Authors: Patti Larsen
But when I open my eyes and see the fear in his, I want to cry. I hug him, careful of his damaged shoulder, tears prickling, throat thick. “This is all my fault,” I whisper into his hair. “I should never have allowed us to be. I knew the risks, that you could find out what I am, that you would be exposed to infection if I ever bit you as a werewolf.”
“You never would,” he says.
“Not on purpose.” I lean back, wiping my nose on the cuff of my jacket. “But it’s part of the reason we rarely mate with normals, Sage. It’s just too risky.” I pat his leg. “This is my responsibility and I have to take care of it.” I meet his eyes, expecting more fear, but seeing only love. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
Sage kisses me again, soft and kind. “Charlotte,” he whispers into my mouth. “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if it means I have to die.”
I do sob then, unable to stop. And when he hugs me, I let him hold me as the moon sets on the third day.
***
We find a train station and spend the rest of the night there after buying new tickets. I worry the passports we’re using might be compromised, but decide to forget my fear. The Enforcers don’t think like normals and would never consider checking for something as ordinary as paperwork. At least, I don’t think so. Femke is smart, and far from backward. But when we board without issue and the train leaves for Barcelona, I relax and allow my trust to surface, if only for now.
We step off at the Spanish border long enough to rent a cheap room in a small motel. I purchase hair dye, blackening my blonde locks. When I hack it off at the nape of my neck, Sage sighs his disappointment from where he watches me with sad eyes.
“I love your hair,” he says.
I shrug, grinning. “It’s been too long,” I say, turning to face him dressed only in a towel. “I’ve been Sharlotta for years now. Time for Charlotte to come out to play.” I approach him, running my fingers through his dark hair. “How do you feel about bleach?”
By the time we’re done, our roles are reversed, and my darling Sage is a pale blond. I swing my new black bob with confidence, changed into a touristy sundress, him in casual shorts and a T-shirt. I’ve even replaced our backpacks with rolling bags, to complete the traveler’s look.
Our border crossing is simplicity itself and we board the next train for Barcelona. I’m finally feeling like things are going the way they need to. If only they stay that way.
The train drops us close to the airport and a quick taxi ride delivers us to the American Airlines terminal. Sage is acting nervous, but a quick prod and he settles.
“The last thing we need,” I whisper to him as we stand in line at the ticket counter, “is for some normal in a uniform to think you’re squirrely.”
He nods. “Sorry,” he says, rotating his left shoulder. I bandaged it back at the hotel, to stop the seeping. But it’s still causing him pain. “I know better.”
The ticket agent doesn’t blink when we ask for two fares to Los Angeles via Miami. She just smiles and hands us the boarding passes after the credit card Iosif gave me approves the purchase.
“Happy flying,” she says in her false, perky voice.
I lead Sage with me, our bags small enough to carry on. The terminal is huge, but could be any international departure site. I’ve been in so many, they are a blur of long corridors and pedways and expensive shops lining the way to multiple gateways around the world.
Still, this airport gives me a feeling of excitement. A few hours from now and we’ll be in America. And only a few more after that, California and hopefully the answers we need to save Sage.
We’re almost to our gate when I feel it. The touch of Enforcer power. I pour on the shielding, pulling Sage aside, scanning the seating areas for signs of witches. But whomever Femke has put on post to guard the airport feels bored and distracted.
“What?” Sage’s grip on my hand tightens.
I smile up at him, shake my head. “Just act normal,” I say. “We’re almost home free.”
As we pass the two young men I’ve identified as Enforcers, neither even looks up from the conversation they're having. The professional in me is highly irritated. If I ever get a chance to tell her, I know Femke will be very disappointed in their performance.
The seats in coach aren’t ideal, but I don't want to risk drawing attention to us by sitting in first class. Sage doesn’t complain, taking the window seat. I settle next to him in the center, hoping the aisle remains empty. I don’t feel like being forced to have a conversation with a stranger.
