In my mind, I’d crafted a thousand different versions of her—tall and commanding, petite and fierce, redhead, brunette, scarred, tattooed. But the reality of her surpasses any image I could have conjured.
Her white-blonde hair falls past her shoulders in waves, tangled now from our ordeal but still framing her face beautifully. She has strong features—high cheekbones, a determined jaw, full lips. But it’s her eyes that captivate me most—a blue so pale they appear silver.
Her body is a canvas of bloody history. An old scar runs down her face from her right temple to her cheek, mingling with the fresh bruises and cuts. It’s a good thing I killed Bob, ’cause I’d have turned around and done it again after seeing her.
Battle-scarred and fierce, Lithia has the kind of presence that commands attention without demanding it. Others might look at her and see her current weaknesses.
They’d be fools.
What I see is the most magnificent creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Every scar tells a story of survival. Every line of tensionin her body speaks of strength earned through adversity. The way she carries herself—head high, shoulders back—reveals an intelligence sharp enough to cut and a will that refuses to bend.
Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s devastating.
I want her to be mine.
We move through the service tunnels, side by side. Even weakened by silver and injury, there’s a natural grace to her movements. I’ve seen her fight now—precise, efficient, lethal. There’s no wasted energy, no panicked flailing. She knows how to use every ounce of strength her body can give.
And gods help me, I can’t stop watching her.
“East corridor?” she asks, her voice rough from the fight, eyes flicking to mine as I drop the last of the silver cuffs.
I nod once. “The woman said there’s a service tunnel which leads to mining shafts. She said there’s an exit that way.”
We move fast. I take point, my senses sharp. The facility is unnervingly quiet, most cells empty. Whatever shitstorm Thaddeus’s death kicked up, it’s cleared out half the prisoners and nearly all of the guards.
Good for us. Bad for whoever’s left.
At a junction, I pause, scenting the air. “Two guards ahead. Armed.”
She holds the stun baton, extending it with an expert flick. “I’ll go high, you go low.”
I nod. We don’t need more words. We move like we’ve done this a hundred times—she swings wide, I slide low. The guards barely register us before it’s over—a gunshot, a flash of steel, a body hitting the wall, the thud of meat on stone.
I glance at her as she kneels by the fallen guards, rifling their belts. “Impressive.”
She shoots me a look, tossing me the guard’s gun. “I wasn’t made Beta for my charming personality.”
I huff out something like a laugh, and we keep moving.
The east corridor stretches ahead, old stone and rusted pipes, the smell of damp and moss thick in the air. At the end sits the door we need, the “SERVICE ACCESS” stamp barely legible under years of grime.
I pull out my key, praying the woman didn’t steer us wrong, and slide it into the lock.
Click.
The door creaks open, revealing a narrow tunnel lined with old rock and darkness thick as tar.
“After you,” I murmur, glancing back down the corridor.
Lithia slips past me, a pale streak in the dark, and I pull the door shut behind us. For a breath, the blackness is total. Then I thumb on a flashlight stolen from the guards. The light throws wild shadows on the tunnel walls.
“How far does this go?” she asks, voice low.
“Not sure,” I admit. “But it should lead to the surface.”
We move deeper, boots scuffing on damp stone, the drip of water echoing somewhere ahead. The tunnel forks and twists, but we follow it, unwilling to return.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asks after a sharp turn.
