by Lucy Farago
“Look, if this is stressing you out, you should let me take over.”
Huh? She blinked away an oddly cute and far too disturbing vision of husky puppies vying for her attention. “I’m not stressed,” she snapped...before releasing her death-grip on the yoke. Stupid dog.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he snapped back.
She inhaled one hell of a calming breath and visibly let herself relax—again. The last thing she needed was that canine chasing his tail, causing havoc. Flying was the easy part. This dog was not going to get to her. Her control panel, however, was another matter. She wisely kept her “fuck” to herself. Not that it helped, because he saw it too.
“That’s not good,” he said.
Losing power to their only engine never was. Thankfully, it was another small hiccup and it restarted. “We should land.”
“Better than crashing,” he agreed. “Look, I know we don’t like each other, but I really need to know you can get us down…in one piece. I’m man enough to admit planes aren’t my thing—”
“And here I thought it was being this close to me that was making you all hot and bothered,” she said, woman enough to admit—to herself, anyway— that sarcasm wasn’t helping. So, she shifted gears, but only until they were safely on the ground. Then she’d go back to razzing his sorry ass. “I’m a good pilot. And while this isn’t my glider, I’m confident I can do this.” She’d been trained in emergency engine failures and had successfully landed with cut power, although never in a storm.
“But I really need you to chill. Siberian, you can do that, right? Isn’t that one of your things?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood after what must have been his reluctant confession. And while he hadn’t welcomed her touch before, but needing him to know she’d put their animosity aside for now, she covered his hand with hers.
When his eyes met hers, she saw he’d done the same. For now, if they weren’t friends, they were colleagues.
“As long as you’re sure. I was going to say I can fly the plane. I have some experience with emergency landings.”
Given he was there, alive and annoying her, he’d done it successfully. But she’d hazard a guess it wasn’t an experience he wanted repeated. “I-can-do-this,” she assured him. “Especially since, well, you know, the whole fear-of-flying thing.”
“I don’t fear flying…. It’s the crashing part that bothers me. So don’t kill me.”
At least he had the balls not to deny it. She shrugged. “As we’re both in the same plane, I’ll try my best.” Then she gave him her sauciest smirk, cutting off any retort by radioing air traffic control. “This is FUC6996—”
The wicked flash of light overwhelmed her vision, to the point she heard the dog bark they’d lost the control panel before she could see it for herself. “Can you see? What do we got?” she said, hoping the blue blobs obscuring her vision disappeared and Loki had her back.
“Siberian eyes react to light faster than most. It doesn’t disorient us the same way. Stop blinking. It doesn’t help. I’ve got control of the plane. Chill.”
The asshole was right. Blinking hard had only made it worse. When her vision cleared, she almost wished it hadn’t. Lightning had fried the instrument panel. “This isn’t good,” she said, realizing too late that she’d probably freaked out the dog even more.
“We’ll have to land by sight—sooner rather than later. We were clear of the range, but we’ll need to get under these clouds to make sure we stay that way. Start your descent.”
In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t appreciate his telling her what to do. But given she knew he wasn’t liking any of this, she found his levelheadedness calmed her. If he could keep his cool, so could she.
Luckily, once they cleared the dark mass of one shitty storm, there was no imminent mountain range threatening to turn them into pancakes. And even though she could see a lake, ditching in what was sure to be choppy waters was never good, especially if she sank the plane…or killed them. But she never doubted herself. She could do this. Otherwise, the Siberian wouldn’t let her hear the end of it. Given his stubborn streak, he’d follow her into the afterlife and hound her until she couldn’t take it anymore and she’d have to demand to cross the other not-so-rainbow bridge.
She made her descent and adjusted for what she assumed, what she hoped, was the right airspeed. She hadn’t felt or heard anything disturbing, so she’d be landing on the assumption her wheels were up. Thankfully, the blinding torrential rain held off until after she lined up the dark—and terrifying—lake. She pitched her altitude, ensuring her hull would hit the water first and readied herself to shut the throttle once she made contact. Given the violent storm striking the Cessna, hearing the spray of water hit the plane would be near impossible. Instinct would have to do.
