by R. J. Blain
“So you have a concussion,” my father prompted before falling quiet.
“I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s wrong with me,” I replied. “You should reconsider getting me a car and letting me drive myself to and from Stanford.”
My father sighed. “Perhaps when you learn to stop crashing things, I will consider buying you a car, which you can pay off with labor. You already owe me for the rent.”
“It wasn’t on purpose. The kitten did it.”
“What else did you hurt?”
“Dad!”
“Daughter,” he replied.
“The concussion comes with a cut.”
“How much blood did you lose?” he demanded.
“I am not equipped with a meter that informs me of these levels, Father.”
“Of all of the daughters, I had to get the one with the smart mouth,” he muttered.
“Just like you,” I heard my mother said, and after a yipped protest from my father, she ended up with the phone. “Nicolina, stop taunting your father before he really does bite someone.”
Judging from the way my mother squealed, my father had nipped her somewhere. I decided I didn’t want to know. “Sorry, Mom.”
“For what? I’d be grumpy if my plane decided its landing gear was optional. The terminal is a nightmare right now. We’ll be a bit getting out of here, but we’ll see you soon, okay?”
I didn’t like the thought of waiting in the hospital a minute longer than necessary, but complaining about it wasn’t going to change it. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
Someone wrapped an arm around my shoulders from behind, one hand patting my arm while the other took possession of my phone. I squeaked. While my brain screamed at me to struggle, my body came to the conclusion that fighting back was simply too much work.
“I have arrived, Wendy,” Richard said, his deep voice a soothing rumble. “One daughter has been successfully acquired. I’ll meet you at the house.”
The nurse’s mouth opened, and she stared at Richard with her eyes so wide they were at risk of popping out of her head.
“It was easier for me to get through the crowds,” Richard told me, releasing me to circle around the row of chairs. Grabbing my bag, he slung it over his shoulder. The nurse, sensing I was about to make my escape, pounced on the Fenerec.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said as she approached, clipboard in hand. “The doctor would like to see you before you leave.”
Richard frowned. “About what?”
I groaned, leaned forward, hid my face with my hands, and wished I could disappear. Once again, my throat tightened and my eyes burned. Anger and humiliation joined forces to conspire against me.
All I had to do was make it home. Then I could hide in my room. Until then, I wasn’t going to cry, not for any reason, and definitely not in front of Richard.
I’d rather die first. I took deep breaths to suppress my growing need to burst into tears.
“That’s for the doctor to talk to you about, sir.”
“Does she need a prescription?” Richard stood tense next to me, and he rotated between clenching his hand into a fist and splaying his fingers. When my father did that, he was ready to hit someone or something.
“That’s for the doctor to discuss with you, sir,” the nurse replied, heading back to her station to make a call.
The doctor must have been waiting for someone to come for me, because she made her appearance within two minutes. She stalked towards Richard, and the Fenerec tensed so much I held my breath.
Doctors weren’t the submissive type. The good ones didn’t let patients or their families walk all over them. What she didn’t know about Richard could hurt her, and I scrambled to my feet, wondering how I was going to keep the Fenerec from tearing verbal strips out of her hide—or resorting to violence.
“Richard,” I whispered, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before shifting his attention back to the doctor. Before she could introduce herself, he said, “I’m Richard Murphy, acting as her guardian. Her parents are stuck at the airport. What’s the problem?”
He even had a hastily scribbled note in my mother’s handwriting, signed by both of my parents, which he handed to the doctor. She read it over, folded it up, and kept it.
“In private,” the doctor suggested, gesturing to one of the many examination rooms branching from the ER waiting area. With Richard cooperating with her, I didn’t dare fight back against him and risk making the situation worse.
Once we were inside and she closed the door, she stepped to me, motioning at my throat. “Were you aware of these bruises?”
“Yes,” he replied. “The problem has been dealt with, the proper authorities notified, and the boys were reprimanded. We are very aware of the situation.”
My father hadn’t told me what had happened to the Fenerec, but I had seen how much blood had been on both him and Richard. To most people, reprimanded meant a scolding or prison time. In the Fenerec world, it meant bloodshed, and lots of it.
“Very well.” Pulling out a prescription pad, she ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Richard. “This is the number for a trauma therapy specialist. Give him a call.” She ripped off another sheet. “This is a prescription for Gabapentin. It’s precautionary, but considering the circumstances, pain could hamper her recovery. Give her the first dose when you have it filled. Tomorrow, give her one once in the morning and once in the evening. After that, it’s three times a day for the rest of the week. The other two prescriptions are preventative antibiotics and painkillers, should she need them.”
Richard pocketed the sheets. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. Drive safe. You’re free to go, Miss Desmond.” The doctor swept by Richard and out of the room.
When the woman was gone, Richard growled. “I don’t like doctors.”
I didn’t either. Mumbling complaints, I ran my hand through my hair. My fingers snagged in a tangle. Richard chuckled, pressing his hand to my back to push me out of the room. “Leave it. If you want it to look anything other than a rumpled, matted mess, you’re going to need a priest for either a miracle or an exorcism.”
“You’re not helping,” I whispered, fiddling with the corsage as he guided me towards the exit.
