Free Lucky Break by Chloe Neill Page B

is all my fault.” She looked at Ethan. “I could turn myself in. Confess. Stop this.”
    â€œDid you kill Taran?”
    â€œNo!” her answer was quick, sharp. “Of course not.”
    â€œIf you didn’t kill him, this isn’t your fault. Turning yourself in wouldn’t assuage their hatred; it would likely get you killed, and it would preclude the sheriff from finding the real killer. I cannot imagine the pain you’re going through, but do not waste emotion that should be spent on Taran”—he pointed toward the stairs—“on assholes like that.”
    I’m mentally applauding you,
I told him.
    I’m glad someone is. This may get worse before it gets better.
    I’d been a vampire long enough to know that was nearly inevitable. The feeling didn’t diminish when Damien and Vincent revealed a dark hole that sloped downward into darkness, a cannula into the bowels of the earth.
    I didn’t care for the metaphor or the reality.
    â€œFlashlight,” Astrid said, and I glanced over, took the flashlight she’d extended.
    â€œThanks,” I said, flicking it on and off to ensure it worked and I wouldn’t be stuck in the ground without light.
    Damien peered into the hole. “You got a map?”
    â€œJust memory,” Vincent said, a flush rising on his pale cheeks. “I was fascinated by mining when I was human and found—as a vampire—I enjoyed the peacefulness. I used to walk through them for the darkness, the quiet.”
    Something large and heavy boomed above us, shaking the basement and sending a puff of smoke down through the stairwell.
    â€œLet’s go,” Ethan said.
    One by one, the beams of our flashlights bobbing in front of us, we moved into darkness.
    The passageway was roughly square, beams pressed into the ceilings and walls at intervals to keep the tunnel—made variously of stone, packed earth, and loose rock—from caving in and burying us all. The air was cool and smelled of moist and metallic earth. It sloped gently downward and occasionally split off into other directions. It was just high enough to walk in, but we all had to duck to avoid striking our heads on the overhead beams.
    It was unnerving enough that we were descending farther and farther into the earth, that each step layered more rock and dirt above us; I shouldn’t have considered the consequences of Vincent making even a single wrong turn, of our becoming lost and hopeless together in an eternal darkness. But we couldn’t go back, so we had to hope he’d find the proper way forward.
    I brushed dangling spiderwebs away from my face, became fairly certain I could feel all the tunnel’s spiders running across my shoulders, had to consciously force myself not to obsess about the possibility.
    Think of it this way, Sentinel. You’re getting a very unique tour of Colorado.
    I’m going to need a vacation from my vacation. Don’t you have a place in Scotland? I’m going there. For a week. Alone.
    He touched my back in solidarity.
Forward progress, Sentinel. That’s all you have to do.
    Sometimes, even that felt overwhelming.
    ***
    We walked for nearly an hour, following Vincent down one passage, then another. We stopped descending, had begun to move slightly uphill, which gave me hope we’d eventually find the surface of the earth again.
    The darkness, the similarity, of each yard of tunnel was discombobulating. I’d lost my sense of direction five minutes into the trip and, but for the slope in the floor, would have had no idea of our bearing. Our nervous magic accumulated in the damp darkness, so it felt as if we traveled in a cloud of anxiety.
    There was a low rumble above us, around us, behind us. Dirt fell from the ceiling like confetti, and Damien held up a hand to halt our progress. We froze, just as we had the first two times bits of the tunnel’s roof had sprinkled down like rain.
    But this