Page 55 of Fanged Secrets
I fumbled for the keys, swiped from River’s pocket on the way out, and tossed Amara inside. She squeaked in surprise when her feet left the ground, and landed in a crumpled heap in the passenger seat. Unwilling to waste a moment glancing over myshoulder, I climbed in beside her and slammed the door shut, kicking the engine awake.
Oksana made contact the moment my foot touched the pedal, ramming into the Ranger like a sledgehammer. Amara screamed when the car fishtailed and I grappled with the steering wheel, propelling us over the sidewalk and narrowly dodging a streetlight in the process. I caught a glimpse of Oksana in the rearview mirror, jaw unhinged as she let out a thunderous roar. But we were ahead of her now, speeding into the night.
My knuckles were white where I gripped the steering wheel, foot pressing hard on the gas. The car shot down the dark street and the engine roared as we sped further from the chaos in our wake. My mind raced just as fast as the car, and the smell of burning rubber filled the interior when I took a corner too sharply, tires screeching against the pavement.
"Where the hell are we supposed to be going?!” I glanced over at Amara and saw that her gaze was locked on the road ahead, her expression distant.
Of course, she hadn’t heard me. I turned my eyes to the road just in time to see the curb rushing up to meet me and spun the wheel at the last second, making the car jolt violently. Amara’s head whipped around, and she glared at me.
“Sorry,” I muttered, though my heart was still racing. I ignored Amara’s disapproving frown at my reckless driving and tried again. Taking one hand off the wheel, I awkwardly attempted to sign the question. It was clumsy, but it was the best I could manage while steering with one hand.
"Where – are – we – going?"
Amara’s frown turned into one of alarm and she lunged forward to steady the wheel before shooting me another condemning glare. She pointed ahead and then gestured in the direction we needed to go.
“Hudson Valley,” she said, her voice strained. I could see the effort it took for her to speak, the way her lips moved carefully over each word.
“Okay…” I nodded, though I was still confused, tilting my head so she could read my lips. “What’s out there?”
Amara’s expression darkened, shadows flickering across her face in the dim light of the dashboard. She hesitated, her hands tightening in her lap. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “My first home.”
Chapter 28
Amara
The drive down memory lane was cloaked in darkness, the night wrapping around the Ranger like a heavy shroud. It clung to the windows and trailed along behind us, oppressive and heavy and devoid of stars. The narrow road wound through dense forests, past inky rivers and fields of farmland that seemed to stretch endlessly into the blackness. Only the headlights of the car cut through the dark, casting long shadows that danced along the tree line.
We had been driving for what felt like hours by then, the stillness in the car only broken by the occasional shifting of Dylan’s hands on the wheel. Every so often she checked the rearview mirror, scanning the empty road behind us for signs of pursuit.
The closer we got, the more my stomach churned. What if I was wrong? What would happen to the Leyore women we’d left behind? What would happen to us, if my father caught up…
Alongside these doubts was another painful thought. We were heading to my first home, where Aliyah and I had lived before everything fell apart. I hadn’t been back since, but the memories were still sharp, tinged with the bitterness of loss.
When the mansion finally came into view, my heart lurched. It sat at the end of a narrow road, surrounded by a thick growth of trees that made it almost invisible from the main highway. The house itself was in disarray, its once grand facade now weathered and worn by years of neglect. The windows were boarded up in places, and the paint had peeled away.
I felt a strange mix of emotions as we pulled up to the property. There was anger, sadness, and a deep, aching sense of nostalgia. This house had once been a place of safety, of warmth, back when my mother was alive. But now it was just a shell, abandoned and forgotten by everyone, even by the pair of aging grandparents I had never met.
No one would think to look here. That’s what made it such an effective hideaway. It wasn’t in Don’s name – he’d been careful to wipe away any trace of his connection to it. The house had belonged to my mother’s family, and Don had done everything in his power to erase her from existence. He had struck her name from the records as if she had never lived.
When I was a child in this house, my mother had kissed me on the forehead and told Aliyah to take good care of both of us. When she walked out the door with a suitcase, I hadn’t thought much of it. But when my father, frantic, aggressive, spouting vitriolic sentiment, rushed from our empty home to find her, I knew she had left us behind.
The following morning, when he took down her pictures and packed up our things, I knew she was dead.
I pointed at the dilapidated building and Dylan rolled the car to a stop at the edge of the overgrown driveway. She cut the engine and glanced over at me, her expression questioning, butI ignored her, absorbed in a memory I could only skirt around – never fully touch.
I looked closely, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The house was dark and the windows empty, except for a faint glow emanating from the bottom floor. Someone was home. I noticed another sign – a small, flickering light near the front porch. The glow of a cell phone screen, the faint orange ember of a cigarette. Someone was there.
One of Don’s men, stationed out front, just as I had suspected. The sight of the guard confirmed everything. This was where the egg was hidden. My father had chosen this place because he knew no one would think to look here. No one, that is, except the sole surviving daughter of his late wife. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. I was no longer the frightened child who had left this house behind.
I turned to Dylan, my hands moving quickly as I signed, "The egg is somewhere in the house. You'll have to handle the guard. I'll search the building."
Dylan's eyes squinted with something like concern, but she only nodded. I could see the hesitation, the worry that something could go wrong, but there was no time for second-guessing. There was too much at stake.
We slipped out of the car, leaving the doors open behind us. I felt the crunch of gravel under my feet as I crept around the side of the building, keeping low and close to the shadows. My breath was shallow, each step carefully placed in the hopes of muffling the sound. From my position, I could see Dylan making her way toward the porch, her lithe form almost invisible in the dark.
The guard sat slouched on the porch steps, his attention on the dim light of his phone. He didn’t see Dylan coming, didn’t hear her at all. My wife was a shadow. She was in her element here, the darkness her ally as much as her enemy. It was only whenshe was right in front of him that he finally looked up, his eyes widening in shock.
I tensed in the bushes, my breath catching as I watched the scene unfold. The man’s mouth opened in a soundless gasp as he fumbled for the gun at his waist, but Dylan was faster. Her hand shot out, closing over his face, and with a quick, brutal motion, she slammed his head back against the wall. The sound of the impact was lost on me, but I saw the man’s body crumple to the ground.
