NOLA
The tires of the SUV scream as we tear into the gravel driveway of the manor, the headlights cutting through the thick mist like twin sabers. Rhett doesn’t even wait for the engine to fully die before he is out of the door, his movements frantic but precise. The adrenaline from the fight is still rolling off him in waves of heat that I can feel even from the passenger seat.
“Silas! Get the lift! Now!” Rhett roars, his voice still carrying that jagged, gravelly edge of the wolf.
I scramble out of the car, my legs feel like overcooked noodles. I look at the back of the SUV where my dad lies, still pale, still caught in that terrifying, silent sleep. “He’s still breathing, Rhett. I check three times on the highway. He’s still with us.”
“He needs to stay that way,” Rhett mutters, his
