Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Get in the passenger seat,” Gray tells me.
I hesitate again, realizing this is not the smartest thing I have ever done. Then it occurs to me I really don’t have as many choices as I might think. I can’t run any more than I can. They’re proven hunters. Gray will find me no matter what. Which means all I’ve got is defiance, and I know he’ll whip my ass if I try that. My butt is still stinging from the last altercation I had with him.
So I get in the passenger seat and buckle up. As I do, a question occurs to me.
“Are we driving? Or taking the plane?”
“I’m not spending twenty hours in this car with the two of you,” Karl growls. “We’ll be taking the plane.”
He’s in the back, having stemmed the bleeding. I don’t think his nose is actually broken. Not yet anyway. The day is still early in that regard. Still plenty of time to pay him back for putting me through that captivity. I know he was involved in that somehow. Karl is the sort of person who doesn’t have feelings for anybody besides himself. Maybe not a true psychopath, just deeply, deeply selfish and sadistic.
We drive to a private airport, where a sleek black private plane is waiting. I’m not as impressed by it as some people might be. My plane is bigger, after all. But this is nice too, I suppose, if you’re not really going very far or taking very many people with you.
“You’re not impressed, are you,” Karl says. “Little Miss Moneybags probably never flew coach in her life.”
I’ve heard of coaches before. They’re what the British call buses.
I snort. “You can’t fly a bus,” I say. “You won’t get me that easily.”
“Coach is the colloquial term for flying economy class in a passenger plane,” Gray explains. “It’s pretty cramped and not very comfortable in other ways either.”
“Oh,” I say, blushing while Karl smirks, me having proved his point for him. “Am I supposed to be embarrassed that I have money? Do you want me to be ashamed for the life I was born into? Because I’m not.”
“No,” Karl says. “I don’t expect you to have shame.”
Man, he is really winning all these conversational gambits. I kind of hate it. It makes me feel more stupid and slower than I am. And it makes him look smarter than I bet he really is.
The pilot sets the plane in motion, and I use take-off as an excuse not to engage with Karl anymore. I really dislike him, both for the general murderousness, and the more specific desire to kill me personally that lingers just under his surface. Wolves are supposed to deal with their prey cleanly, but he’s enjoying toying with me like he’s a cat.
I can’t help but wonder what kind of reception awaits me in New Orleans. If they’re taking me all this way just to kill me, that will suck. I think Gray wants me alive anyway, so I have to assume that’s not what he thinks is going to happen.
Karl keeps looking at me. I try not to look back, but it is so hard to avoid the eye of someone who is staring me down that way.
“What?” I finally snap at him.
“Just ignore him,” Gray says.
This is going to be a long three hours in a tin can with two wolves. Wolves. I go back to thinking about that plot twist. I spent so much time trying to find these creatures, and the moment I did, they set about ruining me. Every time I’ve had any kind of interaction with wolf shifters, they hurt me. Why the hell did I get myself into this?
Did I ever really have a choice?
It feels like I’ve been drawn in fascination ever since the very first moment we met in the forest. I was scarred, and I’ve been chasing something about that scar ever since.
Everybody goes quiet. I wonder what the other two are thinking. I wonder if I am walking into a trap. Probably. Feels like I’ve been in a trap for a long time. I’m not sure there’s any way out.
CHAPTER 8
Calista
New Orleans is beautiful and ominous in equal measure. We land at a small airport where I am almost certain I see an alligator skittering off into the trees at the end of the runway.
This is not the environment I am used to. It is more humid, it is warmer. The very air smells of very different things. More raw, more animal, more magic.
A car is waiting for us at the airport. Our arrival is clearly expected and very well organized. It’s similar to the one that picked us up, big and black with tinted windows, even in the fronts where I’m pretty sure it’s not legal. Then again, this is another state. Laws are mutable in the United States. Go here, go there, they’re different and different again.