“The lake is clear,” Loki said. “No obstacles. You can do this.”
She’d forgotten Siberians had acute, almost bionic vision, better even than felines. And while normally it would irk her, she was never more grateful to wipe that worry off her plate. Nothing said dead shifters like hitting a floating log in an emergency landing.
She smiled at Loki, appreciating his confidence in her, even if maybe it was fake. “Here goes nothing.”
He gave her hand a squeeze and then returned his attention to the looming lake.
Mia held her breath and, listening to her gut, cut the throttle.
4
It took Loki a few agonizing breaths to realize—gratefully—he was still alive. And then even more heart-pounding seconds to confirm Mia was too. Hand over his heart in an unexpected relief, he called her name. But she was out cold. With clumsy fingers, he hurried to unclip his seatbelt. “Fuck. Mia, wake up.”
Her lack of response sent his mind to the worst possible scenario. What if she’d broken her neck? They’d hit the water hard. Just how frail was her species?
“Mia.”
Finally, the clip released, and he was able to check for a pulse. He scanned the back of the plane for water and counted them lucky that there was none. If he had to perform CPR, he couldn’t do it in a sinking plane. He was, however, truly lucky when he felt the flicker beneath his fingertips.
Her left temple trickled blood down her pale cheek, the cut already marring her skin with an ugly bruise. She must have hit her head. He tossed his headset onto his seat before removing hers.
“Mia,” he repeated, gently stroking her face. Should she wake up suddenly, he didn’t want his face to be what startled her. Given their animosity, she’d probably slug him. But damn, wasn’t her skin soft beneath his callused fingers. With her long, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, he was surprised how even more beautiful she was. But he brushed his sudden urge to kiss her as nothing more than being grateful her mouth was closed and not spewing some disdainful comment.
She whimpered, and his stomach did something he didn’t like. He did not just react to her pain. He was hungry. That was it. He hated this cat. If you looked up she-bitch in the dictionary, Mia’s picture was under it. Hell, she’d written the book on it. He’d bet she taught a class at the Academy on how to piss off men. And yet… Shit. It was undeniable. His Siberian senses had mirrored Mia’s. While he was good at detecting other people’s emotions, this physical reaction to her emotion was reserved for pack, for mates. And fucking hell, she was neither.
She groaned, her eyelids fluttering open, and Loki shoved what just happened so far into a hole a million gophers would never dig it up. It was the emergency landing. The memory of having to shift in order to save his team…. It had fucked with his head.
“Hey, how do you feel?” he said, loud enough to be heard over the rain pelting the plane but not so loud as to shout and startle her.
“Like I just crash landed in an ocean and the ocean was having none of it.”
She raised her fingers to her head, and when they came away bloody, he reached behind her seat for the emergency first aid kit. Something he should have done earlier. “It was a l
ake, and except for the choppy water, it was a near-perfect landing.
“Leave it alone,” he told her when she kept prodding her cut. “I’m getting something to clean it up.”
He grabbed the gauze for now. After she got her bearings, they’d deal with the rest. “Stop,” he said, encircling her wrist to prevent her from fucking with the gash. And they called him stubborn.
“Looks like you hit your head,” he said, covering the cut with the gauze. “Good thing you have a thick skull.”
She closed one eye and stared up at him. “Are we back to hating each other?”
“It’s much more fun that way. Don’t you think?” Not to mention saner.
He hadn’t let go of her hand, and even though he knew damn well he should—that he would eventually have to—he didn’t want to. Maybe it was the ditching, and maybe he was reminded of the last time. Fuck, any moron would have flashbacks when he had to trust his life to a cat. But she hadn’t killed them. In fact, she’d landed beautifully.
