Cyrus pulled through a tall fence that protected a long strip of asphalt, a small tower, and a hangar. He drove down the runway, stopping within feet of a large plane. The thing wasn’t one of those huge jets the president had, but it wasn’t a tiny crop duster, either.
Cyrus got out and then opened the back passenger door. “I’ll come back for Myrina after we get you settled.”
“Or you could just leave her and take her back to the compound,” Xari suggested.
He bit back a smile. “I know you’ve had your differences, but Myrina is a champion of this region, too. And it may make things go easier if you try and get along.”
Nya started to suggest that maybe he should give Myrina the same sage advice but decided against it.
The engines stirred as the pilot started the plane.
Oh, God. It’s happening.
They walked across the small portable hallway that connected the stairs to the fuselage. Two males in khaki’s and white shirts stood in front of the cockpit doors. Nya’s heart sped as she noticed the official Scythian emblem embroidered on their shirts. Cyrus followed with an unconscious Myrina draped over his arms.
“Excuse me. There are a few beds in the back. I thought it best if Myrina continues resting.”
“I’m sure we’re all happy you did,” Xari said.
Cyrus smirked as he shuffled past, made his way to the back, and returned alone.
“Now.” Cyrus gestured to the hulking warriors still at the doorway. “These are our guides who will see us to Carpathia.”
Both males bowed, the taller one, oddly familiar, spoke in Dacian. “It is a pleasure meeting the American Champions, I am Victor, and this is Erik.”
A steward came forward and closed the plane’s door. Black specks crossed Nya’s eyes as she realized there was no hope of escape. Panic, fresh and horrible, flooded through her, and bile rose in her throat.
“Excuse me.” Her thick voice barely made it across her lips as she dropped her pack and fled, finding the small bathroom and slamming the door.
Nauseous and faint, she sat on the toilet lid and put her head between her knees, gulping in deep breaths of air.
I’m not dying ... I’m not dying ...
A small knock sounded in the quiet. “Anya Thalestris, are you all right?” Cyrus’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door, and Nya tried to pull herself together.
“Just need a minute,” she wheezed.
The floor vibrated as the plane taxied to the runway. Nya retched. She stood, flipped up the toilet seat, and her knees hit the floor in one fell swoop. Pain ran up her thigh as she lost her breakfast.
She hadn’t had a panic attack in years, not since the months after the incident on the docks.
And didn’t that bring back precious memories?
Nya wiped the seat clean and flushed the toilet before stumbling as she stood. Trembling hands fumbled for a small basket above the sink. She sifted through soaps and lotions, whispering a prayer of thanks when she found what she was looking for—a small bottle of mouthwash. Dumping half the thing in her mouth, she let the sting of the alcohol wash away the bitter taste of bile.
“Nya.” Xari rattled the handle. “I’ve seen you pee. Unlock the door.”
Nya spit in the sink before dropping the mouthwash back in the basket and placing it on the shelf. She held her breath as her thumb worked furiously over her palm. She couldn’t hang out in the bathroom the rest of her life, and she didn’t want the Carpathian warriors to think her a coward. Or a nutcase.
She visualized calm sunsets, laundry dancing in the wind as it hung on the line, buttercups, fucking sunshine sparkling on a lake.
Jax’s scowling face flashed in her mind, and she half-smiled. Rolling her head from side to side, she took one last deep breath and turned the lock to “vacant.”
“No need to panic. I’m feeling better.” Nya nudged Xari into the hall. “Just a little queasy. Ready to go?”
“You’re not a little queasy,” Xari furiously whispered. “I thought you had a heart attack. What is up with you?”
“Nothing.” Nya started down the small corridor. “I’m okay now,” she said a little louder as she reached the main cabin and flopped down on the leather recliner closest to the window.
Victor, or was it Erik, came forward and took a seat across from her, but she refused to look at him—or the other one. She couldn’t meet their eyes. Not yet.
