Chapter 62
For the first time in months, my heart is beating again.
She hasn’t stopped staring at me since I hauled her back onto solid ground.
But that’s okay. Because I haven’t stopped staring at her.
She’s here.
She’s alive.
She’s never looked more beautiful to me.
As her honey-yellow eyes remain locked with mine, a flood of emotion fills every crack and crevice in my chest. In the space of a heartbeat, everything comes rushing back to me. The love I feel for her. The pain of losing her. The agony of grieving for her.
“You’re alive,” I say, my voice breaking with disbelief.
Her brow dips as she frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A laugh chokes my throat. Why wouldn’t she be? Godfucking damn it. She has no idea.
Her presence pulls me in like a gravitational field. I’m walking to her before I even realize it, tugging her into my arms. Yet I don’t even have time to savor this moment, the feel of her body pressed against mine.
I grip her shoulders gently. “We have to go.”
She frowns again. “I don’t understand. Why are you here? How did you—”
“We have to go,” I repeat. “I stole the chopper from base. It’s not logged out, so it’ll be tracked in minutes.”
To her credit, Wren doesn’t argue. Although she stumbles slightly, she allows me to drag her to the helo.
“Cross, what’s happening? Why did you think I was dead?”
“Later,” I say. “Get on.”
The wind off the water and from the still-spinning rotors whips her brown hair around her head as I help her into the cockpit. It isn’t until I’m settled in the pilot’s seat that I realize she’s hurt. She’s clutching her arm, which is stained with blood.
“Gunshot,” she mumbles when she catches me looking, and pure rage boils in my gut.
I don’t have time to dwell on that. I’ll murder whoever shot her later. I slam the throttle forward and the helo lurches upward. Seconds later, we break free of the cliff and into the open sky, relief filling my chest.
Wren’s face is pale, eyes wide.
But she’s alive.
Alive.
“Where are we going?” Her voice is weak, hard to hear over the engine and rotors.
I pause, my brain scanning through the options.
I wasn’t expecting to be in this position when I went to bed tonight.
When that pull of energy woke me from a dead sleep and basically possessed me to go to the hangar, to board this helo, to start the engine, to fly to Valterra Ridge of all places.
I didn’t have a plan then, only an eerie, confusing sensation in my chest, and I don’t have a plan now.
“Heath’s End,” I finally decide. “There’s an old airfield on the north part of the island where we can land.”
As I get us higher in the air, I can’t stop glancing over at the copilot’s seat.
“Why are you staring at me, Wolf?”
“I thought you were dead.” My voice is hoarse to my own ears.
“I gathered.” Her forehead creases. “But why?”
“I…couldn’t talk to you anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You told me about the energy signatures with telepathy. That when someone dies, the energy is gone.” My heart constricts, squeezing to the point of pain. “I don’t feel you in my head anymore. I haven’t felt you in my head for months.”
Her breath hitches. “I don’t understand. Your energy is still there for me.”
I reach across the cabin, seeking out her hand. I need to touch her. Make sure she’s real.
She is.
She’s fucking real.
Her hand is warm. It trembles against mine.
I close my fingers around hers, a wave of emotion weakening me. On a slow inhale, I let the warmth of her presence wash over me, ground me in the chaos. I’m afraid if I let go of her hand, if I look away, she’ll vanish again.
“Daisy—” I start.
Alarms go off.
My gaze snaps to the dashboard as shrill, ear-piercing bells reverberate through the cabin.
“What’s happening?” she demands.
“Fuel warning,” I shout over the alarms, my hands working frantically over the controls. “We’ve got a leak. Tank’s been shot—it’s probably been leaking fuel this whole time.”
Her face grows even paler. “Fuck.”
“We won’t make it to Heath’s End. Hell, I don’t know if I can even get us back to land.”
The engines sputter, and Wren and I exchange a look.
The alarms seem to blare louder, even though the volume hasn’t changed, only the levels of adrenaline in my veins.
The helo begins to dip, like a wounded animal desperate for relief.
I can feel the loss of power, the vibration in the air as the rotors begin to slow.
“Hold on,” I say grimly as we make a sharp bank, tipping dangerously.
The horizon tilts at an impossible angle, and the water far below seems to rush upward at us.
We’re going down.
My pulse spikes, but there isn’t time for fear, only action. Releasing the controls, I grab Wren and pull her against me as the helicopter drops lower, plummeting toward the ocean.
“Hold on!” I shout in her ear, my voice raw.
The rotors slow even further, their whirring dying down to a ghostly whine. The dark expanse of the ocean grows closer, closer, ready to swallow us whole.
I tighten my grip on Wren, tensing as I brace for impact.
Time seems to slow, the world narrowing, the ocean beckoning.
And then—without warning—we hit the water.
Once again, chaos erupts. The sickening crash of impact, the crunch of metal, the cold, unrelenting rush of water flooding into the cabin. My body is slammed against the seat, my arm wrapped tightly around Wren as the helo spins in the water, the rotors grinding against the crashing waves.
Through it all, I hold on to her.
I’m never letting go of her again, even as the world around us descends into darkness.