Chapter 27 · The Ghost Train

"Luke." I shake his shoulder. Nothing.

Blood pools beneath him, dark and slow. Three claw marks split his chest, deep enough to show bone through his torn shirt.

I should leave him. He tried to shoot me once. He'd do it again.

But he cut me loose.

He told me to bring the kid back.

I bite my wrist open.

The taste hits my tongue—sweet, sharp, and familiar enough to make my stomach turn. I've done this before. Rabbits. Rats. Things without names.

I press my wrist to Luke's mouth. "Come on. Don't make me do this twice."

Nothing.

Blood runs down his jaw. His chest stays flat.

I squeeze harder, forcing the blood between his teeth. My other hand searches his throat. No pulse. The wound in my wrist burns shut, so I tear it open again with my nails.

"Swallow," I hiss. "You don't get to die before I find her."

His throat moves.

Barely.

Then his hand clamps around my forearm.

His eyes snap open. He drags my wrist away from his mouth like I've shoved poison down his throat. His grip bruises my skin.

"Let go," I say.

He doesn't.