Page 64 of Wrongfully Magicked
There is no fucking way I’ll leave him behind.
That means if someone comes for us, it will be up to me to protect him.
No pressure!
The dirt pathway gives way to stone, the cave system appearing more natural. Without even the smallest source of light, the darkness is oppressive, the air thick in my lungs. Though I can normally see in the dark, it’s so complete that my vision can’t penetrate more than three feet in any direction.
I’m not even aware that I’m emitting a soft glow until the tunnel brightens.
Glancing down at my skin, it’s like my flames are lighting me from within, and I mentally curse. While I’m more comfortable being able to see the dangers coming, I’m like a fucking glow stick that will draw the attention of anyone in the vicinity.
“You’re fine,” Stryker murmurs, not looking at me when he speaks, his ears swiveling almost a hundred and eighty degrees every few seconds. “I’ll hear them before anyone can get close.”
I nod, slightly reassured. Though I’m not afraid of the dark, something about these narrow tunnels sets me on edge, almost like the ghosts of those who had been trapped before me are whispering at me to run before it’s too late.
My feet pick up speed, but the floor of the cavern is uneven and rocky. The faster I try to go, the more unsteady my gait becomes, and I have to force myself to slow down so I don’t twist an ankle or break my neck.
The wall to the left falls away, revealing a deep, bottomless chasm, and vertigo immediately hits. I recoil, lurching in the opposite direction, and Stryker reaches out to catch me. His reassuring touch steadies my heart, giving me enough courage to continue.
I hesitantly reach up and pat his hand, my palm tingling when his fur brushes my skin, calming me even further. “Thanks.”
When he realizes I’m looking at him, he quickly drops his eyes, but he doesn’t remove his hand.
He keeps me against the far wall and away from the ledge, the warmth of his hand bleeding into my skin, and I shiver when the scent of wildness and the icy chill of snow fills my lungs. When the passageway turns into a tunnel once more, he gives one last squeeze before he releases me, like he’s reluctant to let me go, and I immediately mourn the loss of his touch.
We enter another tunnel system, the pathway even narrower, but instead of claustrophobia, I’m comforted by the cold stone walls instead of the gaping black abyss. Time and distance lose meaning when underground. We could have traveled five miles or ten hours, and I wouldn’t have a clue.
When the tunnel finally expands, I should be relieved, but my steps slow.
Being out in the open makes me feel exposed and vulnerable.
Stryker nudges me forward, and I trust his judgment.
Insect girl doesn’t even hesitate, strolling out in the open like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A fluttering of bugs reaches my ears, the darkness crawls, and then it looks like hundreds of insects take flight, obscuring my view.
The girl twirls in the middle of the mass, her head tilted back and a glorious smile lights up her face. A beetle the size of my hand lands on her shoulder, its wings fluttering, and she tips her head toward the bug.
I cringe at the thought of her eating it, but it looks like they are communicating instead. The girl smiles, her eyes flashing toward mine, and then more bugs join the whirling mass, obscuring her completely from view.
After a few seconds, the dark mass rushes toward the two tunnels, streaming into the darkness before vanishing. A few bugs linger, slower than the rest, but they zoom off as well, leaving an empty chamber.
The girl is gone.
I’m not even surprised at the double cross. I glance at Stryker in time to see his lips curl into a snarl. He’s glaring at the two tunnels, but he doesn’t leave my side, and a warm glow fills my chest at his loyalty. I step toward the exits, peering at the ground for clues, but there are too many footprints to distinguish hers from the others. “Can you tell which direction she took?”
Stryker follows me like my shadow, standing guard. At my question, he lifts his face and tentatively sniffs the air. Curious to see if I can sense anything, I take a few steps into the cavern, and inhale deeply.
Almost immediately, the stench from the tunnels invades my senses.
It’s like a stink bomb was set off.
I rear back, falling on my ass as I scuttle backward to get away from the source. I slam into Stryker’s legs, and my eyes flash up toward him in surprise, having forgotten him in my panic. I wilt against him, my hand on my chest as if it would calm the violent pitter-patter of my heart.
His brows furrow, his blue eyes narrowing as he peers back and forth between the two exits, searching for the threat. He inhales deeply before I have a chance to warn him, sending him into a sneezing fit.
He staggers back from the offensive smell, burying his nose into the crook of his arm, but the damage has been done. Eyes streaming, he shakes his head, then sneezes once more. Instead of blaming me, he gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I’m unable to track her. The bugs covered her trail and burned out my senses. I’m useless.”
He lowers his eyes, his body rigid with shame, and my heart lurches in sympathy. I reach out and rest my hand against his foot—paw?—and give him a comforting squeeze. He jolts, his eyes latching onto my hand where I’m touching him, and I wonder if I committed some sort of faux pas.
