Chapter 52: Infection

I drive into the night, Sage quiet beside me, the miles passing under the wheels of our stolen car. I stopped in Texas to change out the plates again, just in case, but there's been no sign of pursuit, neither the normal kind nor the touch of Enforcers. So Andre has chosen to keep his mouth shut.

I just wished knowing that made me feel better.

Sage has been quiet since we left the rest stop, since our rapid love-making left us both panting and wanting more. I long to pull over into one of the small motels off the interstate and spend one last night with him. How lovely it could be, with his wolf emerging. I wouldn't have to hold back. That thought startles me. I've always been so careful with him, for fear of doing something, out of passion, we'd both regret. My wolf understood, always, and still does. Now I realize such restraint is unnecessary.

Still, what would unbridled passion do to him? Would it speed up the process? His wolf emerged when he climaxed in the back seat, but only for a moment. If I were to let mine out, allow her to connect with him...

Too risky. And yet incredibly tempting. Which leads me to other thoughts I can't have. Thoughts of being a queen, but this time with smiling Sage at my side, our beautiful children raised to pride and honor, but to love themselves and be free, first and foremost.

It's a lovely dream. I only wish there was a chance in hell it could ever come true.

As for pulling over, I know it's a foolish idea. I just can't spare the time. We have to reach California as fast as we can. Because no matter Sage's questions, his request to remain a werewolf if he's healed, he is and will always be a revenant, a werewolf who has been made and not born. And though we might be able to convince the powers that be to keep him alive if a cure is found, there is no way I'll be able to take him as my mate.

The dream dies, but I won't wallow in the older version, where I'm a slave to the throne. I won't. It may come, but not here. I won't think about my future now. There's too much road ahead of us, figurative and literal, for me to stray from my focus. Find a way to help him first. Then figure the rest out later. First things first.

Sage stirs beside me as the sign for San Antonio flashes in my headlights. He grins at me, lop sided, but for the first time I notice how red his face is. I've missed it in my distraction, so many details I've let slip. His paleness has gone, replaced by fever, his skin tight and shining red. And the scent of him has changed. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I missed the shift completely.

He suddenly smells ill.

I reach out, touch his face, wince at how hot he feels. He's burning up, the wolf in him super heating his insides as it battles the infection-which means, it's either fighting itself, or he's contracted some other bacteria or virus that's interfering. When I glance at his shoulder, I see his T-shirt is soaked, the infection seeping through.

"Sage," I say, accusation in my voice, though it's not his fault. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shakes his head, wobbly, smile child-like. "Charlie." He slurs my name. "Hiya, Charlie."

I take the next exit too fast, the tires squealing under the car, but I'm not thinking about my driving. I have to get him medicine, find a way to reduce his fever. Were he a full werewolf, I wouldn't worry. His lupine nature would take care of things. Then again, were he a werewolf, he wouldn't be this sick in the first place.

His wolf is rising, but it's not enough. Yes, the sickness might yet burn off. The wolf is strong in him and, though he's sick, I can't sense the taint I've associated with revenants in the past. But it's possible the infection he's fighting-both of them-could trigger something else entirely. I have so little knowledge of what is actually happening to him, I can't make a judgment either way. But the realization a trauma like this could trigger a shift in him decides for me.

I can't allow the revenant to win before I can find a cure.

We're in downtown San Antonio, surrounded by cars, stopped at a streetlight. I barely remember driving this far. I have to focus. My gaze sweeps both sides of the street, rewarded at last. I spot a little pharmacy on a corner and park across the street, ignoring the angry beeping of the cars trying to get around me. I should leave him here, but I can't risk it. What if he were to change right here in traffic? I'd never get to him in time, before someone took a photo or video. And with today's social media sites, he'd be all over the world before even the witch councils could stop it.

I spin on him, unbuckling his belt, leaning over to open his door. A firm shove gets him moving, wobbly but functional. I climb out after him, partly to avoid the traffic swerving around the car, and partly to keep him from falling down. Sage sways on the sidewalk, leaning to the left, still with that goofy grin on his face.

The traffic thins a moment, a woman giving me the finger before gunning past. I take advantage of the gap, dragging Sage across the street and to the glass door of the pharmacy. He wavers next to me, head down, barely registering the chime of the bell overhead as we enter with a soft whimper.

I keep him close to me as I hurry down the aisles, hands grabbing for pain killers. But what I really need are antibiotics, and I don't have access. What will they do to his wolf physiology? I have no idea. But his human side needs them, that much is obvious. My gaze whips to the back of the store and the prescription counter. An older man stands there in a crisp white coat, balding head gray in a ring around his temples. He hasn't noticed us, absorbed in whatever he's working on, a pen in his hand. I know he won't give me what I need, not without a prescription. He's not allowed, it's human law.

Which means I might have to hurt him to help Sage.

As I turn to tell my love to stay put, he pulls away from me, lunging forward, strength renewed as the fever rages. His eyes have gone wolf, hands grasping at random items. He sniffs them with aggressive interest, casting things aside almost as quickly as he seizes them. I can't risk controlling him with magic, and am forced to chase him as he leaps forward and into the path of a young woman. She screams at the sight of him, her high heels slipping on the tile, short skirt hitching upward as she totters. I grab for her, pull her upright by her bare arm. She runs with clacking feet, hands scrambling over the keypad of her phone.

I look up and realize we're no longer anonymous. We've caught the frowning attention of the pharmacist whose hand hovers over a phone of his own.

Damn it, I have to control Sage before this devolves further. But he lunges out of my reach as I dive for him, skidding into the empty space in front of the pharmacy counter. He grins, panting, at the older man, licking his lips as though the pharmacist is dinner. And then, Sage spins in place, eyes rolling up into his head, before collapsing to the floor like a broken rag doll.

His heart skips. Stops. Stutters. Stops again.

No, please no. He can't be dead-

I'm frozen in place, even as the world erupts around me. A slim black woman with finely braided hair tied at the nape of her neck falls to her knees next to Sage before looking up at the pharmacist.

"Call an ambulance," she snaps with authority.

This can't be happening. I rush forward, try to pull her off Sage as his heartbeat returns, but she shoves me back, dark eyes snapping with anger. "Are you with him?"

I can only nod, mute and shaking.

"He needs to go to the hospital." She talks to me as though I'm a child, or unable to understand simple concepts. And, at the moment, I'm both. He can't go to a normal hospital. They will run tests, on his blood, his makeup-

I have to get him out of here.

But a siren is already loudly approaching, an ambulance pulling up to the door, people whispering and staring as a pair of paramedics with a stretcher run into the store, and the young black woman is directing them what to tell the emergency room. Her words are garbled, unintelligible as time slows and flexes and speeds again. I reach for her as they start to wheel Sage away.

"Go with him," she says. "I'll meet you there."

"Why?" I'm shaking all over. This can't be happening, not now.

"I'm Dr. Lauren Mitchell," she says. "Just trust me."

She pushes me toward the door and I run on autopilot, gaze settling on our stolen car across the street one last time before I climb stiffly into the back of the ambulance, eyes locking on Sage's silent face.



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