Chapter Twelve: The Split Second
The hum swelled until it was all I could hear — like standing inside the throat of a living thing.
His grip on my arm was iron, the Queen's pull was silk. Both burned.
I didn't think.
I moved.
My body twisted toward him, breaking the Queen's line of sight. His hand yanked me hard, and we sprinted for the tunnel mouth.
The Queen's voice followed, sharp as mandibles closing:
> RUN, little blood. Run until your legs give out. You will still be mine.
The floor behind us cracked. Something — no, many things — surged after us, their bodies clicking and scraping along the walls.
"She's sending the Death-guard," he said without looking back. "Don't stop."
The tunnel narrowed, forcing us to duck and crawl. My knees scraped raw, breath coming ragged. The hum still throbbed faintly in my veins, but it was weaker, fading with each bend we took.
We slid down a slope slick with condensation, landing hard in a chamber lit by faint shafts of moonlight from cracks above.
He finally stopped, pressing his back to the wall. "You just declared war on her."
"I didn't—" My voice broke. "I just wanted to survive."
His eyes locked on mine. "Surviving is war when you're Hiveborn."
Before I could answer, a shadow moved in the moonlight.
Not the Queen. Not the Death-guard.
Someone else. Watching.