Chapter 12 · Hounds in the Shadow

"Get your head down if you want to keep it," Silas hissed, his hand slamming into the small of my back.

He shoved me hard against the damp stone wall of the corridor. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but before I could gasp, his massive frame was shielding me, pinning me into the shadows. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of rain and something metallic—like old coins and dried blood—filling my lungs.

"Who the hell is following us?" I whispered, my voice shaking.

"Hounds," he muttered. "Klaus’s personal lapdogs. They don't bark. They just rip throats."

I felt a cold shiver race down my spine. I tried to shift, to see past his shoulder, but Silas tightened his grip, his fingers digging into my waist. The pressure was possessive, almost painful, and it made my heart hammer against my ribs.

"Stay. Still," he commanded.

From the end of the hall, the sound of boots clicked on the stone. Slow. Deliberate. There were at least four of them.