“Okay, okay,” he replied, taking my corsage out of my hands. I gawked at him as he held the silver clip between his teeth. Turning me around, he twisted my hair up into its usual bun and secured it with the corsage.
I grabbed at his hands, astonished he wasn’t hissing in pain. The tips of his fingers were a little darker, but otherwise I couldn’t find any sign of him having handled silver. “Richard?”
Richard didn’t answer me, propelling me to his pink Porsche.
“I’d offer to let you drive, but I think you’ve crashed enough things lately,” he taunted, opening the passenger door for me. Ignoring his jab, I got in, buckled in, and closed the door.
The engine purred to life. Reaching down, Richard pressed a button. Within minutes, the seat warmed beneath me, and with a contented sigh, I wiggled into the leather.
“Kitty crashed the plane,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “Wasn’t me.”
Richard laughed.
Crash and Burn
Crash and Burn is a companion story for Charmed.
When Nicolina’s flight has an incident on the runway, it falls to Richard to prevent her parents from running wild in the middle of a busy airport…
Desmond was like an eager child, his nose pressed to the glass as he watched the planes land. All I could think about was the fact airports were terrible places for Fenerec. Scents assaulted my nose, and people kept jostling me as they went about their business. They gave Desmond a wider berth, though he was easier to avoid. I growled at everyone who got too close to us.
A week’s worth of worry crawled under Desmond’s skin and roused my wolf’s protective instincts.
With Lisa sitting b
eside her mother on the window ledge, my wolf had even more reasons to fret, and all of them dealt with the girl we wanted as our mate. Lisa was her sister, therefore she needed to be protected from wolves and all other threats. Or, as the case was, the traveling humans clogging the terminal.
Her mother and father likewise needed to be guarded—and guarded against.
If they found out I was stalking after their daughter, their attention would turn to me. Desmond had invited me to his home to defend his children, not form a mating bond with one of them. We’d fight, and I’d probably lose again.
No, if I wanted Nicolina, no one could find out.
Desmond’s anxiety wasn’t helping my wolf settle. I was partially to blame. I had spent the week as a wolf, which had come to a rude and abrupt end when Desmond had yanked me out from under Nicolina’s bed by my tail and forced the change on me. His reasons left me smoldering.
He wanted me to drive my Porsche to the airport and surprise his daughter by letting her drive my car home. It stung, because if she asked it of me, I’d give her my Porsche and everything that came with it, driver included. I’d even give her the keys and let her take control, so long as I was near her.
I fidgeted and grimaced as the silk of my shirt brushed my skin with my movement. I was still raw from the unexpected transformation, and my pride smarted from how easily he had dominated me. It had hurt, and I had spent an hour afterwards shaking, coming to terms with having two legs instead of four.
I didn’t want to admit I probably would have needed his help to become human again. My wolf hadn’t want to let me go, and we had basked in letting Desmond worry about human matters of no concern to us.
We liked his den. It had Nicolina’s scent all over it.
I growled my discontent, which drew Desmond’s attention from waiting for the next plane to come in for a landing.
“English,” he snapped.
English was his gentle way of demanding I behave like a proper human. Maybe if he hadn’t forced me back to my thin-skinned excuse of a form, I wouldn’t have felt the need to growl. I grumbled something under my breath, and because I knew it would annoy him, I drew on my limited French vocabulary.
“Be nice,” Wendy said, reaching over to slip her arm behind my back, tugging me close to her. I sighed and rested my chin on top of her head.
“Richard,” Desmond insisted.
“The pilots aren’t as good as I am,” I complained when the next plane touched down, bouncing more times than I thought necessary. Maybe it was the late hour and the result of pilot fatigue, but I didn’t like it.
“He can be taught, Wendy,” Desmond informed his mate. “I got a full sentence out of him that time.”
“So you did, Charles. Leave him alone. You’ve tormented him enough for one evening,” Wendy replied, her gaze shifting to her watch. “Next plane should be hers.”
Desmond left me alone to once again watch out the window. I freed myself from Wendy’s hold to join the other Alpha, my wolf interested only because the next plane might have Nicolina on board. Lisa looked up from her phone.
I could smell her worry.
Stepping away from the window, I sat beside her, stretching out my legs. “They aren’t as good as I am, but they’re not bad either,” I informed Nicolina’s sister.
“Driving’s safer,” Lisa muttered, turning off her phone and slipping it into her pocket. “Why do they have to bounce so much when they land?”
I stood, gesturing to the window. When Lisa joined me, I pointed at the descending plane coming in for a landing. “It doesn’t look all that fast, but it’s moving pretty fast. I’d guess at maybe a hundred and thirty-five knots—one hundred and fifty-five miles per hour. It’s all about the angle he touches down at. If he doesn’t get it just right, he bounces a little more than he should. It’s not really a big deal. No matter what you might think, driving really isn’t all that much safer than flying.”
“And you can fly something like that?” Lisa asked.
“Sure. I don’t like commercial airliners, but I can fly one if I need to. I prefer single props, though the pack does have a jet I use from time to time.”
