Cold Silk

6. Damien

Underground: Lindsey Sterling

There's always a moment in time when stepping out from an air-conditioned building and into the sweltering heat of summer that makes me feel awful. It's As if I'm being smothered in an unwelcome hug from that aunt weighing 500 pounds, always smelling like week-old stale corn chips while sinking into her soft but sweaty embrace.

Those are usually the aunts with the biggest hearts and a million and one cats who'll bat a thousand for you and make sure you always have food to eat. Or is that a grandma thing? I wouldn't personally know, but I've heard stories that make my nose wrinkle, and my dick wants to shrivel back into my body.

Usually, the smell outside is better. The many-flowered trees planted, the algae infested water basins strategically placed, and the towering buildings covered in various plants designed to protect those rich assholes who live on the top floors serve the purpose of covering the stench rather than fixing the problematic, nearly acidic miasma of the city rotting beneath it.

Typically, the putrid stench wafting through the air in the lower districts is only because of the aftermath of the indiscriminate virus that swept the world and ended half the population and is nothing but a permanent itch at the back of the throat. Human, shifter, plant, and fae had all succumbed to the airborne pathogen, and only those that had survived it are still around. Some are admittedly irrevocably changed, and the deceased bodies of the infected are yet to be found.

Except now, as we exit the thrift shop, a multitude of canvas bags in hand with all the random shit Char decided to get, which I'm sure was just to throw Mabel for a loop, and a small part of me hopes it was only for the laughs we shared, the stench of death is more prevalent. It's new, coppery on the tongue as it lays thick in the muggy air.

I'm surprised when the three of us freeze at the same time, the earlier lightness replaced with a quiet trepidation that I've only seen in times of combat. Fuck, Mabel is not cut out for this, and I'm not sure about Charlotte.

The men who have now loaded the monstrosities of furniture into the back of the truck nod at us and walk back inside without so much as a hint that they know anything is wrong.

Fucking nescient humans.

I glanced at Charlotte, noting her nose twitching and the frown formed between her perfectly shaped brows. She's more than human, but whatever species she is, I can't seem to place thanks to the godforsaken ties she has to Knight industries. It only makes this connection, or whatever the fuck it is that I'm feeling for her, all the more dangerous. For us both.

Fuck. I haven't even known this woman for two hours, and she's causing trouble.

My eyes narrow in her direction, watching closely as she places the tied bags in the truck bed. She glanced up at me, nodding once before turning on her heels and walking in the direction the smell is wafting from.

"Char! Don't go over there-!'' Mabel cried out, launching her haul next to Charlottes in the truck bed, and moved to hurry after her. I stop her with a firm growl, throwing the shit in my arms in the cab and leaving it open.

"Get in the truck Mabes. Lock the doors and don't come out." I give her a meaningful look before launching myself after Charlotte just as she rounded the corner of the building. I cursed, pushing my speed until I'm right behind her.

Charlotte's back stiffening is my only warning before I find a fucking blade at my throat. Only due to years of training am I able to deflect the slice of silver that nearly bit into my jugular. She froze as my fingers dug into her wrists, her name on my lips deterring her from any further movement. I stared down at her as she grits her teeth at me.