Twenty minutes later, the seat beside me is still vacant as the airplane taxis toward the strip. More luck, I’ll take it. But as the seatbelt digs in when the pilot turns us onto the runway, I have a horrible thought. Is this too easy? But no, I’ve done everything right, as I’ve been trained to do. We’re safe and heading where we need to go. Still, the niggling doubt remains. Surely, Femke would know we’d be trying to travel using normal channels. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable suddenly with the knowledge Sage and I are now trapped in a giant prison if the Enforcers choose to come after us.
I force myself to calm down when the plane lifts off, my ears popping from the sudden change in air pressure. They won’t risk normals. And if they are waiting on the other end in Miami, so be it. I’ll find a way to free us. But they won’t try to take us from a plane full of normals.
They won’t.
The sound of soft snoring finally shakes me free of my fear. I turn toward Sage to find him sleeping with his head against the bulkhead, hands curved in his lap. I lean in and kiss his cheek, knowing he’s the smart one. I need to get some sleep of my own. I’ve been up and running for days now, the few hours of rest here and there hardly enough. But someone has to watch over him.
The flight attendant smiles as she offers me a drink and a snack. I pick at my peanuts, sip my water, the moments passing adding to my relief and the niggling doubt in equal measure. Maybe I’m just too good at this to ever really believe I’ve done what I need to do to win our freedom.
As I set aside my snack, I catch a whiff of a hot meal being served up front in first class. We’re only two rows back from the curtain dividing the haves from the cattle. It’s chicken of some kind, smells delicious.
It’s not until Sage stirs beside me I realize how much danger we’re in. I look up and into the gaze of a wolf, sharp canines glowing as he snarls his hunger. Damn it, why didn’t I feed him before we got on the plane? I know better. But I was distracted, in a hurry, thinking only of escape. It’s not like me to miss a detail, but I have, a rather large one, and it could mean the end of the road for both of us.
I have to use power, I have no choice. But when I try to smother his wolf, it pushes back against me.
STARVING
. He tries to rise. I can’t stop him so I go with him, but when we reach the aisle, I turn him with force, pushing him toward the back of the plane. He fights me, head down, snarling. We win a few startled looks from passengers as we go by, but fortunately, most of them are wearing headsets, watching movies, distracted from the real and dangerous show walking past them.
The bathroom stall on the right is full, but the one on the left is empty. I catch a shocked glance from a flight attendant as I push Sage into the stall and go in after him, locking the door behind me. There’s barely enough room for us both, worse with Sage’s wolf trying desperately to emerge. I pin him to the toilet seat and sit in his lap, straddling him, holding him down physically and with magic. The wolf fights me, argues, snarls.
No.
I pin him with power, forcing the wolf to stop. His hands are claws now, fur growing on his cheeks. His eyes are full of power, canine and angry. I continue to smother him as best I can, soothing him instead of rousing my own rage. He responds at last, panting out his elongated mouth, not quite a snout, and it begins to retreat.
“Open the door, please!” The flight attendant pounds on the flimsy barrier between us and her.
“He’s very sick.” I feel his anger resurface. Damn her and her terrible timing.
“Please, open the door.” She sounds mad herself.
Sage
. I whisper in his mind.
You have to take control. Or we’re in huge trouble
.
He growls in my mind, but I can feel him doing his best while the attendant continues to bang on the door. Another joins her, two voices whispering and then a male voice joins hers.
“You must open the door immediately,” the man says.
Sage gulps a breath and pushes. The wolf retreats in a rush, snapping at me, but finally giving in. Something clicks and the lock turns from the outside. I turn to find the two attendants staring at us. The woman looks nervous and angry, but her male counterpart just looks embarrassed.
“Sorry,” I say, climbing off Sage. I know what this looks like, and the best thing to do is play along. “We’re done now.”
The woman tsks while the man sighs and steps aside. “If we were still over land, you’d be removed from the plane. As it is, consider yourselves warned.”
I shrug casually, smiling up at him with my best sultry eyes. “Yes, sir,” I say. I take Sage’s hand and lead him back to our seats. He sinks into his by the window, face pale, but body hot. The act is no longer necessary. I drop it and lean in. “Are you okay?”
Sage nods, swallows hard. “I’m losing me,” he whispers.
“You’ll be fine,” I say. “It was the smell of food. If you eat, you’ll be okay.”
