Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Twenty Six: Piercings in Difficult Places

After some time, I begin to hear flowing water. I'm glad. If I can follow the water, I can find the centre of Elysium, because I can bet that Chronus doesn't go without his sewerage intact. So, in the same deliberate way, I move towards the noise, keeping hold of the wall to guide me and listening to the echoing water as a target.

The slabs beneath my feet get noticeably wetter the closer to the water I go; from an inconsistent damp to an audible trickle of water in the slimy beds beside the walkway, I know I'm reaching one of the main tunnels. Deciding to tackle this prepared, I flick on my torch headdress, only to slam it out again in terror.

The light beam crashes around, illuminating the remainder of the path. The same curved arch of the tunnel, the same grim bed of mud and slosh beside it. But unlike the tunnel so far, it doesn't carry on. It leads to the running water beyond.

But, my memory can't shake the image the light had pulled into view: silhouetted against the beam and curled into the corner of the entrance from this path to the bigger tunnel, was a man.

A man scary enough to make me slam off the light out of pure reflex. A man who is bound in broken chains, hunched and thin, a face with no colour and eyes of deep, endless black. From his right eye, a bolt of metal protrudes, a bloody patchwork of steel and flesh that hasn't healed, still oozing decay and filth. He stands naked, but his skin is sapless and grey, bone more than fat and blood splattered down his abdomen. Where his manhood should be, another great bolt of steel hangs low, like a heavy, macabre piercing.

Wild hair, uncombed. Teeth that are sharp and defined. A tattoo, a branding, stapled across his chest in ink and metal, reads, SIN OF RAPE AND LECHERY.

All of that, I see within those seconds of the light catching him before shutting it off. I try not to let out a scream; there is something unearthly- truly unearthly- about the man's demeanour. What is he waiting for, down here? Or is he unable to free himself of torture, not even to form coherent thought?

But regardless, I can almost hear my own voice, saying, 'Nerissa. Why did you turn of the light? You can't bloody see well in the dark. How is that going to help?'

Damn, my imagined-conscious is far too good. My hand whips up to switch on the light again, but the beam of light seems viciously slow.

And I blink, confused. The man at the end of the corridor has gone, no longer propped like a doll against the wall. It crosses my mind whether I'd conjured him completely; maybe the darkness, and the paranoia, are getting to me. There's nothing but the open archway, the flat stones of moss and grime, and the running water ahead, bubbling quietly.

Yet, my senses still prickle. I tense my muscles, unable to rid myself of the image of the metal bolt through the man's eye-

And something grabs my shoulder.

I jump, jolting forwards and letting out an inane screech that becomes a battle cry as I turn my fists upon the assailant-

Except my assailant is yelling too, terrified by my reaction and what's more, I'm alerted by his bright yellow suit that he's not got a metal bolt anywhere upon his body. Instead, he's that kitted out with safety gear that there would be no way he's hiding an unsterile tattoo or piercing under there.

In fact, the two of us realise that we're not a threat to one another at the same time. Our eyes meet; me, a wild-haired girl with a dorky torch on her head, and this gorgeous, chocolate-haired Prince of Hell (with an equally dorky torch on his head, I might add), relaxing into one another. My attack halts in mid-air, and even Hadrian, who had put his arm out protectively to stop me, takes hold of my arm in a tender fashion, like he's bringing me into an embrace.