tense, and then it was as if he melted against Bryce.
Bryce was never going to let him go again. “You’re okay,” he said into Tom’s neck. “Oh, God, you’re okay.” He breathed in the warmth of him. “Tom,” he said again, as his arms tightened still further around him, and then his hand was in that darkbrown hair, cradling his head against Bryce’s neck, and nothing had ever felt as good as knowing Tom was safe, that they were together.
But Tom was stiffening in his hold and then he pulled back, making a sharp cut-off gesture with his hand when Bryce would have spoken.
Suddenly recalling where they were, that they were anythingbutsafe, Bryce fought to push everything else down andthink.
Tom jerked his head for Bryce to follow him and led him back into the room he’d emerged from, threading through the maze of bookcases until they were in a dark corner, next to two doorways into other rooms, giving them more than one possible escape route. Not that Tom was a professional or anything, Bryce realized with a rueful smile.
Tom turned to him. “How many?” he asked in a low undertone.
Bryce shook his head helplessly. He didn’t know. “At least two, but could be more.”
Tom pursed his lips in thought, and God, Bryce wanted to kiss them. He bit his tongue hard, and the pain that flared through him got his head back in the game. He’d have all the time in the world to kiss Tom after this was over. He needed to concentrate on other things, such as the smell that had been outraging his nostrils for some time now. “You stink,” he said in a low voice.
Tom nodded and rolled up Bryce’s sleeves, his fingers on his skin not exactly helping to keep Bryce’s mind on the killers who were stalking them. But then Tom crouched and, with the suspicion of a grin on his face, smeared something cold, damp, and very smelly on Bryce’s skin.