“You know,” Xari piped up. “Nya did say she’s only flown on big jets. Smaller planes make her anxious. I’m sure it will be better once we’re in the air.”
The captain’s voice chimed over the intercom, something about a seatbelt, but Nya kept her face toward the window concentrating on the simple act of breathing.
Xari fastened Nya’s buckle as the plane accelerated down the runway.
The plane lifted, angling upward, and Nya closed her eyes, her knuckles turned white as her fingers dug into the armrest.
“Look out the window, Vtachi. You’re flying,” Xari whispered.
Jax’s nickname broke through the panic and numbness, and a tear trickled down Nya’s cheek. She turned her back toward the cabin and placed her forehead on the glass, watching her old life turn to mottled shapes of muted green.
Loneliness blanketed her in utter sorrow, and she closed her eyes, shutting out everyone around her. Someone, probably Xari, placed a blanket over her shoulder and a pillow beneath her head. Ironic. At this moment, the one person who had accused her of running away was the very person she wanted to fly to.
Chapter Ten
The plane jarred as wheels met pavement, rumbling beneath her feet. Nya stirred, noticing that her seatbelt had been refastened. Or had she ever taken it off?
“Welcome back, sleepyhead.” Xari smiled. “You look better.”
“Then I will call her father and tell him not to schedule a flight.” Cyrus’s voice came from behind.
That had Nya sitting up straight. “Please tell me you didn’t tell him I was sick.”
He looked offended. “It was my duty, Anya Thalestris. I was ordered to keep him abreast of every situation involving you.”
Erik and Victor seemed amused by the conversation—which pissed Nya off more.
She stiffened as Erik stepped forward and took a seat across from them. It had been so long since she’d seen a strange male, she just sat and stared. He must be only a few years older. His ice-blue eyes, almost white in the middle, made his pupils seem endless. Light skin and black hair brought out his sharp, even features. He studied her, and she studied him back. Nya viewed him as she would an insect she’d never seen, while Xari, on the other hand, sat right next to her practically drooling.
“Anya Thalestris,” his deep voice rumbled. “Are you not looking forward to visiting your native land?”
Loaded question. She kept her expression neutral.
“All Scythians look forward to visiting Carpathia,” Nya finally hedged.
Xari sat a little straighter. “I’ve been looking forward to this since our third year.”
Erik glanced at her, taking in her swinging blue-tipped hair. “I’m sure you will find the motherland beautiful.”
“I’m sure I will, too.” Xari blushed as she smiled.
“Is your name on the list?” Nya asked, shocking him a little.
“Yes, Anya. Although my profile does not suit any on this plane, and I’ll have to wait until a primary candidate is let go to be considered.”
Xari beamed at the news.
“Where are we?” Myrina’s natural whine came from the back of the plane, and Nya groaned. Cyrus stood, motioning Myrina to her seat, which, mercifully was across the aisle.
“Have a good rest?” Xari asked sweetly.
“Like you care,” Myrina griped. When she noticed Erik, her green eyes flashed from hateful to positively angelic in a microsecond. “Cyrus, please introduce me.”
Erik greeted her in the Dacian tradition of placing his fist o
ver his heart. Myrina tossed her obviously just brushed curls away from her face.
But it was Victor’s reaction that caught Nya’s eye. He hadn’t said a word since they’d been airborne. For the first time, Nya looked at him. His skin tone was a few shades darker like he’d been in the sun for a while. His well-groomed short beard covered an angular jaw, and he looked to be mid to late thirties. His cornflower blue eyes held that calm, assessing quality that reminded Nya of Jax. But what had her intrigued about the man was the way he observed Myrina like he was systematically cataloging every weakness the female had.
“I’ll go and check with the pilot to see how much longer before we’re back in the air.” Erik stood and headed toward the front of the plane.
Victor must have felt Nya’s gaze because his eyes found hers. She kept still, refusing to look away.
