Chapter 51
Lirael
The two thugs I'd paid off had vanished with their five thousand dollars. The other six men remained bound by vines that would release them within the hour. I'd been careful about that—careful about everything except the cold satisfaction burning in my chest.
I should have felt triumphant. Instead, I felt hollow.
Move. I forced myself into motion, slipping through shadows toward the pre-positioned car—a black sedan I'd stolen from a long-term parking garage. My whole body ached with exhaustion that went deeper than muscle, settling into the marrow where Sebastian's blood had briefly poisoned me, where his grip had left phantom impressions.
The car was exactly where I'd left it, tucked between two abandoned warehouses. I slid into the driver's seat, my fingers finding the ignition with practiced ease. The engine purred to life, and I allowed myself one deep breath of the night's damp air.
Freedom. No collar around my neck. Just me and the open road and—
Headlights blazed in my rearview mirror.
My heart stopped.
A silver-gray sports car—low, aggressive, clearly modified for speed—came screaming around the corner. It drifted sideways with professional precision, tires shrieking against asphalt, and slammed to a stop directly across my exit route.
Through the windshield, I could see him. Sebastian Blackwood, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, his white shirt stained with blood from wounds that should have kept him bedridden. And he was smiling—that dangerous, predatory smile that made my stomach drop.
His window rolled down. "Going somewhere, little moon?"
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—
My hands tightened on the wheel. How did he find me so fast? Had Celeste broken? Had I missed a tracker? My mind raced through possibilities while my heart hammered against my ribs.
I grabbed the sunglasses from the passenger seat, shoving them on to hide my silver-gray eyes. Pressed my spine against the seat, forcing my voice lower, rougher. "Wrong person, buddy. Move your car."
"Is that right?" Sebastian's amber eyes—no, gold-red now, catching the streetlight—gleamed with amusement. "Then why is your heart beating so fast I can hear it from here?"
Shit. Werewolf hearing. Of course.
He leaned forward slightly, and I could see the pain bracket his mouth, the way his left arm moved stiffly. He'd torn his stitches coming after me. The white shirt was soaked through on one side, fresh blood mixing with old. He should be in a hospital bed.
Instead, he was here, looking at me like I was the most entertaining thing he'd seen in years.
"Let me see your face," he said softly, "and I'll let you go."
Liar. He was testing me, seeing if I'd bolt or comply. Either way, he'd have his answer.
I made my choice.
"I don't have time for this bullshit."
I slammed my foot on the accelerator.
The sedan lurched forward. I yanked the wheel hard right, tires screaming as I aimed for the narrow gap between his car and the warehouse wall. Metal shrieked as my side mirror clipped his bumper, but I was through, engine roaring as I hit the main road.
Behind me, Sebastian's laugh carried through the night—delighted, manic, alive.
Then his engine roared to answer mine.
The chase was on.
---
I pushed the sedan hard, weaving through the empty industrial district. The speedometer climbed—fifty, sixty, seventy. My night vision kicked in, sharper than any human's, letting me navigate the poorly lit streets without headlights.
For thirty seconds, I thought I'd lost him. The rearview mirror showed only darkness.
Then his headlights blazed to life, impossibly close.
How—
He must have killed his lights too, using that goddamn werewolf vision to track me in the dark. And his car was faster, more maneuverable, probably cost more than most people's houses.
"Come on," I muttered, slamming through gears. The engine whined in protest. "Come on, you piece of shit—"
Sebastian's car pulled alongside mine. Through his passenger window, I could see his profile—jaw set, eyes focused, that fucking smile still playing at his lips. He looked over, met my gaze through the sunglasses, and mouthed something.
I couldn't hear it over the engines, but I could read his lips: Faster.
Then he punched his accelerator and shot ahead, cutting me off so sharply I had to brake hard to avoid slamming into his rear quarter panel.
"Son of a bitch—"
I yanked the wheel left, mounting the sidewalk to get around him. Sparks flew as my undercarriage scraped concrete. A trash can exploded under my front tire. But I was past him, back on the road, flying toward the city center.
He was right behind me.
---
The industrial district gave way to commercial streets. Closed shops, dark windows, the occasional homeless person jerking awake at the sound of our engines. I blew through a red light, praying there was no cross traffic.
There wasn't.
Sebastian followed, his car a silver shadow in my mirrors.
Another red light ahead. This one had traffic—three massive delivery trucks rumbling through the intersection at exactly the wrong moment.
I didn't slow down.
My mind went cold and clear, calculating angles and speeds. The first truck was halfway through. The second just entering. A gap between them—maybe six feet, maybe less.
I aimed for it.
The world narrowed to that space between metal behemoths. My hands were steady on the wheel. My foot never left the accelerator.
The sedan shot through the gap with inches to spare. The truck driver's horn blared, doppler-shifting as I left it behind. My heart was in my throat, adrenaline singing through my veins.
In the mirror, I saw Sebastian do the same thing—but tighter, faster, his car slipping through like a knife. The second truck driver slammed his brakes. The third couldn't stop in time.
The crash was spectacular. Metal shrieked. Glass shattered. The intersection became a tangle of twisted trucks, completely blocking the road.
I allowed myself a tight smile. That should buy me—
Sebastian's car mounted the sidewalk, tires screaming as he detoured through a pedestrian plaza. Decorative planters exploded under his wheels. A fountain sprayed water across his windshield.
He was still coming.
"Jesus Christ—" My hands clenched the wheel hard enough to hurt. "What does it take to stop you?"
---
I took a hard right into the commercial district, hoping to lose him in the narrow streets. The buildings pressed close here, old brick warehouses converted to trendy shops. Everything was closed, metal shutters pulled down over windows.
Sebastian's engine echoed off the walls behind me. The sound was everywhere, disorienting, making it impossible to judge distance.
A delivery truck appeared ahead, blocking half the street. A driver was unloading boxes, his back to me.
I didn't have time to stop. Didn't have room to go around.
I went up.
My wheels hit the curb, and suddenly I was on the sidewalk, scattering trash cans and newspaper boxes. The driver dove out of the way with a shout. My side mirror clipped a street lamp with a sound like a gunshot, and then I was past, swerving back onto the road.
Behind me, Sebastian did the same—but his wounded side must have pulled wrong, because his timing was off by a fraction of a second. His front bumper caught a trash can, sending it flying. The impact slowed him just enough.
I pushed my advantage, taking corners at speeds that made the tires scream, putting distance between us. The sedan's engine was starting to sound unhealthy, rattling in a way that suggested I was asking too much of it.
I didn't care. I just needed it to last long enough to—
The commercial district ended abruptly, spilling into the wasteland of the abandoned industrial zone. Cracked pavement, standing water, shipping containers rusting in the moonlight.
And nowhere left to run.