Page 32 of Faith Among Monsters

I take the knife without a word, my fingers curling around the handle. It’s heavier than the one Dax gave me earlier, the grip rough against my palm.

Dax grinds his teeth. “If,” he mutters, clearly unimpressed.

The voices ahead grow louder as we approach. These aren’t growls or the guttural snarls from earlier. This is something else.

This ispain.

Men shouting, screaming. The sound cuts through me, sharp and raw, and I tighten my grip on the knife. My fingers ache against the handle, but I don’t let go.

The tension in the air is suffocating now.

“We’re almost there,” Dax says, his voice steady but low.

I nod, but my mind is racing.

Someone in the hallway looks up as we approach, their expression shifting to relief despite the hardened lines of their face. “Where the hell have you been?” they ask, their voice edged with exhaustion. Their eyes flick to me, dropping to Dax’s hand firm at my hip, and then back up to Dax.

“Cleaning up the yard,” Dax answers flatly. “I need to speak with Doc. Unless you’ve got something to tell me.”

The man doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as another wail cuts through the air. It echoes from one of the rooms ahead, sharp and raw, followed by muffled cursing.

“Come with me,” the man says, jerking his head toward the chaos.

I catch a glimpse of his uniform, though most of it is blotched with blood. The lettersGRare the only part of his name tag not smeared.

Dax looks down at me, his eyes narrowing with a sharpness that cuts through the noise.

“Stay with Wilkes,” he says, his voice low. “Do what he says.”

Before I can respond, his hand slides behind my head, tangling gently in my hair, and he pulls me into a kiss.

It’s brief but full of everything he doesn’t have time to say. His lips are warm and firm, his breath a mix of adrenaline and heat. I don’t hesitate, I kiss him back, my hand curling against his chest. It’s over too soon, leaving the taste of him on my lips and a heat that lingers in my veins.

As he pulls back, his forehead brushes mine for the briefest second, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go.

Wilkes shifts awkwardly beside us, wiping a hand over his face like he’s not sure how to deal with this.

When Dax finally steps away, it’s like a piece of me goes with him. I watch as he disappears around the corner with the man.

The moment doesn’t have time to get uncomfortable before another scream rips through the air, high-pitched and filled with agony.

It’s followed by a string of cussing, loud and vicious.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” someone shouts, their voice carrying down the hall.

My grip tightens on the knife, the cool metal pressing into my palm.

Wilkes exhales sharply through his nose. “Fuck me,” he mutters, his hand going to the spare gun at his side. He slides it free, holding it out to me. “You know how to use this?”

“Yes,” I say simply, handing him back his knife and taking the gun. It’s heavier than I expected, the cold metal biting into my palm.

“Head shot,” he instructs, his voice curt. “And make sure it’s one of them.”

I nod, flipping the safety off with a quick motion.

He pauses, looking me over for a beat before adding, “Anyone asks, you found that gun on the floor.”

“Understood,” I say, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.

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