Chapter 64: Woof

Chapter 64 Lenora Flying is the scariest fucking experience of my life. The moment the plane took off, my stomach dropped to my toes. My heart was in my throat. My palms were slick, gripping the armrest like it could somehow save me if we plummeted out of the sky. Cameron’s hand was on mine, big and warm, steady in a way I’m not, and it helped... just a little. But the roaring in my ears, the tilt of the floor beneath me, the way the world felt wrong—none of that stopped. Now the plane has "stabilized," apparently. Whatever that means. Simone told me I could relax. I can’t. I’m not built for sitting inside a giant metal cage thousands of feet above the ground. "Here." Simone appears beside me, moving like we’re on solid land. She’s holding a cup. The nerve of her, walking so casually in this death trap while the floor hums and sways under my feet. "Cameron’s gone to take a shower," she adds like that’s normal. A shower. In the sky. This is too much. My wolf doesn’t like it either—she’s pacing in my head, ready to bolt, but there’s nowhere to go. "It will help you relax," Simone says, offering the cup again. I eye her suspiciously. She looks calm, smug even, like she knows I’ll cave. And she’s right. I snatch it from her before I lose my nerve and down the contents in one go. "Ew—what the fuck is that?" My face twists before I can stop it, and she chuckles, plucking the cup from my hand. "Nana’s recipe." That explains everything. Nana’s liquids are disgusting, but unfortunately... they work. Already, the taste lingers bitter at the back of my tongue. My shoulders feel heavier, looser. The hum of the plane is still there, but it’s muffled now. I close my eyes and let my head rest back against the seat. I’ll wait for the tea to kick in. I’ll wait until the panic drains away and the thought of being in the sky stops feeling like an insult to the laws of nature. Until then, I’m holding onto the armrest. Just in case. "You okay there, snowball?" Ronan’s voice cuts in from my left. I crack one eye open and there he is—lounged back like he owns the place, swirling a glass of something expensive-looking that catches the cabin lights like liquid gold. "I’ve been better," I mutter. "Relax. Look out the window." I roll my eyes, but fine. I’ll humor him. Scooting over, I reach for the little blind I slammed shut the second the plane started moving. My fingers hesitate on it for a moment—half afraid that if I open it, I’ll see the ground taunting me from miles below. But I pull it up anyway. And I gasp. The clouds aren’t just clouds—they’re an endless ocean of white, rolling and folding in slow motion, their peaks kissed gold by the sun. The sky above them is a flawless, unbroken blue, stretching so far it feels like if I reached out, I could fall straight into it. It’s... breathtaking. For a moment, I forget I’m strapped into a metal box hurtling through the air. Forget the fear still knotted in my chest. All I can do is stare, wide-eyed, like a kid seeing the world for the first time. A hand rests on my lower back, warm and steady, and I turn to find Cameron. Gone is the suit. Instead, he’s in brown shorts and a short-sleeved blue button-up that makes his eyes seem impossibly brighter. His dark hair is unstyled, a little messy, and somehow that just makes him look even more unfairly perfect. Goddess, he’s beautiful. "What? Stunned by my good looks?" he teases. "Yes. I am," I say without hesitation. For all his arrogance, he looks away, almost shy. It’s always a little disarming when he does that—like I’ve managed to slip past his ironclad composure with nothing more than the truth. He reaches over, pressing a button, and the seat I’m in reclines. "Room for one more?" I smile and shift over, making space. He stretches out, and I lie on top of him, tucking my head under his chin, my ear over the steady beat of his heart. Outside the window, the endless clouds drift by, and I let my fingers trace idle circles over his chest while the view steals the rest of my fear away. *** Simone I swear, I need hazard pay for this. My boss in love? It’s... something else. They’re in their own little world, like the rest of us don’t exist. And on a private jet, no less—where the whole point is to have personal space. The hostesses keep glancing over, whispering to each other, clearly stunned. I don’t blame them. This is a whole different Cameron Anderson. One I didn’t even think existed. I’ve known Cameron for over ten years, and I thought I’d seen it all. Me—the bastard daughter of a politician. Him—the charity case of some rich businessman, at that god awful boarding school. Two peas in a pod, bonded by bad luck and sharp survival instincts. Nana always said a witch and a wolf are drawn to each other like magnets, thanks to some ancestor witch who cast a spell for the good of our kind. Something about keeping us safe because we’re apparently a vampire delicacy. I won’t lie—the first time I ever felt anything close to safe was under Cameron’s shadow. I’ve never told him that, but it’s true. Even now, I get this low, simmering anxiety if we’re apart for too long. Glad to know there’s finally an explanation for it. Then Cameron laughs at something, and I actually freeze. Cameron doesn’t laugh. Cameron has a perpetual scowl, like his face was carved that way. I didn’t think he was physically capable of the sound. He’s so henpecked, it’s ridiculous. And yet... it’s the kind of ridiculous that makes me smile without meaning to. Truth is, I’m happy for him. For all his arrogance, his temper, his impossible standards—he’s like a brother to me. And seeing him like this, softer, lighter, almost human... I wouldn’t trade it for anything. "What’s so funny?" a voice cuts through my thoughts, and then Ronan drops into the seat next to me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I love eye candy—because it’s eyecandy. Nice to look at, and then I move on. Unfortunately, this particular piece of eye candy is a complete waste of his good looks. "None of your business," I say flatly, turning away. "Simone, you’re so mean to me sometimes," he says, leaning in. His tone is lazy, teasing, and my name sounds far too sinful in his mouth. The worst part? You can tell he was raised by wolves—zero respect for personal space. He’s always complaining about how other people don’t respect personal space, yet here he is, close enough to breathe my air... and then he actually sniffs my neck. "You smell so good. As always," he murmurs. See? This is why I call him a waste of his face. "What are you, a dog?" I ask, shoving him back with one finger. "No," he says, a sly smile tugging at his mouth. "But I can be one if you want me to." I stare at him. "Are you serious?" "Woof," he replies without hesitation. And I’m... genuinely dumbfounded. Two pairs of snickers echo from the seats ahead, and I whip my glare toward the couple. They both immediately look away, suddenly very interested in the clouds outside. "Then be a gooddog, and go away," I tell Ronan, each word clipped. He has the audacity to hit me with puppy dog eyes. I raise one eyebrow in warning. He sighs, shoulders drooping in mock defeat, and finally gets up, slinking off down the aisle.