It had taken everything he had to present a cool exterior. For starters, he wasn’t going to lose it in front of a cat…or, if he were being honest, he hadn’t wanted to appear like a dumbass wimp in front of Mia. She might hate him for god only knew why, but he…. Well, he might not like her, but he most definitely wanted her. Shit, maybe he’d hit his head too. He put her hand over the gauze and dropped his ass into his seat.
He took his mind off wanting to slam the cat into a wall in one hell of a fuck session by checking the instruments. They had power, which was good. He could swim when he had to, but luckily those occasions were few and far between. And he wished to keep it that way, given the water would freeze his nuts off. “We should be able to drive the plane to shore.”
Mia let out a soft groan as she attempted to unbuckle her harness. He tried to shut off his senses to her obvious discomfort but couldn’t. He ground his teeth but wasn’t able to stop himself from asking, “Are you okay?”
“We should check for leaks,” she said, her deflection worrisome.
This was stupid. They were colleagues. He should care if she was hurt. It had nothing to do with wanting to bury himself so deep inside her, to fill her so completely, she’d forget her very unfounded animosity toward him.
“Here, let me,” he said, releasing the clips. And then at her stiff movements, he helped her out of her seat. “If you’re hurt, you need to tell me.”
“I’m fine.” But when she finally met his gaze, her face, growing paler, said otherwise.
“No, you’re not.” He didn’t move, effectively blocking her exit out of the cockpit. “Save your heroics for later.”
“Dog, as much as I’d enjoy it, if you don’t move, I’m going to vomit all over you.”
Certain she wasn’t kidding, he assisted her into one of the few passenger seats and quickly handed her a bag from the side pocket. When her heaving stopped, he didn’t know if she’d prefer some privacy or, God forbid, comfort. He decided to be a decent human being and stayed. Kneeling beside her, he did the unimaginable. He rubbed her back and told himself it was her soft flannel shirt that felt good under his hand, and not the woman. When she finished, he opened a face wipe and handed it to her then disposed of the bag in the garbage. Twenty minutes ago, he may have reminded her that twice she’d made wisecracks about him puking, but things had changed. Time would tell how much.
The plane bobbed with the turbulent current from the storm, so they needed to think about getting closer to land. As far as he could tell, there’d been no immediate damage done when they’d landed, but given the strong winds now bombarding them, they shouldn’t chance a small fracture turning into a bigger one.
“Stay here, Mia. I can get us to shore.” Wow, how weird was that? He was actually calling her by her first name. He always referred to her as “cat” or, when he was feeling particularly ornery, “kitty,” and, yes, on occasion, “Fisher,” her surname.
“We have power?”
“Instrument panel is still out, but barring any damage, the engine should work.”
She grabbed the armrest and manoeuvred herself so she could see behind, into the hold. “No water?”
“I think we’re good.”
“What about the ATVs?”
“We’ll worry about them later.”
She glanced out the dark window. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Neither can I, but that’s a good thing. If there were any obstacles, we’d see them.”
He knew his eyesight was better than hers, and anything he could do better than her always irked her. Her inability to smell ice thickness had gifted him countless hours of ribbing when she’d fallen through while demonstrating winter survival skills to her class last winter.
In her defense, the river had appeared safe. Anyone other than Loki might have missed the stronger undercurrent weakening the frozen surface. But earlier that day she’d made a stupid wisecrack about his inability to follow simple instructions. How was he to know “Find snowshoes for the recruits,” included her? So, he hadn’t been feeling particularly obligated to warn her. He guessed he could’ve asked how many pairs she’d required, but then he’d never have gotten to see her popsicle imitation. What would she say if she knew that picture he’d snapped of her being dragged out of the icy water adorned his toolbox?
“What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.” He stood, deliberately hovering over her. It was a dumbass macho move, but it was their thing. She drove him to insanity. He took every opportunity to return the favor. “If you don’t need me,”—he nodded to the cockpit— “I’ll see how much juice we have to get us to shore.”
