by Bree Moore
“She will board the plane and accept a blindfold. Once we land, she will be bound. These are our terms,” the other man, stated.
“Do you think I’m going to memorize the way to your village and tell of my serpent friends?” Becca laughed, but the sound came off hollow and the expressions of the men around her stiffened. She put a hand to your mouth. “You didn’t seriously… Look, I got scratched by the fangs of a mummy my dad sent from Egypt. For all I know, I’m the only one like this in the U.S., possibly the world.”
“There are more of you. Fewer than there were at one time, but the namigiak are still a plague slithering across the earth.” The other man, not the one Quinn had addressed as Silla, spat each word out like poison.
Quinn squeezed her shoulder, and it warmed Becca from the inside. She expected him to stand up for her again, to refuse to have her blindfolded and bound.
“We agree to your terms.”
Her heart fell. She couldn’t stop the protest from escaping her lips. “But—”
Quinn’s brown eyes stopped her. He leaned in closer. “You don’t have to come with me, Becca. There’s still time for us to find another route. One that’s safer, more comfortable for you.”
She couldn’t stand the concern in his eyes. She tightened her jaw and shook her head. She wouldn’t be a burden, and she wouldn’t leave his side. “It’s fine. I’m sorry.”
Quinn straightened and nodded at the two men, who turned and walked toward a corrugated metal bunker-like structure. An airplane had been parked outside it, a tiny thing compared to commercial airliners—white with green stripes swooping from the tail across its body to the nose.
A man walked out to greet them. Silla and his partner motioned for Quinn and Becca to stay back and they met the man halfway. Becca crossed her arms and tried not to glower. Their distrust grated on her. Quinn rested his arm on her shoulder.
“Aren’t you afraid to be seen as a traitor by association?” Becca asked, an edge of bitterness in her voice.
“They might be my people, but they aren’t my life,” Quinn said. “You know me better than they do, than they perhaps ever will. I’m not about to ruin our relationship for their sake.”
She smiled at him, putting her hand over his. Then she looked back over the paved landscape and noticed another man approaching. “Who’s that?”
“Co-pilot?” Quinn suggested.
The man stood tall, dressed in cargo pants and a grey shirt with buttons open to reveal a patch of hair on his chest. He had a face like a middle-eastern Calvin Klein model, chiseled jaw, dark thick brown hair, and evidence of a beard growing in. He held a canvas rucksack over one shoulder.
“He’s not a pilot. A passenger?” Becca whispered to Quinn.
The man looked between the two groups—the native men talking with a sandy blonde-haired man with a nice tan, presumably the pilot, and Becca standing with Quinn, both of whom wearing rumpled clothes and a tad worse for wear. He surprised Becca by changing his course for them, squinting into the sun.
“You flying with Jared today?” the newcomer asked.
“I suppose we are,” Becca said. She glanced at the other party of three. Their voices rose and the gestures grew more agitated and sharp. Apparently, Quinn’s people weren’t keen on this other man joining them on their flight.
“The name is Avaan.” The man held out his hand to Quinn, who clasped it so hard their palms struck with a slap. Quinn seemed to squeeze too tight. Becca winced at his show of bravado, but it made her feel bubbly inside at the same time.
Avaan’s smile broadened and Quinn released the grasp. And then Avaan’s eyes turned back to Becca. He held his hand out. She gave it a brief shake, and when they stopped, she forgot to let go. Forgot everything but his velvet, caramel stare…
Quinn cleared his throat, and Becca shook her head, coming out of her stupor. She dropped Avaan’s hand.
“We might not be traveling together after all. Tarkik seems furious.” Quinn looked at the other group, where one of the men stood facing off with the pilot, who had his hands up defensively.
Silla and the other man, Tarkik, approached the small group.
“We have been informed that our travel plans collide in an unfortunate manner.” Silla addressed Avaan, not offering a hand in greeting, but his voice stayed smooth and calm. “Could we convince you to travel tomorrow?”
“We are headed in the same direction, are we not? Bound for the great Arctic Gates?”
