Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  “First time flyer?” Dennis asks as he sweeps my hands away to buckle my harness.

  “Nnnooo. I-I’ve flown before.”

  I’m so grateful to have the straps resting snugly against my body that I’m able to ignore the burning sensation that lingers after Dennis’ touch. Gavin isn’t as unaffected, growling a little under his breath at Dennis.

  Dennis chuckles, and slaps Gavin on the arm before moving to stand in the space between the pilot’s seat and Connor’s. He faces us and begins a preflight instruction, complete with crazy faces and hand gestures. I think he may be on something. An overdose of Prozac or something maybe? He’s entirely too happy for preflight and possibly pre-death.

  Gavin is humming something under his breath. The melody is light, lilting, and somehow comforting. Through his headset, Dennis announces that we’re ready for takeoff and the comfort dissipates. I can feel the shift in pressure as we build speed down the runway. There’s an awful screeching noise as the wheels lift off the runway, only to return again in a small jolt. Two more of those jolts and we’re no longer on the ground. The grass lifts away and my stomach climbs right along with the view.

  “I might need a bag,” I say.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Heather, midwife extraordinaire, not only carries vials of prenatal vitamin cocktails, but also carries pregnancy safe nausea remedies. I don’t even flinch at the taste, so relieved to have respite available. Gavin lifts the armrest from between us and places his arm around me. Too sick to protest, I let my head fall to his shoulder.

  “There’s always one,” Dennis mutters to Connor upfront.

  My hearing may not be superhuman, but I heard that, and I long to say I did, just to shut up Dennis’ condescension. Gavin takes care of it for me, growling beside me, joined by Connor’s own gravelly growl.

  “Easy, lass,” Gavin whispers, turning back to me.

  He places his hand over my stomach, just holding it there. The warmth is so amazing, and eases the nausea just enough that I allow it. Heck, I’m tempted to thank him for the normally unwanted touch. It’s that soothing.

  The flight lasts four hours. Four miserable hours.

  They all encourage me to sleep, but I just can’t. Every time I manage to drift to sleep, I jerk awake, visions of flying vampires dancing through my head. Terror shrouds my dreams, and every waking moment as well.

  I think I may be ruined. I might have PTSD, or something close, which is pathetic. Many have been through much worse than I have. I can’t control how I feel, or the fear that rides me so hard, but I still feel guilty for it. I should be stronger. I need to be stronger. For Liam. He deserves a mother who can protect him. He needs a mother who is brave. Will I ever be worthy of him?

  Dennis uses his headset to announce that we’ll be arriving soon, and to remind us to keep our harnesses buckled for landing. No worries on that front, other than some restless shifting in the interest of attaining some level of comfort, I haven’t touched the harness. I’ve been harboring an unrealistic worry that if I touch the thing, the buckle will disengage without my consent.

  I grab Gavin’s hand as my gaze darts to the window and the ground. The features of the landscape are getting bigger and much too fast it seems.

  “Did I mention I have a fear of flying?” I ask.

  Huh, that almost came out conversational, as if I’m not outright drowning in terror.

  “Maybe once or twice, Nat,” Gavin responds.

  Hawke laughs from behind us.

  “More like a thousand times. She’s all like, ‘We gonna die! Oh, Mylanta! We all gonna die!’” Hawke yells.

  His extreme southern drawl, combined with the high pitch that still doesn’t sound remotely feminine, keeps my ire at bay, instead somehow allowing me to laugh and relax a little.

  “I’m a yank, Hawke. It’d be more like, ‘We’re going to die. Life sucks. I blame the republicans,’” I reply in a deadpan tone.

  “Those dang republicans,” he mutters behind me.

  I laugh again, but not quite as authentically as before. My gaze is drawn back to the window. The ground is so close now. The runway lights are a beacon of hope glowing in the twilight. It’s comforting that the runway is so much longer and wider than the one we took off from. If Dennis manages on that little strip back in Ilwaco, this huge, platform like runway will be a piece of cake for him. Surely.

  “How many flight hours does he have?” I ask Gavin.

