Page 43 of His Claim
The farther we went, the colder it grew. My breath misted in the dark, mingling with hers. She pressed close to me, her shoulder brushing my arm, her body tense but trusting.
I guided her left, then down a sloping grade where the beams leaned precariously, wood groaning under the weight of stone. Rusted lanterns hung from nails, long dead, their glass fogged with age.
Mariah’s hand brushed mine as we squeezed through a narrow choke point where the walls pressed tight, stone cold against our skin. She exhaled a shaky breath.
“How do you know secret ways like this?”
I almost smiled. “I make it my business to.”
I knew these tunnels like the back of my hand, every twist and turn. I’d carved their map into my mind years ago, waiting for a night like this when I’d need to disappear in the blink of an eye.
The tunnel widened again, opening into a cavern where the ceiling soared high above us, unseen in the dark. A broken cart lay on its side, half-buried in rubble, its iron wheels frozen in place. Stalactites glistened faintly in the thin trickle of light filtering down from cracks overhead.
Mariah tilted her head back, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.”
I looked at her, the blood still streaked across her skin, her hair damp with sweat, her green eyes luminous in the dark.
“It is,” I said, but I wasn’t talking about the cavern.
We pressed deeper, the mine swallowing us whole. Behind us, the base hummed with alarms, the wolves scrambling to contain what they’d unleashed.
I led her through a narrow cut in the stone, brushing aside a tangle of broken beams that had been shoved into place like a barricade. Beyond it, the air opened wider, cooler, and the smell changed, earth and dust still thick, but mingled now with the faint tang of oil and gunmetal.
We stepped into the cavern I’d made my own.
The chamber wasn’t much to look at: stone walls damp with condensation, jagged ceiling high overhead, the floor scattered with gravel and discarded timbers. But I’d worked it over the years, stockpiling what I could, shaping it into a place I could go to escape.
Crates lined one side, stenciled with faded military insignias. A stack of folded tarps covered a low cot cobbled from scavenged planks. On the far wall, I’d hidden a pair of lanterns with fresh oil stockpiled beside them.
Mariah stopped in the entry, her green eyes wide in the lantern light. “This is… yours?”
“Ours now,” I said simply.
I guided her to the cot, where I’d left a bundle wrapped in canvas. I knelt, pulling it open to reveal clothes and several pairs of shoes—plain, worn, scavenged over time but clean. I’d picked them out for her when I returned from my last mission, knowing Mariah would be at my side when we escaped through here.
“Here.” I held up a pair of pants, soft from age, a pair of thin boots, and a dark shirt that would hang loose but cover her. “Better than that hospital gown.”
She took them without complaint. I turned away, giving her the space to pull them on. My ears caught the rustle of fabric, and the small intake of her breath as she got dressed.
When I looked back, she stood straighter. The clothes were too big on her, and she’d rolled the sleeves up, but her chin was a bit higher, her eyes full of confidence. And maybe she was a little bit warmer, too.
Better.
I went to one of the crates and pried it open with my claws. Inside were the weapons I’d kept hidden from the Council: an old rifle, knives in leather sheaths, and a battered pistol wrapped in cloth. I laid them out on the cot beside her.
“Take what feels right,” I said.
Her hand hovered uncertainly over the knives before curling around one with a dark wooden grip. She tested the weight, her jaw tight. “This one.”
I nodded, sliding the others back into the crate.
Another bundle held rations. I pulled free a strip of jerky and tossed it to her, tearing into one of my own. The salt and smoke filled my mouth, grounding me, reminding me of every night I’d crouched down here waiting for the day I’d finally need all this.
She chewed slowly, watching me. “You’ve been planning this.”
I met her gaze. “I plan for everything. It’s the only reason we’re alive right now.”
She swallowed, then glanced at the crates, the lanterns, the weapons. “How long could we stay here?”
