That hour felt like years. At first, I thought the faint vibration I'd started picking up was coming from the car.
Then I realized it was Drew, growling so low in his chest I almost couldn't hear it.
It nagged at some part of my nervous system that had probably controlled prehistoric people's responses to sabre-toothed tigers, raising the hair on the back of my neck and elevating my blood pressure to stroke-level, and I dug my fingers into the edges of my seat, gritting my teeth and telling myself over and over again to hold on, that we'd be there soon.
We'd left the flatlands behind for heavily forested, gently rolling hills, and we wound through endless trees, trunks and rocks and fallen logs and bracken, illuminated in flashes by our headlights.
At last, the nav system told us to take a left in one mile. The turn into Grey's "territory," whatever that meant.
Drew didn't slow down at all.
