“Conall, we need to go.” James kneeled beside him. “We have to get the pack out of here. We cannae be implicated in this.”
Nodding, Conall lifted Thea into his arms. “Get everyone back to Torridon. Call Brianna, see how fast she can get there.”
Brianna MacRae was their pack doctor; she lived and worked in Inverness.
Most of their cars were undamaged by exploding debris; those that weren’t, they tore the license plates from and left them. Conall carefully laid Thea across the back seats of his Defender. Her body bowed slightly between the seat gap but there was nothing for it, much to his distress.
“She’s fine,” Callie assured him. “I’ll drive.”
He shook his head. “I need something to focus on or I’ll go mad.”
His sister nodded and got into the passenger seat instead.
The desire to keep glancing back at Thea was great, but he forced his eyes on the road and followed the conspicuous cavalcade of cars leaving Loch Isla. Thankfully, Castle Cara had been built on a low-level loch, far from towns and amenities. There wasn’t anything but tight, single-track roads leading downward to Loch Isla until your ears popped from the drop in altitude. No witnesses.
“James will anonymously call the emergency services once we’re clear,” Callie told him.
He nodded.
“Fae, Conall?” she asked tentatively.
“I know it sounds insane … but there’s no other explanation for what she can do.” He refused to say could. Thea was still alive.
There was a chance.
But if not …
His hands clenched around the steering wheel.
Silence fell over them.
The bite would work.
It had to.
He did not want to prepare himself for a lifetime of fucking emptiness without Thea Quinn.
The drive northward was just over an hour but he and the others who were heading back to Torridon sped where they could, as long as it didn’t endanger any humans. Still, Conall was grateful to see the turnoff at Kinlochewe, signaling they were near home.
Callie glanced into the back seat, something Conall hadn’t dared to do during the awful silent drive.
He felt his sister go rigid and fear swamped his lungs. He looked at Callie.
Her eyes had widened.
She’s gone, he prepared himself. She’s going to tell you Thea’s gone.
Callie slowly turned to him, shock glittering in her pale gray gaze. “Conall,” she breathed.
“What?” he bit out.
“Her … her cheeks are flushed.”
He blinked. “What?” He pulled the rearview mirror down, angling it to take in Thea across the back seats.
Sure enough, every inch of her skin on display was flushed, feverish and dewy with sweat.
Conall felt that buried hope take hold again as he looked at his sister.
Slowly, a smile kicked up the corners of Callie’s mouth. “Fever: the first sign of the change.”So it had come to this.
There was an afterlife for Thea, and it was hell. Or some kind of hell dimension where her skin was constantly on fire, slick with sweat, her mouth dry, burning, desperate for relief. In the darkness of the fever world, a black figure, a demon, waited. It was mammoth, long, crooked limbs, massive claws, and every inch black as tar. Yellow eyes blinked from its face to match the sharp yellow teeth.
Thea kept running, tangled in walls of arms that reached out to her, every touch burning as they tore at her scalding flesh. Every step seemed to take centuries, and the demon was always there, following, taking its sadistic time to catch her.
The worst part of the hell wasn’t the sweltering heat or the demon or the walls of arms, but the soft murmur she could hear out somewhere beyond the fiery darkness. A beloved voice, deep and soothing, whispered words of love and reassurance. Memories. They couldn’t be anything more because he couldn’t be here with her. He was too good. Too decent.
She’d tear the roasting pits of hell to shreds if they dared to keep him here.
The wall of arms pulled on Thea’s wrist so hard it broke. A scream wrenched out of her as the arms tore at every inch of her being.
Still she heard the murmurings of reassurance beyond the torrid hell.
It didn’t stop her from screaming bloody murder as she felt every bone in her body break.Conall’s heart thudded hard and fast, every beat for Thea.
He stared, not quite believing what he was seeing.
Lying panting amongst his sweat-soaked and torn bedsheets was a werewolf, smaller than him, only somewhat larger than your average wolf. Her fur was dark brown with flecks of caramel, to match the unusual gold of her eyes.
She pulled her muzzle back and growled at the people standing around the edge of the bed.
Conall, Callie, and Brianna.
“Thea,” he said her name softly, taking a tentative step toward her.
Her ears twitched as she cocked her head, watching his approach.
Her muzzle wrinkled again with another little growl.
“Thea, it’s me. It’s Conall.”
The last seventy-two hours had been the worst of Conall’s life as he’d watched over Thea through the feverish and painful transformation. Until Brianna arrived, he’d been afraid to even hope that his bite was taking effect, but the doctor had assured him that every sign Thea showed was that of the change.