Page 17 of Shadowed Bond

When we finally reach the building that has mostly collapsed into itself, nothing more than a ruin, I stop, my gaze flicking around the garden towards the garage, which I know Grandma set fire to. The place he used to torture her in… That fucking bastard; just the thought makes me fucking enraged.

Charlotte walks past me, and I see her heading towards the garage. Without thinking, I catch her arm, stopping her. She looks down at my hand on her sleeve, then slowly up at me. “What is it?” she asks, all traces of arrogance gone, but she’s smart enough to show concern – not that she should be concerned.

“Nothing. We’d best go together; it’s an old place, don’t want you getting crushed by a ton of bricks.”

“How thoughtful,” she responds sarcastically. “But I was just going to cross through the wreckage to get to the back, for the manhole?”

I glance towards the way she’s pointing and let go of her.

“Right, let’s go.” I lead the way, heading towards the remains of the garage. My wolf prowls on edge, my eyes glowing silver.

“The mansion ruins are dangerous. Where are you going, Westwood?”

“Just follow, woman,” I growl, leading the way around the mansion on the opposite side of the garage.

I hate this mission already.

It takes another ten minutes to find the access point, buried beneath layers of weeds, overgrown grass and dirt – a circular manhole cover, old and rusted. I yank off the rest of the weeds until it’s clear, crouch down, grab the rusted gaps on it, lift it clean off and toss it aside.

She winces as the harsh sound echoes through the darkness. “Can you keep it down, Westwood?” she growls.

Cold air seems to come up from below, damp and stale, carrying the smell of old water, stone, rot, and something metallic beneath it.

Charlotte leans forward.

I put my arm in front of her before she can get too close.

“Ares.”

“What?” I glance at her.

“I do not need you to block me from it.”

“You better not fucking fall in then.”

“Worried?”

“No, I’m legit tempted to shove you headfirst in myself,” I lie, scoffing.

“Right. For a second there, I was thinking that was genuine concern,” she says mockingly.

“Yeah, I don’t do that shit,” I respond as I peer down into the dark hole. A narrow ladder descends into darkness; old metal rungs covered in rust are fixed on one side, and twenty feet below, the light catches a curved tunnel floor and a shallow stream running along one side.

Not a sewer exactly. I think it’s part drainage tunnel, part underground waterway, something the pack probably built over and forgot about.

“I’ll go first,” I say.

Charlotte’s eyebrow lifts. “Because you think I can’t?”

“No. Because if something’s down there, I think I’ll handle it better; besides, I’m in charge.”

“Self-appointed; it was a partnership, meaning we work together,” she counters.

I’m already swinging my legs down, finding the first rusty rung and testing my weight slowly. They hold, although they creak like they might give in at any fucking moment. I descend the ladder, the rust flaking as I go lower.

“Are they sturdy enough?” Charlotte asks dryly from above.

“So far so good,” I grunt, lowering myself another step.