  “Hundreds, I’m sure, lass.”

  “In other words, you don’t know.”

  “Aye, I doona know,” he admits. “Maybe you should close your eyes.”

  No way. I know from experience riding roller coasters that it’s not a viable option. Closing your eyes just makes it worse. I’d like to see what’s coming, even if I have no hope of changing or controlling any part of my fate from inside this tube of flying metal.

  “It’ll be dark when we board the next flight,” I mutter beneath my breath.

  I know better than to borrow trouble. Heck, we haven’t even survived this flight, so there’s no reason to be thinking about the next one. But the thought of flying at night just seems reckless. Won’t they assume we’re heading back to Scotland? Isn’t that the obvious thought? Just how long and fast can a vampire fly? Could they catch up with us?

  “We’ve gained enough distance that we should be safe as long as we keep moving.”

  I don’t know if Gavin is lying to keep me placid, but there’s no real way to know, so back to the window my attention goes.

  Here we go. We’re going to hit ground any minute. The wheels will burn rubber, tearing apart under the strain; we’ll careen out of control, slingshot to the side, and slam into the control tower. Shouldn’t we have slowed down a bit more?

  Something strokes along my neck, diverting my attention for a second. Then a warm hand cups my chin, turning me away from the window and toward Gavin. His lips touch mine without warning, strong and fiery. He kisses me until I swear I see stars, his fingers caressing along my skin as he holds me in place for the taking. When he leans back, his eyes are sparkling, and he’s smiling.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “ . . . you for sailing with me today. I hope everyone enjoyed the flight. If you need help with your harness, please remain calm, and I will come to you,” Dennis announces from up front.

  “We’ve landed?” I ask, incredulous.

  Hawke guffaws from his seat at my statement, while Gavin unbuckles his harness and then mine, smiling softly at me. Connor has already unbuckled his own harness and is standing next to his seat. I’m jealous of his stretching movements, stuck in this chair for far too long.

  Looking back to Gavin, I see his smile is almost conspiratorial, like we share some grand secret. The secret is why this man is not yet taken. Someone should bottle up Gavin, so I can sell his essence; he’s that powerful. We could make it into cologne for men who can’t get a date on their own. We’d make a killing.

  “Wow,” I say again.

  “Thank you,” Gavin replies, his smile transforming into one of smug satisfaction.

  Oh, whoah. Hormones, calm it down. The reason this man isn’t taken? He can transform into a wolf. He’s not safe, not for me, and not for Liam.

  I cough a little and shove past Gavin into the aisle. I need some fresh air. Liam does too, if the frantic movement within my belly is any indication. I wait at the door, needing Dennis to lift it. He’s too busy flirting with poor Heather to take care of it.

  “Dennis? Want a good online review? Then open the dang door.”

  “Yes, mam. Right you are!”

  Dennis tells me all about the different sites the airport uses as he takes his sweet time opening the door and lowering the steps. When I try to move past him, he shuffles back and goes down the stairs first. He’s unsure of how to deal with the suddenly volatile, pregnant woman on his hands. Keep ‘em guessing, that’s what I always say.

  Once everyone has disembarked, Denni
s walks us to the terminal.

  “Thank you again for choosing our services. Don’t forget about those reviews, darlin’,” Dennis says to me.

  I nod noncommittally, prompting Dennis to leave his campaign in favor of trying to get Heather’s phone number. She doesn’t have her phone anymore, because Hawke trashed them all back in the woods, but I don’t bother telling Dennis that. I’m using this time to regain my bearings. I can’t think when Gavin is too close, and it’s affecting my judgment. Every time he kisses me, I start to consider him as a real, potential partner, as a potential father, and it’s not a smart thought. We can never be. He’s too dangerous to my future, and more importantly, to Liam’s future.

  Gavin digs through his rucksack and pulls out a little leather bag. He grabs a brochure and a pen from the check-in desk, scrawls something down, then drops it in the bag. He hands it to Heather, and then he and Hawke go to the desk to check on our next flight, this one to London, England.

