Chase the Dark (Steel & Stone Book 1)

by Annette Marie

  “Do we fight?” Piper whispered, remembering Ash blasting a dozen prefects out of his way.

  Lyre shook his head. “When I was scouting, I saw two more prefect cruisers and a SWAT van on this block alone. If we put up a fight, we’ll have all of them on us.”

  They turned and rushed back down the hall, but now they were caught between two groups. Jumping out a window wasn’t an option if there were prefects in the street. What were they supposed to do?

  Half in a panic, Piper grabbed the nearest door. It was locked. “Damn it,” she hissed.

  Ash grabbed the handle. Magic sizzled in the air. He yanked the door open and Piper swore again. It was a utilities room. A big furnace type thing and a bunch of pipes filled almost the entire space except for a spot right in front of the door.

  Voices echoed up the hall and they heard the prefects banging at the first apartment.

  Lyre threw a frantic look over his shoulder then dropped to the floor and crawled underneath the boiler thing. It was barely large enough for him to squeeze his shoulders through.

  “Hide,” he barked over his shoulder. “And lock the door again!”

  With a wild look at Ash, she backed into the tiny square of floor space. Ash squeezed in with her and pulled the door shut. It locked with a loud click and they were submerged in almost complete darkness. Only the flicker of a pilot flame deep in the furnace offered any light.

  “Ouch,” Piper hissed when Ash stepped on her foot. “Where now? We can’t just stand here. They open the door and we’re caught.”

  “There’s an open space at the back of the room,” Ash whispered. “Can you get to it?”

  She turned awkwardly and almost fell over. Ash grabbed her shoulders, his elbow hitting something metal with a loud clunk. He would have a bruise from that. His body was warm against her back and already she was starting to sweat from the airless heat in the room. At the far end, beyond a tangle of pipes and equipment, she could in fact see a dark blob that might have been a shadowy square.

  “You first,” she whispered. Voices outside the room were drawing closer.

  “Hurry up,” Lyre rasped from his hidden spot under the boiler. “Curse Moirai’s luck, this is uncomfortable. And hot.”

  She and Ash did a sort of slow dance turn until she was pressed against the door and he was able to squeeze between a set of pipes and climb over some other metal junk as he worked toward the back of the room. Piper gingerly followed. Her heart pounded in her throat and it was so dark she could hardly see what she was climbing over. When she reached the “open space,” she almost cried from frustration.

  It was a tiny box of an opening with piping running everywhere and only enough space for Ash to cram into the corner. Where was she supposed to go?

  A male voice yelled something, so close the prefect could have been standing outside the door. The boiler hummed too loudly for her to make out the words, but the authoritative tone was unmistakable. With no other option, she squeezed into the space and folded up pretty much on Ash’s lap. There was nowhere for her legs, so she stuck them under a jam-packed cluster of pipes that were only six inches above the floor. Her boots hit something hidden underneath that made a crispy crunchy noise like dry straw. Terror swept through as she waited for a horde of rats to swarm her legs but nothing happened.

  “Well,” she muttered, “this is awkward.”

  “Don’t complain,” came Lyre’s voice from off to her right, slightly breathless. “I think I’m getting heat stroke under here.”

  “Quiet,” Ash hissed.

  Piper bit her lip and listened. There were voices right outside the room. The door handle jiggled as someone tried it. Another jumble of dialogue, then the voices moved away. Ash relaxed—and Piper blushed as every one of those muscles she knew he had flexed under her.

  She licked her lips and tried to think unsexy thoughts. Since when did she have this problem with Ash? She’d thought Lyre was her kryptonite.

  In spite of the massive discomfort of being scrunched in a stuffy room full of hot metal pipes with spider webs everywhere, she couldn’t ignore Ash behind her. Like, right behind her. As in, her back was pressed against his chest, his breath hot on the side of her neck, his thigh flexing under her like he was uncomfortable—which he probably was. And, somehow in spite of the icky musty room, she could smell him: a delicious, warm, fresh scent like sun-heated mountain air. How could he smell so damn good at a time like this?

