Am I crazy? I’m following a boy I’ve just met into the night, away from the safety of my home. But like he said, what choice do I have?

They took your friend.

They have her.

Malik is the only one who knows about the creature and, right now, he’s my only link to Bea, my only way of finding her. And that’s all that matters.

I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Moon…

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask Malik. I can’t help feeling I’m directing the question at myself.

“Mostly,” he replies, nodding at the helmet in his hand.

An elemental, uncontrollable force takes hold of me and I grab the helmet from Malik and position myself behind him on the machine. Close. Right up to his body. A thrill leaps in my blood. I shrug on the black leather jacket. It’s warm and, with my mustard hoodie underneath, a tight fit, but it’ll pass. The helmet is snug too, which makes me wonder for whose head it was originally meant. I fiddle with the strap. The bike’s vibrations run through me.

Bea, they say.

Bea. Bea. Bea. Bea-Bea-Bea-Bea-Beeeeeeeeea.

Malik turns his head to the side. “Ready?”

NO. How can I possibly be ready for this?

“Where are we going?” I shout over the engine.

“Soho!” he yells back.

Soho. Makes perfect sense.

“Ana,” he says, his voice gone quiet and sharp.

“Huh?”

“Are you holding on?”

I look from side to side. Where am I supposed to be holding on? My feet dangle on either side of the bike. They find a pair of grooved footholds, but—

“ANA!”

“All right, all right. Take it easy.”

Malik reaches back, snatches my wrist and clamps my arm around his waist.

“Hey!”

“Both sides,” he barks. Before I can respond, the engine roars and the bike kicks. I bring my left arm around Malik’s waist, quick as a viper.

I hear it then. A demonic, bone-chilling cry.

SKRRRAAAAA­AAAAA­AAAAA­AAAAA­AAAAA­AAAAK!

The bike whines and up goes a pall of smoke. An acrid smell catches in my nose and something else. Something rotten.

We slide right, the nose of the bike tips, and we streak away. I flatten against Malik’s back. We cut the air and scorch up the black tarmac.

The wind roars and bites at us. I swivel my head to the side and my gut tightens.

I see them.

This time there are two of them—craving after us.

Reapers, Malik called them. Seeing them now sends a jolt through my body, turns my stomach to knotted rope. It isn’t just fear. It’s more primitive—a revulsion from deep within—an ancient, inborn, chemical response.

And something else.

Hatred.