  I never thought I’d get to go to London. These flights have to be insanely expensive. I wish I could call Meagan and tell her about this. We’d talk about how English men differ from men stateside. We would giggle about their accents. Then I could call Maxim and brag that I’m on vacation while he’s back home in school. But I can’t do any of that.

  “This way, Rìgain,” Connor says, redirecting my attention to my need for a bathroom—and fast.

  I follow Connor, and Heather trails close behind. I don’t know what she said to get rid of Dennis, but whatever it was, it had to be harsh. Man was persistent.

  “You got more of that anti-nausea stuff stashed somewhere?” I ask her.

  I’m already dreading the coming flight. I wonder how long it will be . . .

  Before Heather can answer, I’ve already moved on to the next thing.

  “Connor?”

  “Yes, Rìgain?” he answers.

  “I have a name, Connor. It’s Natalie. Just Natalie. Anyway, how long will this flight be?”

  “Nine hours and twenty minutes,” Heather answers for him. “And yes, I have the medicine you’ll need until we get back home.”

  “Nine hours?!”

  My words are more screech than anything else, causing Connor to pull me tighter to his side, while his gaze zooms all along the terminal. We’ve garnered a few questioning gazes, and some surly looks from previously sleeping people, but other than that it’s all good.

  “I’ll have a heart attack in nine hours. I’ll develop preeclampsia in nine hours. Heck, I’ll go into premature labor in nine hours! I can’t be in a tin metal death tube for nine hours!”

  “We are prepared for all eventualities. All will be well,” Heather reassures me. She looks to Connor and grasps my arm, though he doesn’t release his own hold. “We shall return shortly.”

  Oh, we’re standing in front of the women’s bathroom. Connor looks torn. I suspect that he’d happily don a wig and dress if it were handy, just to go inside with me. He’s probably wondering if I might drown trying to wash my face in the bathroom sink. I pat his arm.

  “If anyone attempts anything, I’ll scream bloody murder.”

  “Screaming my name or the word, help will suffice.”

  “Right. OK then. Unless the two of you want an accident . . . ”

  Connor drops my arm instantly, and Heather and I go around the curve leading to the ladies’ room. She seems confident leaving our protection outside.

  “So, like, can you fight?” I ask.

  “I can protect you should the need arise.”

  “Good to know.”

  Once again, I’m thankful I requested Heather over Athol and that Gavin listened. If the need arose while I was with Athol, I think she’d help someone kill my unworthy self.

  The bathroom is large, diverting into two sections; one with toilet stalls, while I suspect the other holds shower stalls. After we both relieve ourselves, I look toward what I think is the shower section, but I don’t expect we’ll have time for that. Heather surprises me by grabbing my arm once again and leading the way. This side of the bathroom wraps around to a larger, more open area. With a swipe of a black card at the front desk, the attendant smiles at Heather and welcomes us to the Premiere Lounge.

  Again, the almighty dollar is funding my comfort. If I make it out of this, my financial debt to Gavin will be huge. But none of that matters when we enter a section of the lounge with cubbies filled with towels. Heather and I each take one, and enter a room with eight blue shower stalls, three of them empty. Steam fills the room, fogging the mirrors on the other wall.

  “Here,” she says, handing me the bag Gavin gave her earlier.

  I open it to reveal travel size bottles of shaving gel, unscented lotion, body wash, shampoo, and . . . a razor! I won’t need the shampoo, lotion, or body wash, as there are baskets of sample toiletries by the sinks on the counter, but if I want to shave, I’ll need to use his razor.

  The airport is unable to just have razors lying about, as they could be potential weapons or even invite suicidal thoughts and liability. Lots of liability. Good thing Connor isn’t here to see this. He’d take the razor away for sure, or worse—insist on shaving me himself. Now that thought is uncomfortable and nauseating.

  Looking back to the razor, I consider the implications. I should refuse to use it. It would serve him right if he tried to cop a feel under my pants only to discover I am as furry as his pack mates are as wolves.