Tarkik stepped forward, his broad shoulders pushing Silla aside. “What business do you have in the Alaskan wilderness?”
Avaan shrugged. “Photography. Travel photography. I’m on assignment and cannot delay, even by a day, if I’m to meet my deadlines. But the plane has enough seats for us all.” He glanced at Becca out of the corner of his eyes. Becca tried to ignore the tugging sensation in her stomach. She frowned. Her heart rate climbed, pounding, as if telling her to run from this man. But that was ridiculous.
Silla and Tarkik exchanged looks. Quinn anticipated they would use the Song to convince Avaan to change his plans, but then Silla spoke. “We will not disrespect our relationship with Jared by arguing further.” Silla nodded at Avaan. “We will travel with you.”
Jared, the pilot, clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Glad that’s settled. Let me do some last-minute checks and we’ll get you folks on board.”
Last minute checks took an hour and a half, while the five passengers stood and avoided eye contact with each other. Becca wanted to ask Avaan more questions about his work as a photographer, but Quinn kept his arm locked around her and Silla and Tarkik put themselves between Avaan and their wards.
After the painful wait, they finally boarded. The plane was narrower than most commercial planes. Four seats were lined up on each side, for eight seats total. The white leather looked expensive, and when Becca sat down, she realized her seat swiveled so she could face Quinn who sat behind her.
She could tell it took effort for Quinn to smile back at her through the tension that followed Silla and Tarkik onto the plane. The two men settled in the same row in front of Becca, filling it. There was no mention of a blindfold. Apparently Silla and Tarkik felt it more important to maintain a semblance of normalcy in front of Avaan, despite their lack of luggage.
Avaan took a seat in the row across from Becca, setting his rucksack beneath his table. He smiled at her and at Quinn. “Seems a shame to waste an unexpected opportunity to meet someone new. Do you mind?”
Becca’s eyes darted to Quinn, whose face remained impassive until he raised an eyebrow at her. Her decision?
She smiled at Avaan. “Of course not. I was curious about your…”
Avaan leaned forward, adjusting his back, and a short flute fell out of his shirt, dangling from a leather cord. The painted wood gleamed blue, and Becca’s eyes followed the path of its swing, mesmerized.
Avaan noticed her attention and glanced down. He tucked the flute quickly away beneath his shirt as the plane taxied. He flashed a brilliant white smile at her.
Becca blinked. “That instrument. I’ve never seen one like it. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s an old family relic. I like to keep their memory close, you know?”
The answer was benign enough, but Becca’s heart raced in her chest, her pulse climbing. She breathed deeply, encouraging her nerves to settle. Something about the flute made her feel as if she shared an airplane with a tiger instead of a beautiful man with a friendly smile.
⇺ ⇻
Chapter Seven
Quinn
Quinn promised himself he wouldn’t be the jealous boyfriend as he watched Becca laughing for the third time at something Avaan had said. The man had an insufferable charm, and he gazed at Becca with glittering eyes that reminded Quinn of a serpent.
He stopped his train of thought. He couldn’t keep associating serpents with negative things. Becca was a snake now, in a way, and he coul
d always trust her, couldn’t he?
Quinn stared out the window, one hand rubbing the ‘V’ engraved on the metal disc he had found at his childhood home. Should he show it to Silla and Tarkik? Would they know what the symbol meant and why it haunted him? He watched as they rose above the cloudline. He could almost feel the bite of the air at this altitude, the way his lungs surged with vigor as he breathed it in. He could feel the rustling of his feathers in the breeze…
“You wish to be out there. I know that look, that longing. Come.” Tarkik kept the pitch of his voice low. Becca glanced at the man, but didn’t say anything, returning her focus to Avaan.
“Are you kidding?” Quinn protested. “We can’t just jump out. We’ll depressurize the cabin.”
“There’s a chamber we can use in the back.”
“What about…” Quinn’s eyes darted to Becca, who cocked her head at him.
Tarkik followed his gaze. “You are a fool.”
“I will watch.” Silla spoke from across the plane, sitting stiffly in the upright seat, arms crossed over his chest.
