Page 36 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

“They won’t stop,” I said, breathless.

Con’s gaze flicked to me, then to the artifact’s absence at my hip, his expression carved from steel. “Then neither do we.”

The mountain groaned above us, dust sifting from the ceiling as if the cave itself disapproved of our return. We ran deeper into the dark.

Only our breathing remained. And the echo of what we’d just lost.

The silence that followed was thick and absolute—no more gunfire, no voices, just the slow drip of water from unseen cracks and the shallow rasp of our breaths.

Con slowed first, lifting a hand in a silent command. I obeyed, turning back toward the entrance. The glow of morning was bleeding into the world outside, soft gray light edging the jagged frame of the cave mouth. Dust hung in the air, glimmering.

We waited. Listening.

Nothing.

No boots, no shouted orders, no shifting gravel. Just stillness.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” I whispered, my voice too loud in the quiet.

Con didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the entrance, where dawn was beginning to stretch a pale hand across the snow. The light caught the line of his jaw—and the blood that had soaked through his shoulder, dripping from his sleeve in slow, stubborn drops.

Then he looked at me. “Because it’s dawn,” he said finally. “They won’t follow. Not now.”

I blinked. “You think they’re waiting for us to come out?”

He shook his head once, expression grim. “No. They don’t need to. They already have what they came for.”

The realization hit like a blade to the ribs. “The artifact.”

Con nodded. “They wanted the piece, not us.”

“Shit.”

The word echoed off the stone—harsh, helpless, small compared to the weight of what we’d just lost. I pressed my palm flat against the wall, breathing hard. “We had it, Con. I had it in my hands.”

“You were outnumbered. We both were,” he said quietly.

“That’s not the point.” The anger in my chest flared, then collapsed in on itself, leaving only exhaustion behind. The thought of those augmented bastards holding the artifact—the thing that had been breathing beneath the mountain—made my stomach twist. “We can’t let them keep it.”

“We won’t.”

I turned toward him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes made the words die. There was fury there, tightly leashed, banked like coals—but also something else. Resolve.

And pain.

Up close, the damage was worse. His jacket was shredded from the electrical hit, the fabric fused to torn skin in places. The flesh along his shoulder and upper arm was scorched and split, dark blood still seeping through slowly despite his vampiric healing. His fingers flexed once, a tremor running through the muscles before he forced them still.

“You’re hurt,” I said, more accusation than observation.

He glanced at the wound as if he’d forgotten it was there. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make this better,” I snapped. “You took that hit for me.”

His gaze locked onto mine, steady and unrepentant. “You were about to take it in the head.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, the argument dying on my tongue. He wasn’t bragging. He wasn’t fishing for thanks. It was just a fact to him. A choice he’d made without thinking.

Outside, the light crept a little higher, softening the edges of the rocks. The mountain seemed impossibly still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.