I didn’t tell her the jet was large enough to carry my Porsche and it was parked in a hanger receiving some tender love and care from some mechanics who loved dealing with antiques. While it was meant to be operated by two pilots, I could handle it on my own, and often did. Even with me flying it, the old plane bucked like a bronco on landings. I really needed to shoot it and be done with it, but I couldn’t bring myself to send my jet to an aviation graveyard.
So I flew it instead, tossing the dice to see if it’d get me back on the ground without splattering me on the tarmac.
When the plane circled instead of landing on the first attempt, I straightened, narrowing my eyes as I followed its lights as it came around to try again. Circling happened; sometimes the pilot encountered wind shear before he was committed. Sometimes the instruments just didn’t look right. Night landings were a bitch to begin with; I didn’t know a lot of pilots who enjoyed them, though it was often par for the course, especially for commercial flights.
The pilot aborted the first attempt, and because it was likely Nicolina’s plane, I worried. My wolf worried, too. I relaxed a little as he came around for the second attempt.
Planes were equipped with hundreds of safety precautions, instruments, and devices designed to get them up in the air and back onto the ground without incident. They warned pilots of problems before they turned fatal.
On rare occasion, landing gear didn’t deploy. The malfunction numbered among a pilot’s worst nightmares. By the book, there were a few tricks the pilot could try to get the gear to lock into landing position. If that failed, bringing the bird close enough for the ground crew to get a good look from below was done if it was an option, but it wasn’t used often. Too many airports lacked ground crew trained for the maneuver, and all they could do was inform the pilot of the gear was down, not whether or not the gear was locked for landing.
The pilot didn’t bother with the flyby. It took only a glance to know the plane was in trouble.
Two sets of gear, including the primary forward nose wheels, hadn’t fully lowered for landing. I went cold. With one set out, it was possible to land. With two failing to lower and lock for landing, all I could do was hope the pilot was as skilled at crash landings as I was. It was possible to bring down the plane safely, if the pilot didn’t make a single mistake.
Desmond watched me, shifting from his spot at the window to stand next to me. “Problem?”
When Desmond and Wendy realized the plane was coming in for a crash landing, they would lose their hold on their wolves. It was inevitable. Mine writhed under my skin, but he recognized we needed a human’s hands, a human’s mind, and a human’s ability to navigate among the Normals to deal with the aftermath.
Since Luke’s death, I had kept the pack bonds tightly closed off to spare the pack from my anguish and the feedback of his death.
If I wanted to keep a hold on Desmond and Wendy, I needed my pack’s help. I brought the links back to life, my awareness of my pack flooding through me. Even from their distance, their alarm and surprise backlashed into me with the physical impact of a blow. With the help of my wolf, I latched onto their strength, drew it out of them, and into me. I grabbed Wendy by the back of the neck, holding her tight enough she squeaked.
Desmond turned on me, snarling when I touched his mate. I grabbed hold of his chin, yanked him forward, and stared him in the eyes. My wolf snarled using my throat. Desmond fought me, growling back, but the force of desperation and knowledge of what was to come gave me the advantage.
No matter what, I couldn’t let him watch the plane go down. It’d be bad enough in the aftermath. I knew what would happen. If the pilot did it just right, he’d crunch his nose and flop the plane down, skidding to a halt with one wing damaged as it crunched into the tarmac. The plane would overrun the airport’s longest stri
p and end up in the dirt.
There’d be injuries, but if the pilot did it just right, fatalities would be low if there were any at all.
If he did it wrong, the plane would hit the ground hard. Maybe it would break up on impact, maybe it would flip. In the worst-case scenario, it would explode in a ball of flame. How it went down wouldn’t matter if the pilot made a single mistake.
Most on board, if not all, would die.
I didn’t see the plane crash, but I heard the panicked cries of those waiting in the terminal. Lisa shrieked, slapping her hands over her mouth. At his daughter’s distressed cry, Desmond fought my hold on him, but I fed my wolf my pack’s strength, and in turn, he smothered Desmond’s will, forcing him to obey me. Clamping my hand to the back of his neck, I pulled him to me, pressing his face to my shoulder so he couldn’t see.
The sound he made came from deep in his chest, the precursor to a wolf’s mourning howl.
Wendy trembled in my grip; she stared out the window in shock, and the rank stench of her terror told me all I needed to know. With Desmond pinned against me, shaking as though he were about to fall into a thousand pieces, I risked a look out the window.
Spotlights illuminated the end of the tarmac and the downed plane. It was still in one piece—mostly. Its nose and one wing were smashed to scrap. The ground crew swooped in with the firetrucks arriving first, spraying the engines down in their efforts to keep the plane from turning into a billowing ball of flame. It was far enough away that while I could tell they were evacuating the passengers, I couldn’t make out any details.
“Oh my God,” Lisa whimpered, and her father shuddered against me. I tightened my hold on him. Adjusting how I held Wendy, I inched my way to her shoulder to pull her to me.
She was far easier to control than her mate and came at my wolf’s call. I slipped my arm around her, and as was my duty as the Alpha, I kissed her forehead and fed my wolf to her so she could recognize I was the one in charge. She shuddered and leaned into me.
