She ran.
Through the tunnels, feet bare on the stone floor. Torches blazed along the main pathways so she veered deeper into the labyrinth, tripping down hidden stairs and along the dark, winding corridors until the air became heavy with decay and doors groaned their protest as she heaved them open. Still, she ran.
The chanting was getting closer, a dizzying hum that echoed off every wall, no matter how far she fled. It was all in her mind, she told herself. It had to be. A shadow suddenly reared up in the gloom and she stumbled in fear, falling hard in a bloody scrape of skin on sharp stone. But there was no time for pain, not with the knife gripped, slick in her hand, or the faint clatter of footsteps getting louder. Closer.
She hurled herself around another corner and up another flight of stairs, almost crying out with relief when she saw a familiar carved archway. Beyond, she knew was a side tunnel, and past that, freedom.
He stepped out of the shadows.
She faltered, coming to a stop just inside the anteroom. He didn’t say a word, or even block her path, but the desperate adrenaline that had pushed her on through the darkness seemed to drain away in an instant, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in her limbs and a sob of resignation welling, unbidden in her chest. Her fingers curled open. The knife fell to the ground.
Of course he’d found her.
The man strolled closer, reaching to brush the hair from her eyes in a gesture so familiar, it made her legs give way with grief. A sob escaped her, the cry raw in the heavy silence of the catacombs. He pressed his hand over her mouth, muffling the sound.
“Shhh,” he murmured, breath soft against her cheek. “I’ve got you now.”
He caught her as she fell, guiding her gently down until they were both folded on the dusty floor, her body cradled against him. Now that she knew the truth, she could feel the blackness seep out of him: drifting and curling in shadowed tendrils from the very tips of his fingers as he traced the outline of her jaw. But worse than the black touch—far worse still—was the unfurling she felt, deep in her breast. A wing-swept flutter as her own dark heart rose up to answer his call.
She struggled, but it was over. He knew it. “Shhh,” he said, cradling her, gentler than any of the nights he’d held her before. The flutter was a beating now, drowning even her own heartbeat with its insistent thrum. She could feel the darkness rise, ready to take flight, ready to take her over completely.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. His eyes were lit with triumph, a hungry anticipation of what was still to come. Her fingers searched desperately for the knife as he bent his lips to hers, and then she found it: cold steel on the dusty stone.
She surrendered to the kiss, sending up a silent prayer. Then there was nothing but red.