  For a solid five minutes, they sat in silence listening to the distant sounds of the prefects dismantling the apartment level. She wondered what they’d make of the oven full of magic-roasted papers. Maybe that kind of thing was normal around here. At least the prefects didn’t have any magical trackers or they would have walked straight to correct door instead of searching each suite.

  Her train of thought was interrupted when Ash abruptly jammed his hands under her butt and heaved her a couple inches off his lap so he could straighten out his leg. He settled her back down again with a sigh of relief. She took several deep breaths and tried to pretend her heartbeat hadn’t kicked up to a gallop—or that she was inappropriately aware of his hands, now resting casually on her waist.

  “So,” Lyre whispered conversationally, “you do like your closets, don’t you, Piper?”

  “Oh yeah,” she hissed back, heavy on the sarcasm. “This is my favorite one yet. Machinery is so totally my thing.”

  Lyre snorted. “I think my favorite closet was the first one. Remember?”

  “Remember what?” Ash asked. His breath on her neck made her shiver. She didn’t want to be thinking about past closets right then.

  “I zapped a haemon with aphrodisia,” Lyre explained. “Sort of riled up Piper a bit by accident.”

  “Lyre!”

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “You don’t have to tell everyone.”

  “Ash isn’t everyone.”

  “If that was the first closet,” Ash interrupted, “what was the second one?”

  “Ah, well.” Lyre paused. “Not as interesting.”

  “Lyre was riled up too,” Piper mocked.

  “Was not!”

  “Then why did you kiss me?”

  “I—well—um.”

  Piper bit her lip. Thinking about kissing was not a good idea. Maybe Ash thought so too, because he shifted a little under her. She bit her lip harder.

  “So is this the third closet then?” he muttered. “Or were there more?”

  “Uh, no, this is the third.”

  “No kissing happening in this hellhole,” Lyre grumped. “If I stop answering, I’ve passed out from the heat. Just FYI.”

  They fell silent as the voices came closer again. These prefects were awfully chatty considering what they were doing. Piper strained her ears. Her leg was starting to itch annoyingly. She twitched it ineffectually; she couldn’t reach it to scratch when everything from her knees down was under those damn pipes.

  The prefects were now having their discussion right outside the door. The handle jiggled again. Now that they’d searched the whole floor without any luck, they were checking the less likely places.

  Ash had gone rock-hard with tension but Piper was having trouble focusing because it felt like something was tapping her leg above the top of her boot and she was about ready to scream from the itchy, tickling feeling. She jerked her leg but the tapping merely moved to her knee. Momentarily forgetting about the prefects, she shoved backward until she’d squashed Ash flat into the wall, creating just enough extra space to get her one knee out to scratch it.

  Her knee came out from the under the pipes—and she screamed.

  Ash clapped a hand over her mouth at the last second. Her muffled squeal was covered by the crunch of metal as the prefects broke the lock on the door. Ash clamped his other arm around her middle like a vice.

  “Hold still,” he hissed in her ear.

  The door to the utility room flew open.

  An electric charge of mag
ic rushed through her, coming from Ash. He whispered something in another language. The shadows around them thickened and darkened—but not enough to hide what was sitting on her leg.

  The hugest, freakiest spider she had ever seen was lounging on her knee, tapping its two front legs against her jeans like it couldn’t quite decide if they were edible or not. It was a dirty white color with yellow joints, skinny long legs, and two huge fangs that wiggled around like it was chewing something. Huge fangs less than an inch from her skin. She didn’t think her jeans would stop them.

  She probably should have been concerned about the prefects shining flashlights all around the room or Ash nearly crushing the air out of her to keep her still, his hand tight over her mouth. Instead she was frozen, staring at the spider, petrified. The urge to leap up screaming was almost too much.

  “Clear,” one of the prefects announced.

  “Yeah, no one is going to fit in there,” the other agreed. He started to turn, his light skimming along the floor. “Wait, what’s that?”

  Ash’s hand twitched. The spider inched along her leg.

