The black car drove through the gates of the Dravik estate, the tires screaming against the gravel as Darien pushed the engine to its absolute limit. He didn't engage the parking brake properly, and didn't even turn off the ignition. He was out of the door before the engine had finished its final, violent cycle of heat.
His movements were a blur of predatory instinct and frantic desperation. He wrenched the passenger door open, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Inside, Amara was a ghost of herself. She was huddled against the leather seat, shivering so violently that her teeth chattered, a rhythmic, brittle sound that made Darien's blood run cold. She was clutching her shoulder, her face the color of wet parchment, and her eyes were glazed with a mixture of physical shock and the haunting echoes of the park.