What was it with eye contact? Jax taught her early on not to let anyone rattle her cage, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Victor finally smiled. “I never congratulated you on your victory, Anya Thalestris. You must be very proud.”
The lead-in. He would analyze her response, everything from her words and tone inflection to her body language. She didn’t move a muscle, kept her calm demeanor, and tried not to give anything away. As the seconds ticked, Victor’s attention held a fascination that bordered on disturbing.
Nya slowly took a breath and spoke in Dacian. “All the warriors at the American Academy were commendable opponents. It is an honor to be considered their champion.”
Victor chuckled. “An answer worthy of a politician.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the restroom.”
He headed toward the back of the plane, while Cyrus put in his headphones, typing away on his laptop.
“Yeah, right ... worthy opponents.” Myrina rolled her eyes.
“Rissa beat you into the ground last week.” Xari leaned forward. “So yeah, I’d say plenty of females could be on this plane instead of us.”
Myrina’s lips flattened to a thin, ugly line. “Rissa should be here instead of Jax’s suka.”
Xari started to get up, but Nya stopped her. “Don’t.”
The redhead snorted. “I’m so sick of you, Anya. You’re all look-how-humble-I-am when everyone knows you cheated. It’s no coincidence that you were alone in the woods for days with the weapons instructor before the championship, and then he mysteriously was assigned as your last challenge.”
“Nya had no control over that.” Anger deepened Xari’s tone.
“Yeah, sure. In four years no one, not even the trainers, could put Jax on the ground. And yet, Anya manages to defeat him with her leg ripped open, bleeding all over the place. I can’t believe after she spreads her legs to win the championship that you’d still defend her.”
Something slammed behind them, and their eyes shot to the back of the plane.
Victor’s heated gaze landed on Myrina. “Are you finished berating your fellow champions, or would you rather I wait in the back until Anya has had enough and kicks your ass.”
Myrina blanched.
He calmly walked to his seat, his eyes never leaving Myrina as he switched to Dacian. “You’ve accused a champion of your region and a Tovaris of cheating. I’m sure you have evidence to back your claim.”
Myrina’s eyes widened.
Nya cleared her throat. “Myrina broke her arm in the Trials and has been taking pain medicine.” She smiled at Victor, ignoring Myrina’s glare and Xari’s why-the-hell-are-you-defending-her frown. “I’m sure that’s the reason for her being so rude.”
Victor’s eyes warmed with gentle humor. “You’ve no need to protect her. I’ve read her personality profile which clearly defines both her good qualities and her shortcomings.”
“You’re a psychiatrist?” Myrina practically shrieked.
Victor sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Yes. I specialize in clinical and cross-cultural psychiatry.” He reverted the power of his gaze back to Nya. “But perhaps you are right. We will chalk Myrina’s careless accusation up to medication. After all, I’m sure the last thing you want is the Tovaris Suveran meeting us at the airport, demanding a challenge.”
Myrina swallowed a few times and looked away.
Erik came from the cockpit. “Looks like we’re clear for takeoff.”
“I’m not feeling well. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back and lay down.” Warily, Myrina stood.
Nya watched her slink to the back of the plane.
Xari leaned over. “You know she’ll hide until we get to Romania. Maybe we should thank Victor.”
Nya smirked. “Maybe you should thank him. I’m not that brave.”
Chapter Eleven
A hot bowl of hearty stew had Nya longing for bed. But after Myrina’s little meltdown, she’d rather sleep in a lion’s den than be stuck in a room with the witch. Well, that and Victor kept watching her every move, like she was an experimental lab monkey. Even though she was exhausted, and her thigh felt like it was on fire, she’d be damned if she showed any sign of weakness. Xari must have felt the same because after dinner she had her nose in one of Rissa’s books, completely unashamed of the writhing, naked bodies on the cover.
Nya shifted, trying to ease the ache in her thigh. She probably should change the bandage. And she needed to pee, but she’d been fighting it, hoping that everyone would be asleep before she moved.
