Bound

Chapter 25

"Nick, are you in shock?"

Dean threw a curious glance at Nick's taut expression profiled against the rain-streaked window. They'd been driving for nearly two hours and Nick had barely uttered a word.

"I think I must be," he muttered, blinking to shake himself out of his stupor.

"Over what part?" Dean's short laugh admitted his own incredulous state.

"Shit, I'm not sure. Maybe the part where we watched a trail of powdered hair, shaman spit and a bunch of other weird stuff trace itself across a map and settle on a town called Mosse. Or maybe the part where a shaman inked tattoos on our chests so Northfell can't use hex necklaces on us? Take your pick."

Dean agreed with a snort.

Rain hammered the windshield. It made driving in the already smothering darkness a difficult task, and they had countless miles to go before being anywhere near Nyah.

"What about you?" Nick asked. "You haven't exactly been Mr Chatty Pants either. Are you not freaked out by any of this?"

"I'm still stuck in the horror of hearing how Northfell wants to mate with Nyah so she can carry his engineered pups. And how he's decided to use demon blood for an extra evil-fuelled boost. Shaman spit and magical tattoos aren't really an issue for me right now." Dean glanced at the dash display again. Time sped way faster than the miles he raced to cover.

"Cassius wasn't exaggerating when he warned Northfell's into some nasty shit."

"No, he certainly wasn't."

"Do you think we can do this?"

Dean stared ahead for a long moment. "I know now would be a really good time to give a rousing alpha speech, but, to be honest, I don't know. I think the best way to handle this is one step at a time. First off, I have to find Nyah. Cassius's warning about the dangers of her wolf re-emerging has me worried. I know it's going to kick off soon for her; it's been three hours since he did that spell, and what if she's in the middle of a public place when it happens? What if she starts phasing in a crowd, or hits the deck in a—."

"Dean," Nick interrupted, "don't do that, don't go there, you'll drive yourself insane." He gestured at the clock. "It's gone one in the morning. Chances are she's tucked up in bed. It's the best place she could be."

"But what if she isn't?"

"She'll deal with it. She'll take herself somewhere safe."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean yielded.

Nick reached out to grab the map off the dashboard. "So how are we doing for time?"

"We don't have enough. Northfell's deadline is too soon."

"And Mosse is . . ." Nick peered at the map, tracking the distance from their current location to their destination.

"Too far away for my comfort."

"Okay." The map landed on the dash. "So basically, foot down and no stopping."

"No," Dean confirmed. "We stop for nothing."

***

When the screeching audience, grating jingles, and smarmy one-liners of the game show host became too much to bear, Nyah grabbed the remote and flicked herself into dim silence.

She hadn't even been paying attention, except for the part where an over-excited Elizabeth won a microwave and became so hysterical, the game show host almost fell onto his ass when she leapt on him with joy.

All Nyah had wanted was for the television to drown out everything reminding her of where she was, as opposed to where she wanted to be. Remaining motionless on the bed, she took yet another critical tour of the room. The One-Eyed Cat easily scooped first prize for worst accommodation in existence. The Armpit of Depression didn't come close to describing the place. But the coma-inducing exhaustion had reduced her to such a wreck, that if the first place offering accommodation on the outskirts of Mosse had been a morgue slab, she would have taken it.