Sage doesn’t look hopeful and I wish I wasn’t lying to him. Getting him something to eat will help, yes. But his wolf will only become stronger and stronger until I lose him completely.
If he’s a revenant. And if he’s some new kind, what then? What happens to Sage? If he turns out like Caine, I’ll kill him myself.
I lean out into the aisle to attract the flight attendant’s attention. At least I can stave this off and go one step at a time. She looks irritated, but heads my way. I turn back, reaching for the menu card, to ask Sage what he’d like—more meat, the better—when I catch a face looking back at me from first class.
My stomach clenches, hands knotting around the menu the instant Jean Marc Dumont’s smiling face registers.
***
Sage feels my concern just as the attendant reaches me.
“Can I help you?” She’s trying to be polite, but it’s obvious she’d rather kick me off the plane. I look up at her, still in shock, and hold out the card.
“He’s starving,” I say, my American accent slipping a moment. “Whatever you have with meat in it.”
She frowns, about to argue.
“I know we’re supposed to wait for the cart,” I say. “But please. If you could?”
She sighs heavily, but nods and walks away. Sage leans in to me, scowling as I lower my head and breathe slowly through my mouth to calm myself.
“What?” His tension mirrors mine.
“We’re not alone.” I know if I look back up the aisle, through the partially open curtain, I’ll see Jean Marc again. And likely Kristophe. And those two don’t travel alone. Which means…
Andre is on the plane with me.
I’m trapped.
—in a cage, crouched in filth, my body aching from beatings and other things, my mouth dry and hot with illness I’m just recovering from. I don’t know how much more I can take, but my wolf demands we survive, so I let her take over. Let her be the one who paces the inside of the tiny enclosure, shoulders hunched forward, long, blonde hair hanging in scraggly strings to brush the dirty straw on the stone floor. Waiting for him to come back—
Someone stirs up front, breaking the memory in half, allowing me to return to myself. I raise my eyes in total dread, my wolf knowing, me, the girl inside me, all of us well aware of what’s coming, of who is coming. My heart beats rapidly, a tiny bird in panic, the whole world narrowing to a tunnel of black, the center of it inhabited by the tall, angular form of the man I’ve known most of my life.
—he’s come back, back to hurt me some more. Back to add to my torment, to teach me, offer me an education, he calls it. But my soul only hardens against him with every visit. And I grow stronger for the abuse—
Strong, yes. But terrified none the less. Of Andre Dumont.
He stands from his first class seat, adjusting his suit coat as though such things matter, decorum and appearances. It gives me a moment to draw air into my lungs through my gaping mouth, gone dry from memory, hands clenching in my lap. He lazily turns and walks down the aisle, through the curtain, Jean Marc and Kristophe grinning at me around the backs of their seats. I ignore them, doing everything I can to hold myself together, as Andre’s shiny shoes stop next to me. The scent of him washes over me, choking the little air I’m able to draw.
—he smells of sandalwood and vanilla. I will never be able to bear that smell again—
And to the empty seat beside me.
He settles into it, crossing his legs, a soft smile on his face, as fake as the rest of him. I can see the fine lines showing in his carefully maintained illusion of youth. He hasn’t gone so far as his insane mother, Odette, who used massive doses of family power to disguise her decline. But he’s not going easily into age, his skin thinning on his cheeks, the lids falling ever so slightly over his icy eyes. Age will not treat Andre well, I can only imagine. And hope.
I still can’t believe there was an instant when I was a child I thought him handsome. With his aristocratic features and ice blond hair, his intense blue eyes and polished demeanor, I wondered when I was given to him if he would be a good master, someone honorable I could bond to without regret, with pride in my pairing.
I was so wrong.
Andre doesn’t try to touch me, simply smiles, looking back and forth between Sage and me. The attendant arrives with a sub sandwich wrapped in foil. I pay for it with trembling fingers, hating the traitor way my hand shakes in front of the man I hate the most in this world, the monster who made me what I am. It burns in my soul Andre sees my upset. The attendant leaves us alone as Sage devours the sandwich in giant bites. I know he can’t control himself, but I despise the way Andre watches him with cold calculation, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of his mouth while his empty blue eyes measure Sage’s state of being.