  “Oh, it’s only a gauge . . . the glass reflected the flashlight,” the guy mumbled. “Let’s go.”

  They backed away and swung the door shut with a bang. All of them jumped at the sudden sound—including the spider. It leaped like it had been launched off a springboard, right at Piper’s chest.

  She lost it. She screamed into Ash’s hand and flailed like a mad thing. He held her down, straining to keep her in place as she hit her elbows and knees against pipes. He turned, dumping her onto the floor and pinning her.

  “Hold still,” he growled. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” Lyre squawked from his corner. “What’s wrong?”

  Piper went stiff as a board. Ash crouched over her, a knee on either side of her as he craned to try and spot the insect. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, tears streaming from her eyes. Her muscles quivered. Give her minotaurs, sphinxes, anything but spiders.

  “I don’t see it,” Ash whispered.

  Something tippy-tapped against her stomach.

  She made a muffled screech of horror and pushed off the floor with so much force she shoved Ash into the pipes above them. His head hit one with a clang.

  “On my stomach,” she gasped, fighting back the scream writhing in the back of her throat.

  Ash flipped her over. A lump quivered under the hem of her shirt. He yanked her shirt up so fast it made a ripping noise and he snatched the spider off her with his bare hand. His fist clenched and orange spider guts squirted from between his fingers.

  Piper gasped for breath as her panic started to cool. Ash shook his hand, sending spider bits flying, then wiped it on the bottom edge of his jeans. He peered at his palm again.

  “The little bastard got me,” he muttered.

  “It bit you?” she gasped. She lurched halfway up—and belatedly realized there was no room for her to sit up. In fact, there was no room to move. In their spider-spawned wrestling match, they’d somehow got turned around so Piper was on her back, her legs bent, knees sticking up, shins jammed against the same pipes she’d had her legs under before. Ash was kneeling on top of her, the backs of his legs pressed against the tops of her thighs. He was bent double under the pipes with one hand on the floor by her head to brace his upper half.

  “Would somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Lyre snarled.

  “Spider,” Ash replied, examining his palm.

  “A spider?” Lyre repeated mutinously.

  “A freaking huge spider,” Piper corrected, half angry, half humiliated. “Crawling up my leg. It got in my shirt!”

  “Can you blame it? I’d want to get in your shirt too.”

  “Lyre, this is not the time.”

  “According to you, it’s never the time.”

  “Would you shut up? We have enough problems already.” She reached for Ash’s wrist. “Let me see your hand. Did it get you bad?”

  He allowed her to turn his hand around. Two red-rimmed marks pierced the fleshy side of his hand, but it wasn’t turning funny colors or swelling up. Yet.

  “There are no spiders in this region dangerous to people,” he said. “Besides, I’m immune to most poisons.”

  She blinked. “You are?”

  “Yeah.” His eyebrows rose. “Bugs don’t really . . . bug me.”

  Piper pulled a face. Lyre snorted. “Very witty, Ash.”

  Ash’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. The horrible corny pun was to cheer her up. She took another deep breath. “Sorry for losing it. Spiders just . . . yeah.”

  “Everyone has their weak spots,” he murmured.

  “Except you,” she grumped.

  “Even me.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  He hesitated, then glanced upward at the pipes two inches above his head. “I don’t like . . . confined spaces.”

  Piper blinked, then glanced around. “Uh, confined as in this closet sort of confined?”

  He winced slightly. “Underground confined spaces, mostly, but I can’t say I like closets.”

  She smiled, feeling a little better, although Ash hadn’t had a meltdown over being in the closet. Then again, the closet hadn’t attacked him either.

  With a sigh, she looked over their awkward positioning but couldn’t see an easy way to fix it. Ash shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

  “How much longer should we wait?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Five more minutes,” Lyre mumbled, “and I’ll be unconscious.” His voice sounded distinctly woozy.

  “I can’t hear anything,” Ash said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He managed to crawl back through the gap in the pipes without stepping on her. She followed, and after checking the coast was clear, they pulled Lyre out by his feet. His face was beet red and shiny with perspiration. He half hung on Ash’s shoulder as they stumbled away from the utilities room.

