CHAPTER 30: SERPENT’S KISS RACE TRACK

Eleanor’s POV

Mira’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, it became intensely focused. She spoke calmly. "Why are you asking me that, Eleanor?"

My mouth went dry. "No reason. I was just... asking."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you come across one? A werewolf?"

"No."

She saw right through it. In two quick strides, she was in front of me, leaning close so her words were a hushed, urgent breath. "You did. Where?"

The intensity in her eyes was frightening. I felt trapped. "Yesterday," I whispered, the half-truth slipping out.

"Did it hurt you?" she demanded, her gaze scanning me again.

"No," I said, and that, at least, was the truth.

"Why didn’t you call the authorities? The special task force? Anyone?"

"My phone died," I mumbled, grateful for a factual excuse I could cling to. Mira had always been able to tell when I was lying about big things.

She studied my face for a long moment, and I could almost see the calculations happening behind her eyes. Then she took a small step back. "You still haven’t answered my question," I pressed, my voice barely audible. "What do you feel about them?"

Mira finally broke her intense gaze, looking down at her hands. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but firm, devoid of its earlier warmth. "I believe they’re dangerous. I think they’re a threat to normal humans. And I think contact with them should be avoided at all costs."

The world seemed to tilt. My hope, however faint, shattered.

"Oh..." was all I could manage to say. The sound was small and devastated.

"Have you seen one before?"

Mira’s gaze was still fixed on me. "I have," she said, her voice low. "Not face to face. But I’ve seen one. Restrained. It was... violent. Uncontrollable. It’s why I believe what I believe." Her words were careful and I knew with a sinking certainty that she was telling the truth.

A cold dread pooled in my stomach. Is that what I’m going to become? The thought was a silent scream. A violent thing to be restrained? The memory of my hands around Priscilla’s throat flashed, vivid and terrifying. I didn’t want that. I would never want that.

"You shouldn’t think too much about it," Mira said, misinterpreting the horror on my face for fear. "It’s a good thing the one you saw didn’t harm you. Consider yourself lucky."

"Yeah," I managed to choke out, the word sticking in my throat. "Lucky."

She seemed to accept that, her posture relaxing slightly as she shifted topics with a forced brightness. "Anyway, big news. Roxy officially signed the contract yesterday. She’s one of the Vexxon Raiders now."

"That’s... great," I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

"We’re heading to the track today to watch her first official practice run. The Serpent’s Kiss." Mira gave me a pointed look. "You should come. You’re the one who designed most of it, after all. Your input could be valuable."

I didn’t have a reason to refuse. More than that, I craved the distraction, a chance to escape the prison of my own thoughts and the chilling distance that had just opened up between me and my best friend. The track, with its clear lines and predictable curves, felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos inside me.

"Okay," I agreed, my voice still a little unsteady. "I’ll come."

***

The Serpent’s Kiss race track was even more impressive in person than on my blueprints. The grandstand was a sleek, tiered structure of polished concrete and steel, offering a perfect view of the starting line, Massive screens hung at intervals, ready to broadcast the cars’ progress along the track’s immense, coiling length. The air hummed with the low growl of idling engines and the buzz of anticipation.

I followed Mira, my eyes taking in the gleaming technology, the focused crews, the smell of high-octane fuel and hot asphalt. It was a world I’d helped create from behind a desk, but being here felt different. Overwhelming.

We didn’t see Roxy at first. The area was dominated by groups of men in racing gear, their postures cocky, their laughter loud. One of them, a guy with a buzz cut and a swagger that seemed practiced, peeled away from his group and sauntered over to us.

"Well, hello there," he said, his eyes doing a slow, appreciative sweep over both of us. "Did you two beautiful ladies come all the way out here to admire the real machines?" He gestured vaguely toward the cars.

Mira gave him a look. "We’re looking for someone. A female racer."

The man’s smirk widened into a condescending grin. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. "A femaleracer? Here? Honey, that’s a joke. This isn’t a charity event. The Serpent’s Kiss will eats amateurs for breakfast, especially ones who don’t know their place."

Before Mira could reply, a new voice cuts through.

"It only eats amateurs who talk more than they drive. And from what I’ve seen, you’re its favorite snack."

We all turned. Roxy was approaching with her arms crossed. She was already in her racing suit.

Mira let out a breath of relief. "There you are. Where’d you disappear to?"

"Restroom," Roxy said with a casual shrug, her eyes still locked on the sputtering man.

The man, recovering slightly, sneered. "You’re in the wrong place, sweetheart. This is for the drivers trying out the track today. The real ones. It’s not a place for a woman to play around."

Mira stepped forward, her voice cool and professional. "If that’s what the Vexxon company truly believed, they never would have accepted her as a Vexxon Raider. Her credentials and skill speak for themselves."

The man’s frown deepened, but he had no retort. He just muttered, "Whatever," and turned away, rejoining his snickering friends.

I seized the chance to change the subject. "Roxy, which car are you using since yours was... well, destroyed?"

She jerked a thumb toward a sleek, silver car being wheeled out by a crew. "They gave me a car to use for today. They’ll get me a customized ride after I prove I can handle this one." Her eyes then scanned me, and a slow, appraising smile touched her lips. "You know, you feel different. Look different, too. You’re not giving off that ’please don’t look at me’ depressed aura. It’s an improvement."

Before I could process the backhanded compliment, a track official called the drivers to their vehicles.

Some minutes later, Mira and I were settled in the first row of the grandstand. The air vibrated with the roar of powerful engines as a line of sleek, low-slung cars idled at the starting line. Roxy’s silver car was among them.

A horn blared.

The sound was instantaneous—a deafening, unified scream of horsepower as the cars shot forward, becoming colorful blurs that vanished down the first straightaway.

Our eyes snapped to the huge overhead screens, which now showed the pack navigating the track’s first complex series of curves, a twisting ribbon of asphalt against the landscape.

That will be us soon, Beatrice’s voice murmured.

My heart skipped a beat. "That’s not possible,"

Keep telling yourself that.

But as I watched the cars on the screen, feeling the raw power even from a distance, a treacherous part of me wondered. With this new strength, these new senses... was it really so impossible?