That, apparently, wasn’t going to happen. Erik played on an iPad, Cyrus was on his laptop typing away, and Victor sat across the aisle, leafing through a magazine.
“I’ll be right back,” Nya muttered, grabbing her pack. Her stitches pulled as she stood, and she winced.
Victor glanced up while flipping a page.
Cyrus watched Nya hobble to the aisle, frowning as she limped. He grabbed his phone, his thumbs skittering across the screen.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Nya finally snapped. “I haven’t moved in hours. My leg is stiff, that’s all. No need to sound the alarm.”
Cyrus sighed. “He worries.”
“Tell my father I’m fine.”
The older warrior looked at Nya like he was deciding what to say. “I was texting Jax.”
Victor closed his magazine, now openly watching their conversation, but Nya ignored him.
“Tell Jax he’s off the clock. And, please, keep my parents out of this, too. They’re on a mission, and they don’t need the distraction.”
She walked away before Cyrus could reply. Shuffling to the bathroom, Nya hustled in and closed the door. Leaning against the sink, she opened her bag and found her toothbrush. Getting the fuzz off her teeth felt like heaven, and after she grabbed a bottled water and did the swish-and-spit routine, she almost felt normal.
Now, to take care of her leg. She washed her hands before unzipping her pants and pulling them down to her knees. Yellow had seeped through the white gauze, bringing with it a foul odor. She peeled off the bandage and groaned. The bottom half of the gash had almost healed, but the top still wept with infection. Nya bit her lip as she squeezed either side; thick liquid oozed from between the stitches. She swiped the old bandage across the wound, gathering the pus before throwing it in the trash. Taking the new padding from her first aid kit, she found the antibiotic cream and slathered it on. If it weren’t better by tomorrow night, she’d send for someone. It was rare that Scythians needed help when healing, but the stress she’d been under this past month would be enough to lower anyone’s immune system.
She shuffled to the door, stopping when she met her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
God. She looked awful. The dark circles had gotten worse, making her eyes seem too big for her face.
Jax was right. She hadn’t been taking care of herself.
That’s not what he said, though, is it? He said your needs weren’t being met, and that’s a different thing.
She grabbed the brush from her bag and ran the bristles through her hair until the tangled mess became a lo
ng, glossy mane. The tension in her shoulders eased as she pulled her hair back into a bun.
Finally, feeling more in control, she put her things in her bag and started toward her seat.
“Better, are we?” Victor smiled.
“I brushed my teeth,” she blurted out for some odd reason.
“Ah.” He said it like she’d just revealed her deepest, darkest secret.
She hated it when Jax did that, much less a stranger. It was on the tip of her tongue to lash out, tell him he didn’t know shit about her and to quit acting like he did.
Instead, she settled back, pulled the blanket over her, and watched the plane’s wing cut through the clouds. Bone deep loneliness set in. A shiver tickled her skin, and she pulled the covers up to her ears.
Stephan stood outside the palatial meeting room, listening to Penn rage about incompetence. Why couldn’t the council at least try to keep him calm? He took a deep breath before opening the door and slipping inside.
“If we don’t have control of the South American region soon, I’ll have someone’s balls!” Penn slammed his drink down.
Twelve men, dressed in formal Drahzdan uniforms, sat at a table, their stoic faces never leaving their leader.
Penn paused as Stephan closed the door.
“Sir.” Stephan cleared his throat and made his way across the room, bending so his lips almost touched Penn’s ear. “Your Ana’s plane is in the air, but she’s not on it.”
“What?” Penn screeched. The twelve sitting at the table winced.
Stephan rushed on in a hurried whisper. “Word has it the Scythians changed plans at the last minute. There was a private plane that took off shortly after, but its destination was France. I believe it is a layover and the plane will continue to Romania. We have operatives in the airport should they depart and go in, but I fear the Scythians will keep her secure until they reach the consulate.”
The Scythian Trials Page 10