Quinn touched Becca’s hand. “I’m going out. I’ll be back soon.”
Becca hesitated a moment before her entire face lit up with understanding. She nodded enthusiastically. “Have fun.”
Quinn followed Tarkik to the back of the plane. The chamber Tarkik referred to was basically a closet, airlocked away from the rest of the plane. Quinn never would have expected to find such a thing on a plane so small. Quinn quickly peeled off his shirt. Tarkik handed him a helmet, then put one on himself.
“It contains a headset. So we can talk.”
Quinn fiddled until he figured out how the headgear went on. It felt nice and tight on his head, and a chin strap underneath insured it wouldn’t fly off when he spiraled.
Tarkik punched a keypad, and a hatch opened beneath them.
Quinn plummeted toward the ground at a terrifying rate. If he opened his wings now, he’d snap them off. Through stinging, wind-burned eyes he saw Tarkik release his wings gradually, a display of control unlike any Quinn had seen. He tried to mimic the motion. His wings snapped back with the force of the air and jerked his shoulder blades, making him cry out, but he stretched them out fully and swooped through the air, the ache fading and forgotten in the exhilaration of flight.
Glorious. Every time he flew, Quinn knew he’d made the right choice to leave Camp Silver Lake. He could only hope Harper had managed the same.
Tarkik wheeled through the sky and slowed his flapping to fly next to Quinn. The headset crackled, his voice coming through. “You look much like your father when he was younger.”
Quinn cocked his head sideways. “You knew him? Were you friends?”
Tarkik barked a laugh. His ponytail kept his hair out of his face, which Quinn envied. “No, Miksa and I did not get along. He took risks, leaving the village, befriending other people beyond the safety of our borders. We fought about it often.”
Quinn could believe that. “There is such a thing as being too safe. You lock yourselves up and get stifled, and may lose opportunities for improving the quality of life.” The small plane sped ahead, easily twice as fast as Quinn could fly at a manageable pace. His brow furrowed and he flapped his wings harder, pushing against the wind.
“Do we need to worry about getting left behind?” A chill filled him. Could this have been their plan all along? Would Silla execute Becca on the plane, or arrange an accident for her and the extra passenger? Could his people be capable of that kind of violence?
“They will circle around if we get too far out. I’ve told the pilot we stepped out.” Tarkik’s laugh buzzed through the speaker in Quinn’s ear. “You are wise, but foolish still. This serpent daughter will be our ruin. She will not be able to contain her other form in our midst.”
Quinn squinted upward into the sun, where the plane flew ahead of them higher in the sky. “There are other innocents to consider. I won’t abandon Becca to figure out her new abilities on her own. That’s how shifters get killed.”
“She will be killed if she threatens any one of us,” Tarkik warned.
“Is this why my father left? Because of your oppressive need to protect your people at the cost of others?”
“Isn’t that what you are doing with the serpent-woman? We all protect those in our best interest. How is this one woman worth more to you than your entire tribe?”
“Becca isn’t a danger to anyone.” Quinn swallowed. As a new shifter, Becca seemed unaware of her abilities, like a werewolf. That made her dangerous until she learned to gain control. “She will figure it out.”
“I will not offer our people as a sacrifice to her learning.”
Quinn flared his wings, stopping mid-air. He flapped to hold himself aloft, crossing his arms over his chest. “Silla said your chief would decide. Is that good enough for you?”
The other man studied Quinn for a long moment, then turned and flew away, dipping and climbing. Soft static filled the speaker in Quinn’s ear, tempting him to take it off, but he didn’t want to lose it. He noticed the small plane banking as it turned back toward him; Tarkik must have called the pilot.
Quinn stayed back, enjoying the flight much less now. Below them, the sparse cities and towns thinned out to patches of forest and finally the famous wilderness of Alaska. Quinn breathed in the freshest, coldest air he had ever encountered, his lungs expanding. A satisfying burn moved through his muscles as they worked to hold him. He lived for moments like this.
