A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(69)

“No. I don’t think so. We’re leaving now, while we have a chance.”

“Are you sure that’s . . . ?” Her words cut off as the ground beneath them began to shake, violently. A large slab of rock crashed to the cave floor right in front of the entrance, blocking their escape.

Goose bumps rose on his arms at the same time that he shivered. And then his gut was shouting at him. Run! Climb onto that rock slab. No! Run to the back of the cave!

Bloody hell. What did it want him to do?

Loose rocks and chunks of ceiling rained down upon them. He grabbed Melisande close, shielding her from the falling debris as he lunged toward the door, determined to push the slab away from the cave’s mouth.

A rock struck his shoulder, another his foot. Behind him, the back wall began to crumble, and he glanced back just in time to watch it crack open like an egg, falling away. Sunshine and frigid air poured in on a cloud thick with dust and debris.

“Onto the rock slab!” He knew, now, which intuition to listen to. But he’d figured it out too late. The floor beneath his feet began to give way. “Leap, Mel!”

But they weren’t close enough. They were going down.

Chapter Sixteen

Fox pushed himself out of the rubble, gasping at the stab of pain in his side. A broken rib? “Mel!”

“Here. I’m fine. I just lost my boot.”

Relief weakened his knees. He could see little through the dust cloud released with the cave’s collapse, but he soon became aware of a rock face rising on all sides. They’d fallen into some kind of hole. A big one, to be sure, but a hole all the same. The best he could judge through the haze, escape was a good twenty feet above them on all sides.

The damned labyrinth had caught them at last.

As the haze cleared, he caught sight of a man clinging to the high edge on the other side of the huge hole. The male struggled, digging his boot into the rock face as he levered himself up and out of the pit. So someone else had been caught by the landslide. Or the trap. Someone who’d been lucky enough to keep from going all the way down.

As the male turned, Fox caught sight of his face. Castin. His dark hair was cut shorter than Fox remembered—military short. And like Fox, he was sporting a several-days’ growth of beard. But Fox would know him anywhere. Hatred burned in his gut as he stared at the man who’d betrayed Melisande. Deep inside, his fox growled. They were of like mind, each ready to rip the bastard’s heart out.

Castin caught sight of him, recognition and surprise flaring in dark eyes. Fox shuttered his own expression, hoping Castin hadn’t recognized Melisande. He glanced back to where she was retrieving her lost boot, her blond head bent, and decided he hadn’t. Without a word of greeting, Castin circled the pit, unfastened a long length of rope he had strapped to his belt, and unfurled it across from where Fox stood. Castin had never been much of a talker.

Fox turned to Melisande, gripping her shoulder, grimacing from the pain that shot through his side as he lifted his arm. “Don’t move.”

She froze, her gaze flicking to his, warrior still.

“We have a way out of here . . . if he doesn’t recognize you.”

He knew the moment she put two and two together. A sound of fury hissed between her teeth. “Castin.”

“I’m going up first. Keep your head down, Mel, I’m begging you. Let’s get out of this pit safely.” And if Castin recognized her, there was no telling what he might do.

“All right.” The words were a low growl between clenched teeth.

Fox crossed the rubble slowly, to where the rope hung. But as he reached for it, he felt the magic rush over him as if he’d called on his animal form. What the feck? He fought the shift, battling it back. A fox wasn’t going to be able to climb the rope out of this pit.

And that was the plan, he realized. That evil within his animal spirit wanted him to stay right where he was, trapped and waiting for the Mage sentinels who were sure to come.

Again, the magic rushed over him and again, he fought it back, frustration lunging. His jaw clamped hard. If he got most of the way up that rope and shifted, he was going to be one aching puppy when he fell. Taking a deep breath, which hurt like hell, he grabbed the rope and began hauling himself up, fast and hard.

Castin would get him out of here if he could. Ironically, he trusted the male to do that. The one whose actions he didn’t trust was Melisande, and how could he? For five thousand years she’d sought vengeance against this male. Keeping her head down and staying silent was going to take every ounce of control the woman possessed.

Finally, he reached the snowy lip of the wide pit, and Castin hauled him out. Fox bit down on the groan of pain.

“What are you doing here, Kieran?” Castin’s words were laced with surprise, his accent ancient British. “I heard you were marked.”

“I was. I’m the new fox shifter. What are you doing here?” He took stock of their surroundings. From what he could tell, the rocky outcropping was something of a spine running down the center of the plain. The back of the outcropping had dropped away, leaving this crater between the rocks and the snowy plain at the back. And the snow was deep, nearly to his knees.

Castin’s brows drew low. “Are you not going to free your woman?”

“In a moment. What the feck are you doing here, Castin?” He struggled not to act on the hatred that seethed inside of him as he stared at the man.