Chapter 13 13
Marigold POV
Okay. I did not expect them to be chasing us this soon. I mean, couldn’t the Black Fangs at least give us a five-minute breather? A snack break? Something? No. Apparently, my survival came with zero intermissions.
The Kia was rattling like it was about to spontaneously combust, headlights bouncing across mud and trees, and Gregor’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. I hated it. I hated not being in control, hated just sitting there like the passenger princess from hell while Mister Alpha Grump drove like he was auditioning for Mad Max: Wolfpack Edition.
So, naturally, I opened my big mouth.
“Switch with me,” I said.
His head whipped toward me. “What?”
“Switch. Seats. You heard me.”
“You can’t be serious—”
“I am always serious when it involves not dying. Now move it.”
“Marigold—”
“Alpha Gregor, either switch with me or I’ll grab the wheel myself and we’ll both find out if heaven has a Starbucks.”
His growl rumbled deep, but to my eternal shock, he actually agreed. Or maybe he just wanted to avoid a caffeine-starved ghost haunting him for eternity. Either way, we were doing it—switching seats while still moving at fifty miles an hour with murder-wolves gnashing their teeth behind us.
It. Was. Not. Easy.
He shoved up from the driver’s seat, I half-crawled across him, and the Kia did this little death-wobble as our combined weight shifted. My butt slid across his lap—
And yep. Yep. Oh my goddess.
Something hard. Something huge.
Not. Going. There.
Not today, Satan.
I froze, heat slamming into my face, and my wolf, bless her shameless little soul, purred like she’d just found the world’s biggest chew toy.
Gregor stiffened under me, his growl a whole octave lower now. “Marigold—”
“DON’T.” I hissed, practically diving the rest of the way into the driver’s seat. “We are NOT having that conversation while being hunted like discount venison jerky.”
The second my hands gripped the wheel, I stomped the gas. The Kia wailed like she was begging for retirement, but bless her loyal soul, she surged forward anyway.
Gregor dropped into the passenger seat, hair mussed, chest heaving like I’d just personally ruined his alpha composure. Which, let’s be real—I had.
He braced one big hand against the door as I took a turn sharp enough to make the whole van tilt.
“You call this driving?” he barked.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snapped, eyes wide and wild. “Did the man who drives like a rejected Fast & Furious stunt double just sass me?”
“You nearly rolled us!”
“NEARLY doesn’t count! We’re alive, aren’t we?”
“Barely!”
I grinned, white-knuckled on the wheel. “See? Progress.”
Behind us, claws raked metal as a Black Fang slammed against the rear, trying to pry the hatch open. Gregor cursed under his breath, rolling down the window like he was about to throw hands with supernatural murderers going 60 mph.
“You focus on driving,” he ordered.
“Oh, I am. You just focus on not flashing your furry butt out the window,” I shot back, jerking the wheel again as rain hammered harder.
The Kia skidded, the wolves howled, and Gregor muttered something in a language I was pretty sure translated to “goddess help me.”
And me? I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that my butt had definitely touched the dong of doom back there.
Not now. Later. Later when we weren’t about to die.
Until he removed a baby toys from the back seat.
“ARE YOU TRYING TO SEE YOUR ANCESTORS TOO SOON?” I screeched as I clung to the steering wheel like it was my one-way ticket to salvation. My hair whipped into my face, the Kia minivan rattled like a tin can full of angry squirrels, and Gregor had the audacity—the audacity—to growl at me like I was the problem.
“Let me drive,” he barked, muscles bulging as though intimidation alone was going to make me hand him the wheel.
“Oh, sure, because your brilliant idea of Plan A: Growl Louder Than the Engine is really working out for us!” I snapped, jerking the wheel as something—someone—slammed into our bumper again. The Kia screamed like it was filing a complaint with the universe. Honestly, this car was built for soccer moms and grocery runs, not for outrunning psychotic werewolves with bodybuilder complexes.
Behind us, headlights bobbed, engines roared, and then—oh, joy—one of the Black Fang idiots actually half-shifted mid-ride. His arm, all hairy and clawed, reached out of the passenger window of their Jeep and tried to grab our rear door handle.
“Oh, absolutely not!” I yelled, smacking Gregor’s arm. “Do something wolfy!”
Gregor growled low, eyes flashing. “What do you want me to do, moon them?”
“Yes! Distract them with your bare ass, it’s probably shinier than this Kia’s paint job!”
The rain was coming down harder now, fat droplets smearing across the windshield while the wipers squealed in protest like, ma’am, we were not trained for this. The road narrowed into the edge of human territory, where houses thinned out and trees pressed in from all sides, shadows swallowing the van like some horror movie backdrop.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Another slam. This time the whole van skidded sideways, wheels screeching through mud. I wrestled the wheel back into place, teeth rattling.
“Why are we always in the rain when things go wrong?” I grumbled, white-knuckling the wheel. “Do villains schedule weather forecasts too? ‘Yes, Karen, let’s pencil in attempted murder right after the thunderstorm.’”
Gregor’s lips twitched, like he was this close to laughing. But of course, Mister Alpha-Bro had to play stoic.
From the back seat, a loud clang! rattled through as claws raked against the metal.
“Oh no, no, no—you do not peel my van like a sardine can!” I snarled, stomping the gas. The Kia’s engine wailed like, please, I’m just a baby, but the speedometer crept up anyway.
Gregor swore, grabbed the overhead handle, and braced. “You’re going to flip us!”
“Oh, calm down, Fast and Furriest, I’ve seen enough Bollywood movies to know how this works!” I snapped, swerving just in time to avoid a wolf that darted in front of us. My side mirror clipped him, and I winced. “Oops. My bad.”
Rain hammered down, the dirt road turned into sludge, and the tires fishtailed like they were auditioning for Dancing With the Stars. Behind us, the Black Fang wolves kept pace, headlights slicing through the downpour, their growls carrying even over the storm.
“This van is not made for car chases,” Gregor ground out.
“Well neither am I!” I shouted back. “And yet here we are, alive-ish!”
Another slam. A door rattled. My heartbeat skyrocketed.
Gregor shoved a hand against the dash, eyes wild. “Let me drive!”
“Over my dead body!”
“That can be arranged!”
“HA! You’d miss me in five minutes. Who else makes fun of your broody wolf act?!”
A branch cracked under the wheels as we swerved off the dirt road, splashing mud across the windshield. I cackled despite myself—half hysterical, half high on adrenaline.
The wolves were still there. Still slamming, still snarling, still gaining.
And I? I was clinging to life and sass like they were the same thing.