A metallic thud jerked Quinn from his reverie. The plane shivered in the distance, and he flapped his wings, gaining altitude and speed until he caught the plane. The hatch he had dropped through with Tarkik hung open, and the native man flew right behind him, flapping hard. Quinn grabbed the edges of the platform and drew his wings into his back as he heaved himself up. The barest lip existed for him to climb onto, and only his supernatural strength made it possible for him to reach the metal bar on the wall above his head and pull himself straight into the plane. He reached a hand down to Tarkik, who grunted as he took the offer of help.
Quinn threw off the helmet and tossed it to the side as Tarkik prodded the keypad on the wall. The plane tilted violently. Quinn’s shoulder struck the opposite wall of the closet-like chamber, then tumbled through the open door. He righted himself, eyes scanning for the cause of the disturbance.
A serpent tail nearly filled the length of the plane, glittering and green and thrashing as the top of the serpent—the torso and face that belonged to Becca—hissed and scratched and spat a sizzling liquid at the door to the cockpit.
“Becca!” Quinn called out, stepping over the end of the wildly twitching tail to reach her. Avaan cowered beneath a table, peering out at Quinn and clutching the small wooden flute that dangled from beneath his shirt.
Silla lay unconscious on the floor, two fledged darts rolling on the floor of the plane out of his reach.
“Move!” Tarkik bellowed.
Quinn surged ahead, wracking his brain for something, anything he could do to remind Becca of her humanity before Tarkik darted her again. Quinn dodged her massive tail and grabbed her around the middle, pulling her away from the door.
Becca shrieked and hissed, her fingernails scratching Quinn’s arms as he pulled on her.
“Becca, it’s me! It’s Quinn!” He gasped desperately as she pried his arms off her with an immense show of strength. Her slitted yellow eyes showed no recognition, and green scales spread across her fair skin, covering both arms and part of her neck.
A sharp, talon-like fingernail sliced into Quinn’s forearm and he cried out in pain, reflexively releasing Becca, who coiled her tail beneath her and reared, hissing. The metal door behind her had pockmarks in it, as if her venom were acidic enough to eat through metal. He swallowed and stepped backward, holding Becca’s gaze. Nothing human remained there. No recognition.
Becca had truly turned into a monster.
�
��Down!” Tarkik barked. Quinn dropped without a second thought and Becca struck the air where he had been standing. She hit the floor behind him instead, hissing and writhing until the struggle left her and she lay still.
Panting, Quinn pushed the heavy serpent tail off of his legs and crawled toward Becca’s head. The end of a feathered dart stuck out of her chest, barely visible beneath her. Quinn touched her hair softly, and gradually, the tail disappeared. Quinn grabbed one of the thin blankets off a nearby unoccupied chair and threw it across Becca’s body. Tarkik approached to retrieve the dart, yanking it unceremoniously from Becca’s shoulder and tucking it inside a wooden tube in his pocket.
The plane had stopped its violent rocking, and a crackle came over the intercom.
“Everyone all right? What was that thing?”
Tarkik crossed to an intercom speaker and pressed a button underneath. “The serpent is taken care of.”
“Thank God. We’re nearing Bettles. Do you want me to drop you off there or take you in?”
“Take us in. No need to introduce this monstrosity to the trading post. We’ll deal with it.” Tarkik released the button and turned on Quinn, fists clenched and white. “Still believe she isn’t dangerous?”
Quinn rested a hand on Becca’s head. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“That doesn’t lessen the threat. In fact, it worsens the threat. You’ve put innocent lives at risk.”
“What choice did I have?” Quinn argued. “If I left her back there, she would have threatened just as many lives, if not more. At least here I can keep an eye on her.”
Tarkik pointed. “Once we reach the village, she will be contained. Fortunately, the human government has no say in our justice proceedings, and once the chief agrees to the execution, I will see it carried out.”
Somewhere behind Quinn, Avaan let out a small gasp. Quinn tightened his grip on Becca and glared at Tarkik, his heart thudding in his chest. Tarkik passed him without another word and knelt beside Silla, who rolled over and attempted to sit up.
