Vann and Ryan waited outside the entrance, armed to the teeth and loaded with ropes and flashlights.
“Ready?” Vann asked.
She nodded. “We need to get to Bennett. The last door…”
Ryan’s expression dropped. “I’ll go. He promised to leave a trail.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?”
Ryan murmured, “No. I promised I would wait until sunrise. I’m not waiting any longer.” Ryan motioned to the cave entrance. “Be careful, it’s cold.”
She held her hand over the cave walls, recoiling at the instant frostbite. “I’ll say. A human would freeze solid like being coated with liquid nitrogen.”
The rest of the team waited inside, Lana’s flashlight illuminating the room, ricocheting off the walls as if daylight were upon them.
Seeing her flinch as the light reflected so intensely, brighter than the sun off the cavern walls, Lana flicked it off. The light lingered unnaturally, gradually fading as they crossed into a tunnel and an amber glow from afar guided them further in.
She sniffed the air as they moved deeper in. “Damn you demon hunters and your tricky lack of scent; I can’t find a trace of Bennett.”
Bodie stood at her side, “Demon hunter scent is subtle and fleeting. I’m getting better at tracking them, but I can’t pick him up either.”
Coming up behind them, Ryan said, “He’s been in nearly eighteen hours.”
Something foul held stagnant and dusty in the air. She couldn’t say what, but it wasn’t friendly. “I’ll see you guys at the end.”
Astrid rested her hand on her shoulder. “Go get him. But be careful.”
Pausing for a second, Adair shook her head as she took off. “Not this time.”
The path was crazy. Bennett had left clues along the way, had left doors open that he’d unlocked with brains and brawn. The first step of a parkour course was pushed down, making the rest nearly unreachable, the others jagged, pushed away as he must have crossed. Leaping from pillar to pillar, she followed his path.
Now and again, she heard an echo of the team following far behind, but she didn’t slow. Aching in the pit of her stomach, fluttering under her chest, she knew Bennett was running out of time.
***
Bennett had suffered precisely one hangover in his lifetime. A few nights before the big ceremony, one of his last nights before his demon blood activated in his veins, he got trashed. All alone. Experimenting with his dad’s scotch.
His head had throbbed, his brain had swelled and pummeled against the inside of his skull. The thirst had been unquenchable.
That was nothing compared to the concussion raging in his head now. Sitting on the stone floor, head in his hands, he tried to clear his vision. To shake his thoughts back on track. But it hurt too fucking bad to move. His external wounds had healed, but his brain was a long way off.
Not that he wanted anything on his fragile stomach, but he needed to feed if he was going to heal. Risking reaching for his supplies, he found the aluminum bottle of blood shattered, its contents caked into the floor.
Bracing his hands on the ground, he rose to his knees, righting himself as he teetered, finally rising to his feet. Wobbly as a newborn foal, he rocked to the side and his shoulder slammed into the wall.
One hundred percent pure sunshine. Hotter than an August wedding, brighter than the midday sun reflecting off a glacier. The blast would have fried a vampire on sight. How the hell had they stored up a sun bomb?
Staggering one foot in front of the other, he advanced down the hall. The light was dim now, thank fuck, nothing more than the eerie orange glow that had illuminated his path now and again. Crossing through the archway, he moved into a massive cavern.
In the center, a small pedestal stood fresh and cool like a drinking fountain, gently illuminated with a beckoning light overhead. Bracing his hands on the sides before he toppled over, Bennett inhaled and found the scent coppery crisp, tempting him with everything he needed to soothe the burning hollow in his gut. The scent was irresistible, like a steak grilled exactly right after a long week in the field.
Under the surface was pure menace. Evil of the darkest kind. Like an aged wine from the finest grapes, untouched, untarnished, promising to bite him back.
A drenching sweat coated his pores. His throat was desiccated like he’d swallowed a bucket of sawdust. His hands trembled, the quake of withdrawal sucking him dry.
Glaring at the dark liquid, he clenched his jaw, knowing what he had to do.
Or not do.
