Inciting antibodies in his system might have
saved Nate from septicemia, but not for long. I could see and smell the
voodoo curse taking over. As his rage grew, his foot got heavier on the
gas.
My injuries throbbed, anticipating more. I had no magic
left for defense or even to mitigate damage done. I’d given him
everything. He’d given me black eyes. Dr. Phil would have a lot to say
about our relationship.
I held onto consciousness by a thread, until Nate took a sharp turn and my head hit the window.
I woke in another field. Alone.
_________________
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