The armored car roared through the rain-slicked streets of the industrial district, its engine a low, predatory growl that mirrored the tension inside the cabin. Outside, the world was a blur of grey concrete and neon signs, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of copper and the desperate, hitching gasps of a girl who was literally breaking apart at the molecular level.
Darien sat on the back of the vehicle, his back against the leather seat, cradling Amara in his lap. He didn't care about the blood soaking into his trousers or the way the silver poison in his own veins made his vision swim in jagged patterns of black and white. His entire universe had shrunk to the size of the pale, shivering woman in his arms.
"Faster, Theron!" Darien roared, his voice cracking. "If you hit a red light, I'll have your head!"
"I'm doing eighty in a forty, Darien!" Theron shouted back from the driver's seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he swerved around a delivery truck.