“I should do that,” she said and attempted to stand.
Refusing to allow her wobbly knees to get to him, he gently pushed her back into the seat. “I can handle this. Besides, what if you get sick again?”
The glare she shot him might have intimidated him had she not looked far too frail for his liking. Damn, there went his fucking senses again. This would have to stop. Without a doubt, she was feeling far worse than she was letting on. “That cut is super ugly,” he said, knowing she’d have something to say about it.
“You’re ugly.”
Loki laughed. Better she focus on hating him than dumb heroics. “Good one, cat. Why don’t you concentrate on healing and leave the comebacks for when you’re at your best? Wouldn’t want me to one-up you.”
With her soft growls humming in his ears, he took the pilot seat and vehemently ignored how good those sexy purrs would sound in his bed.
Training his vision over the lake, he saw that, except for a couple of major boulders near the rocky shore, it would be smooth…er…sailing. Within five minutes he’d piloted them close enough that should they have to disembark quickly, without the ATVs, the swim wouldn’t be taxing. Either way, they could get wet, but given her head injury and the violent storm pitching the aircraft as if it were made of Styrofoam, he’d rather be closer to dry land than not.
“Maybe we should stay here until the storm lets up,” he tossed over his shoulder before cutting the engine.
“Can’t you fix the plane?”
“Maybe. If I don’t need parts.” As long as the hull or floats hadn’t sustained any damage, he most likely could. But should he fail, he wasn’t about to open himself up to her ridicule. Instead, he grabbed a couple of blankets out of the storage units.
“We’re hunkering down?” she asked before taking the blanket he offered her.
He’d half expected her to balk at his thoughtfulness and took it as a sign of cooperation when she didn’t. It was a tad unsettling.
“Hey, I enjoy walks in the rain just as much as the other guy. But how about we forgo the foreplay and just go straight to bed?”
Mia snorted. “Lucky me. A Siberian with a sense of humor,” she said, thick with sarcasm.
“Lucky you would be, to have a Siberian, this Siberian, in your bed.” He needed their relationship to go back to normal, mutual
hate and disdain, and if it meant baiting her, then so be it. He heard her mutter a, “you wish,” before he carefully, so as not to jostle her, straddled a leg over hers to grab the only other available seat.
Everything else had been removed to accommodate the ATVs, so it wasn’t like he had a choice. She’d just have to suck it up if she didn’t want to sit next to him. No way was he parking his ass on the floor. His ego, however, took great satisfaction in the way her gaze lingered on his crotch. But then, wasn’t that why he took his sweet-ass time climbing over Mia?
A wise man would’ve left it at that. A wise man wouldn’t want to screw a woman who made it her life’s ambition to piss him off. “It’s rude to stare at a man’s junk,” he said, sitting and then opening the blanket on his lap.
“One would first have to find it, to stare at it. Must be tough, finding women who like pencil dicks. Maybe that’s why you live in your garage. No one to laugh at you.”
“Keep on thinking that if it stops you from admiring my well-endowed man parts.”
She opened her mouth to say something but instead let out an exasperated huff. “What about the ATVs?” she snapped. “How are we going to get them on dry land?” She shook out her own blanket and flung it across her legs.
Had he hit a nerve? “We get to run the first live water test.”
“They float?” she asked, far less surprised at his genius than he’d expected.
“They’re more windsurfer than jet ski, but yes.”
She closed her eyes and lay her head on the headrest. “I guess you’re not totally useless.”
He let the insult slide. Fighting with him would keep her focus off healing. Not that he cared one wit about her head, but now that they’d landed, he needed her at her best. The sooner they got to their planned location, the faster they could part ways. No way did he give one stinking iota about the cat. No fucking way. The adrenaline from the landing had fucked with his instincts. That was it, that was all, that was all she wrote. End of story.
