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Sylvie. Sylvie. Sylvie!
I blinked and realized I was still drinking. With immense effort, I yanked myself away from Riggs, having to literally throw myself to the ground to stop. Riggs slumped over as soon as I was done, eyes closed.
Oh, God, I thought. I went to him, shaking him by his big shoulders. “Riggs?”
I looked to Kyla, panic all over my face. “How long was I feeding?”
She was checking over Riggs too, looking just as worried as I felt. “Too long. I tried to get through to you but you were in a trance. Riggs refused to push you off because he said you needed all you could get. He didn’t even care when I said he was going to die if he let you keep going. I tried to pull you away but he pushed me back, the big fucking idiot,” she said, pressing on his cheeks and lifting one of his eyelids.
His eye was rolled back, pulsing slowly with yellow.
“Fuck!” she screamed. “This is all my fault.”
A hot tear rolled down my cheek. “He’s not dead, though. I can feel his heart.”
“Let’s hope he stays not dead,” she said.
Gravy Boat emerged from under the bed, did a weird, whispering sort of meow, and curled up next to Riggs neck, where I could see the two puncture wounds from my fangs.
“I didn’t even realize I was drinking after the first second or two,” I said. “It was like his memories were mine and I wasn’t in my body, I-”
“It’s not your fault,” Kyla said. “Letting you feed on someone so strong was a risk I shouldn’t have let you take. All we can do is wait and hope he recovers. I’m going to go get him something to eat. It’ll help him replenish the blood if we can get him to hold it down.”
We spent the next hour force feeding soup and bread to Riggs, who was aware enough to chew and swallow, thank God.
Little by little, his strength seemed to return. Kyla let out an audible sigh of relief when the puncture wounds on his neck healed up before our eyes. “I think we’re in the clear,” she said.
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for an hour. “What happens with the plan? Riggs made it sound like it was all in motion already.”
“It was. The Pack will be getting to Westwick ahead of us. If we’re not there to lure Lazarus out like Riggs wanted, he’ll be there to fight them off. We’ve got to go now. With or without Riggs.”
“With,” Riggs said gruffly. “Fucking with.”
I jumped on him, hugging his neck, which drew out a groan of pain. “Sorry,” I said. Then I slapped him on the chest harder than I intended. “You should’ve pushed me off, you big idiot.”
“You’re welcome,” Riggs said. “How did I taste?” he asked, grinning. “It sounded like you enjoyed that quite a bit.”
Kyla rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go start the truck. Are you good enough to drive?”
Riggs looked at his hand, turning it over and forming a fist. “I feel weak as hell, but I can drive. Let me get on a shirt.” He threw on a black shirt, then his jacket, and we all headed out to his truck.
46
Sylvie
Westwick was in the middle of nowhere, just like Blackridge had been. It struck me while we drove through the darkened streets that the world was so much bigger than I’d realized. I’d seen maps, obviously. But once you picked a random road and followed it out past the well-traveled paths of normal civilization, the world stretched on and on. There were so many hidden places in the world for this secret world to exist.
I’d been one of the people who believed modern humanity knew too much and had too much science to miss something like this. If monsters were real, we’d have found them. If the supernatural was possible, someone would have proof.
But then I thought of how we haven’t even explored more than eighty percent of the oceans. Or how we’re still discovering new species of animals and insects every year. I thought of all the forgotten corners of the world we assumed weren’t worth looking in. How many other secrets lay there?
Gravy Boat had refused to be left at Silverback, so he was currently yowling for his life on the floor of Riggs’ truck with wide, terrified cat eyes. I tried to scratch him to comfort him, but he went into the cat death roll and tried to kick and bite me. Sometimes I thought Riggs’ initial assessment of the cat had been correct. Little bastard.
Kyla sat to my right and Riggs was behind the wheel. The truck bounced like it was about to fall apart every time we hit a small bump and it smelled like diesel fuel. I’d already begun to think of the smell as oddly nostalgic. It was the smell of adventure. Every time my life took a new, unexpected turn, it was preceded by that harsh chemical smell that I found weirdly pleasant.
