Panic spread, invading my consciousness like a noxious poison as I tried to remember my blindfolded training with Zayne. Wait for the change in the air—the temperature, the shift that would occur around me. There’d be a warning that something was close. My gaze darted wildly side to side. Everything around me was cold and the air was too thick, too stagnant. I felt nothing but the sweat dotting my clammy skin. A distant part of my brain knew that I was caving in to hysteria, but I couldn’t rein in the panic. The complete and utter void of light struck a terrifying chord in me, tearing open a Pandora’s box of fear and helplessness. I jabbed the dagger out, causing nothing but a whisper of air.

A soft clucking, a tsk tsk sound, replied, crawling over my skin.

Every part of my being focused on the direction of the disapproving noise. It had come from...directly in front of me. From my angle on the floor, I was at an extreme disadvantage. I pushed myself to my feet, putting weight on my left leg—

My right ankle was snagged by someone and jerked out and up. I went down hard on my back, the impact punching the air out of my lungs. I kicked out with my other leg, but the tight grip pulled, dragged me farther into the tunnel, away from the sound of the rain.

I sat up, swinging both daggers. The hold on my ankle was released suddenly, and a very male, very low chuckle echoed around me. My body sprang into action. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the dull burst of pain. Panting, I gripped the daggers—

A cool, damp touch pressed against my face, the contact a solid slide down my cheek. Flesh. The touch was one of flesh. Gasping, I swung out as I brought my right knee up, kicking. The grunt told me my foot had connected with whoever was down here. I started forward, following the sound, when something hard and sharp—an elbow—caught me under the chin, knocking my head back. Pain threw me off balance. A hand caught my wrist, twisting sharply. My fingers opened on reflex and the dagger fell even as I swung the other dagger around. The same happened. Another hand caught my other wrist. That dagger fell and clanged on the stone floor.

Rearing back, I moved to use the hold against the attacker. Weight slammed into me before I could get my legs up. The weight was a body—a hard, incredibly cold chest and torso—pressing me into the wall. The full-bodied contact was a shock to the system. I tried to push off, but the weight kept me in place as the hands at my wrists drew my arms up, pinning them above my head.