  Inside the bag is the brochure he wrote on earlier, with a note that reads:

  The acceptance and use of this gift signifies your willingness to kiss me with a beard.

  That decides it. I’ll use the razor and the shaving cream. Furthermore, I’ll enjoy the hell out of it. But I will not kiss Gavin, bearded or otherwise, unless of course we’re landing in an unnatural flying contraption again.

  I am willing to kiss him, annoyingly so, in fact, as evidenced by my enjoyment upon receiving a kiss on the plane. However, that doesn’t mean that I will kiss him. Being willing to do something and actually doing something are two different things. It’s a shame that Gavin doesn’t seem to understand that difference.

  “What about clothes?” I ask.

  I know there’s a designated bag for me somewhere, but I think Connor still has it. It’s hard to keep track of it when I’m never the one carting it around.

  I’m holding onto the razor for dear life, because even if I can’t shower, I am going to shave. I needn’t have worried. Heather is squatting on the floor, rifling through her own duffel bag. She packs like a military man would, everything rolled and intertwined together to make the most of the limited space. She pulls out a pair of black, cuffed jogging pants, a plain navy sweater, woolen socks, and a navy sweatshirt.

  I take Gavin’s small bag, and enter the shower. There’s a small space between the actual shower and the rest of the room, allowing people to get dressed while keeping their feet dry. I drape Heather’s clothes on a hook there, and then jump into the actual shower.

  As soon as I turn the knob, the welcoming heat suffuses the stall and my tired, worn body. It’s one of the best feelings ever. There’s just something amazing about the effect of that heat on the body. Every muscle eases, my shoulders droop in supreme relaxation, and everything feels manageable for the first time in a long time. Hot showers: it’s one more thing that I’ve taken for granted in the past. The soothing relief of the water is enough to make me rethink my resolve not to kiss Gavin. He deserves a kiss for providing this.

  The shower next to mine kicks on, and I know that Heather is also bathing. We all need a shower really. I hope Gavin, Connor, and Hawke are on the men’s side getting cleaned up as well. If not, the other passengers on the next flight might complain. It’s amazing that Dennis didn’t seem bothered by our stench. Maybe Heather should have jumped on that. I imagine it’s rare to find someone who’s willing to ignore grime that’s been entrenched through days of forest wandering and still find you attractive.

  The
forest did more than dirty us up. I notice my bruises are quite colorful as I soap up my body. I also have a new collection of scrapes and scratches. None of them are deep, but they do sting when I scrub body wash down my arms and legs. One particularly long slice down my right calf beads up tiny droplets of blood before the shower’s stream washes it down the drain. If only all my troubles could be erased that easily.

  Light tapping against the outside of my stall reminds me that I can’t spend the rest of my life in the shower, as much as I wish I could. I pull Heather’s clothes from the hook and dress quickly. She’s not quite as tall as I am, leaving some of my ankle and lower calf uncovered. Though thankfully, she’s muscular and not stick figure size or these pants would not work. The elastic waistband is likely already screaming out for mercy.

  I’m not worried about the length difference in the pants. It won’t matter once I put on the socks and boots. The height of the boots’ shaft is enough to cover any exposed skin. Now the shirt is another matter.

  “Uhh, Heather . . . ”

  I step out in the sweatshirt, which fits fine all through the arms and chest, only to ride up on the bulge of my stomach, making it into some sort of hobo’s high low fashion statement.

  “Oh, let’s see what we can do about that.”

  She rifles through her bag of tricks once again, this time pulling out a larger sweatshirt. It’s red and obviously from the men’s section.

  “This is Hawke’s,” she says. Before I can make an innuendo, she continues, “He passed it along just in case you would need it. Gavin’s running low on clothes.”

  Because I keep taking them. Just one more thing for which I’m indebted to the man. Thankfully, the airport is so large and well equipped that we’ll be able to shop for what we need. I strip off my current sweatshirt, leaving Heather’s sweater on under it. It doesn’t matter if the under layer covers me fully, as long as Hawke’s sweatshirt does. Thankfully, it works.