Lana's POV
By the time we reached his car, a new different kind of heat began to spread through my veins, a slow, insistent fire that had nothing to do with my wounds. The drug Dora had forced down my throat was waking up.
In the car, my head lolled against the seat. I watched his profile —the hard line of his jaw clenched tight, his hands firm on the steering wheel — as he drove at a terrifying speed. But the fear was distant, smothered by this new, crawling need. All I could think about was the heat of his skin where his sleeve was rolled up. I wanted to touch it.
The fire became a flood, drowning out the pain, the fear, everything. A low, desperate sound escaped my lips. My control, already paper-thin, shredded completely.
My hand, trembling and weak, reached across the console. My