  As they snuck downstairs and out into the blessedly cool night air, Piper couldn’t stop glancing at Ash every minute or two. He’d been nicer about her freak-out than she’d had any right to expect. She’d almost gotten them caught. His casual forgiveness made her wonder how badly he might panic when confronted with his phobia. She really didn’t want to see a panicking draconian with enough magic to blast them all into next week.

  She followed behind the two daemons, her eyes and her thoughts lingering on Ash.

  . . .

  When it came to disreputable streets, McIntyre Boulevard was the most disgraceful area Piper had ever seen. The streetlights were broken and the windows of every building were shattered or boarded up. Trash littered the streets and the rusted out skeletons of cars sat along the crumbling curb. It stank of old urine.

  The only spot of life on the whole boulevard was a warehouse-sized building lit up like a runway. Bone-deep bass thumped down the block. The front doors appeared deserted as she warily followed Ash toward the entrance. Lyre walked beside her, uncharacteristically quiet with a suppressed excitement. He absently twisted Ash’s leather brace around his wrist as he walked.

  On their way over, Ash had grumbled about his lodestones being drained. Lyre had responded with his usual respect for privacy.

  “Piper and I tried to charge them for you,” he said baldly. “It didn’t go so well.”

  Ash flicked a startled glance at Piper, but whether he was surprised that she’d tried or that it had gone badly, she couldn’t tell.

  “Your fault,” she told the incubus, her voice sharp with a shut-up-now warning.

  “My fault?” Lyre repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who jumped me—”

  She punched his shoulder so fast he didn’t have a chance to dodge. He yelped and stepped away from her. “Jeez, Piper. Fine, it wasn’t your fault.” He scowled at her. “But it wasn’t my fault either that it didn’t work. I couldn’t siphon your energy.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess you’
re more haemon than we thought. It wouldn’t work, same as with a normal haemon or daemon.”

  She looked between the two, confused. “But I don’t have any magic.”

  Lyre shrugged. Ash looked thoughtful. Piper didn’t get it. How could she have magic-positive energy but no magic? It wasn’t fair.

  After that, Lyre had boasted he could have all three stones charged by the time they left the club, so Ash had passed his wristband over. Even though none of them had spoken a word about it since, Lyre seemed excited about the challenge. Piper didn’t want to know if Lyre planned to charge the stones by soaking up the lustful atmosphere from the sidelines or by getting down and dirty for energy.

  The three of them walked to the heavy metal doors at the front of the building. She could almost make out the music now. Lyre reached for the door handle, but Ash touched his shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said. He turned to Piper and frowned thoughtfully for a second. Then he reached out and combed his fingers through her hair. Air that felt scorching hot then icy cold coated her head before the sensations vanished.

  “Nice,” Lyre complimented Ash.

  She pulled a lock of hair in front of her face. It was shining, coppery auburn—her natural hair color. “You used glamour?” she asked. “But I thought you had to be touching me for that?”

  “Um.” He rolled his eyes upward, avoiding her stare. “It’s not glamour.”

  “Huh?”

  “I burned the dye out of your hair.”

  “You—you did what?”

  “It’s your natural hair,” he muttered defensively. “The streaks were too recognizable.” He glanced over, saw her still gaping at him, and turned quickly toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  He pulled the door open and walked in. Still fingering her hair and not sure how ticked off she was, Piper followed. It was almost pitch black inside. The music, no longer muffled, was a dance beat twisted into something pulsing and frenzied. She followed the glint of Ash’s chains down the long hall, the music growing louder with every step. Ahead, dim, red-tinted light was mostly blocked by a massive, man-shaped shadow.

  Ash clasped forearms in a friendly way with the bouncer and said something Piper couldn’t catch over the noise. The huge man’s teeth flashed as he grinned and he waved them on. Ash didn’t wait. Piper rushed after him and swung around the corner to find a room she definitely hadn’t expected in an underground club.