Chapter 50 – PLAGUE #2
He scrolls through the saved images, occasionally snorting or muttering under his breath. I try to read my book, but Whiskey's commentary keeps interrupting.
"They're tracking his every move," he says. "Oh, here we go. According to some fan who's designated herself the official Valek watcher, they think he's going to a town called Northwyke. Bigger town, but not huge. Should be easy to find him."
"Why?"
"Because he sticks out like a sore thumb. Tall, silver eyes, looks like he stepped out of some vampire romance novel. Plus, these thirsty fans are documenting his every move. We just follow the breadcrumbs of horny posts."
"Charming imagery."
"I'm a poet."
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and let my head fall back against my headrest.
"Oh shit, look at this."
Despite myself, I look. It's fanart of Whiskey and me. Graphic fanart. Extremely graphic fanart that bears an unfortunate resemblance to certain activities from last night. And this morning.
My face heats up like I'm on fucking fire and I grab at the phone. "Turn that off, someone's going to see it," I snap.
"Dude, you can't just take my phone," Whiskey snaps back, wrestling it out of my hands before I can delete the screenshot and holding the phone high out of reach for all to see.
I grab his inner thigh instinctively, barely even aware of what I'm doing in my panic, and dig my nails in. He gets hard immediately, the evidence clear in the bulge in his jeans.
"Fuck," he hisses, shoving his phone into my hands. "Just take it then."
I waste no time deleting the picture and trying my best to ignore the fans now giggling and whispering as they watch us from across the aisle.
"That was a hundred percent on you," Whiskey grumbles.
"You held your phone up!"
"You grabbed it, it was instinct!"
The flight attendant appears with the drink cart and a big smile, asking what we'd like as if she didn't just interrupt a quarrel. Whiskey orders a beer and peanuts. I ask for sparkling water. He rolls his eyes at my choice but doesn't comment.
"So what's our plan when we land?" he asks, lowering his voice.
"Find Valek. Follow him. See what he's really up to."
"That's it? That's your whole plan?"
"What did you expect? A PowerPoint presentation?"
"From you? Actually, yeah." He takes a swig of his beer. "You know," he continues, because he's incapable of silence, "this is kind of nice."
"What?"
"This. Us. Going on an adventure together. It's like a buddy cop movie, only the buddy cops are… well. You know."
I curl my lip at him behind the mask. "I thought I told you to never talk about that ever again."
"I'm not talking about that," he says innocently. "I was gonna say the buddy cops are hockey players."
I close my eyes, praying for patience. Or death. Either would be acceptable at this point.
Okay, maybe not death, considering we're in an airplane and all I can think about is holding Ivy in my arms again.
Of breathing in her scent.
Of tasting her.
Of—
The plane hits turbulence and Whiskey's hand shoots out to grab mine. He immediately tries to play it off.
"Just making sure you're not scared," he mutters.
"Your palm is sweating."
"No, it's not."
More turbulence. A passenger cries out dramatically from a few rows up. His grip tightens.
"Whiskey."
"What?"
"You're cutting off my circulation."
"Oh. Sorry." He loosens his grip but doesn't let go. "This is fine. Everything's fine."
"We're going to be fine."
"I know."
"Then why are you still holding my hand?"
He looks down at our joined hands like he's just noticing them, but he doesn't let go.
"Let go of my hand," I say.
"Nope."
"Whiskey."
"It's keeping me calm, dude."
"You said you weren't scared."
"I'm not. I'm... unsettled."
"By turbulence?"
"By feelings."
The word hangs between us like a live grenade. I should pull my hand away. Should reestablish boundaries. Should do literally anything except sit here with my fingers interlaced with his while we hurtle through the sky in a metal tube.
"We're not talking about feelings," I say finally.
"Fine."
"Fine."
But he doesn't let go of my hand. And I don't pull away.
The rest of the flight passes in relative silence.
Whiskey scrolls through his phone one-handed, trying again and again to play some game that looks like a cross between Mad Max and Angry Birds.
I pretend to read my book while hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch.
Hands, arms, thighs, his warm bearish bulk pressing into my side.
When we finally land, Whiskey releases my hand to gather his things. My fingers feel strange without the pressure of his, like something's missing.
"Made it," he announces cheerfully. "And you didn't even have to organize an evacuation."
"Disappointing, really. I had a whole system planned."
"I know you did." He stands, having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the overhead compartment. "Come on, let's go find our mysterious arctic vampire."
"You sound like a thirsty fan yourself."
He flashes one of his characteristic million-watt grins at me. "You jealous?"
"No," I mutter.
We shuffle off the plane with the other passengers, Whiskey continuing to charm everyone in his path while I focus on not committing murder in the jet bridge.
The airport is small but busy. Whiskey immediately returns to his phone as he head toward the baggage claim section, checking for updates now that we have signal. I text the group chat in the meantime.
PLAGUE
How is everything?
IVY
We're good.
THANE
Yeah, all good. We're watching cheesy movies at the motel.
WHISKEY
No rabid cannibals yet?
THANE
Hey, that was a one-time thing.
IVY
Wait, what do you mean? Rabid cannibals??
WRAITH
don’t
WHISKEY
Some guy in Cedarbrook got rabies and the rest is history. Soooo, not to change the subject or anything, but we've narrowed down Valek's location to Northwyke.
PLAGUE
Finally, a use for paparazzi and stalker fans.
WHISKEY
Yeah, and now the fans are saying his family's in Northwyke. So maybe it really is a family emergency.
IVY
That checks out, I guess.
THANE
Yeah. Interesting. Where did you get that information, Whiskey?
WHISKEY
Fan chat bro
THANE
Oh. Good idea.
Whiskey holds up his phone to me like I can't read the group chat myself. "See? Even our dear leader thinks it's a good idea that I keep an eye on the fan shit."
I sigh. "Okay. Sure. It's a good idea. Are you happy now?"
"Yup," he says, pocketing his phone. "The chat spotted Valek an hour ago at a fancy bakery, so we should head that way first. Either he's meeting up with an informant over lattes and cinnamon buns, or he really is having a family emergency." He winces. "Shit… I feel kinda bad if that's true."
"Don't tell me you're on his side now."
He shoots me a look like I'm the crazy and irrational one here. "Of course not. Just looking at all the facts. I'm still gonna take him out the first chance I get."
That makes my eyebrows shoot up. "We are not going to 'take him out.'"
Whiskey glances around the airport like someone might have heard him and he's going to get in trouble for that. "I mean… take him out for dinner or somethin'. You know. To welcome him to the team."
I roll my eyes and grab my suitcase as it slides by on the carousel. A wheel catches on the metal lip running alongside the conveyer built and Whiskey lifts it to the floor like it weighs nothing.
"I don't need help with my bag," I say through my teeth.
"I know," he says, giving me a lazy grin as he grabs his own luggage. "You know, you could try being excited about our little adventure."
"Oh, I'm thrilled," I say. "Our pack's scent match is off gallivanting around a town straight out of a horror movie with our pack leader and his feral brother, who put our previous winger through a wall, and now we're stalking the replacement in another country. What's not to love?"
He laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "This?"
I immediately shrug him off.
This is going to be a long fucking mission.