Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Izzy
The next morning, Mr. Time and Brenda are waiting for us with a suburban outside the house.
Mr. Time stands in a grey suit that makes him appear even taller, if that’s possible, and his flawless hair is smoothed back.
Brenda stands at complete odds next to him, wearing a leather vest, a black choker, leather pants, and boots.
The tattoos on her arms are on display, and her expression is thunderous.
It’s strange how much he looks like some rich guy with a fearsome bodyguard. But even while I’m thinking about that, Beth runs up with bags in her hands. She has a wide smile plastered across her face, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Beth hugs us goodbye and gives us a lunch she’s packed for us.
“Does this mean you really believe we’re not evil?” Wilder asks, peeking inside. “You’re baking us cookies for the road?”
“I baked you cookies even when I thought you were too weak to fend off those evil gods,” she corrects, her voice scolding. Then she tweaks his nose. “But now, yes, I feel better about baking for you.”
Once we get into the car and pull away from the school, Mr. Time speaks over his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell us about the man who trained all of you, Oliver?”
Oliver stiffens, and for a minute I don’t think he’s going to talk, but then he begins, very slowly, “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I thought you wanted to help us?” Van says, an aggressive note to his voice.
Oliver lets out a slow breath. “He has powers from the gods.”
“What kind of powers?” Mr. Time’s voice holds no emotion.
“He always has one or two weird creatures that protect him, although I get the sense it takes a lot of energy for him to control them. He can also cause pain…a lot of pain. And he’s strong.” He pauses, then begins again, his voice even softer, “He’s also a complete asshole and very dangerous.”
I expect Mr. Time to ask more questions, but instead he says nothing more, and I change the subject, awkwardly talking with Oliver about his favorite foods.
He doesn’t say much, but I keep trying for a while before I finally give up.
Wordlessly, Mr. Time turns up the radio, and I’m glad to just relax and enjoy the rest of the drive.
We go to an airport. After we’ve lifted our bags out of the trunk, Wilder frowns when Mr. Time leads us out onto the tarmac.
“We don’t have to go through security?” he asks.
“Private plane,” Mr. Time says.
“We could’ve just teleported,” Van points out.
“That would leave you without adult supervision,” Brenda says with a wicked smile. She draws the eye of the men in the airport.
“You haven’t been to Scotland before, and it’s almost impossible to teleport successfully to a place you’ve never seen yourself,” Mr. Time says. “I’m not going to risk you all losing each other.”
“And you want to keep an eye on us.” Aiden shakes his head slowly. “We’ll never prove ourselves to you really, will we?”
Mr. Time turns on him in exasperation. “Did it ever occur to you, Aiden, that maybe I care about what happens to--”
“Your granddaughter? Finally. Good,” Aiden interrupts.
“Aiden!” I say, horrified. The relationship I have with my grandfather feels so new and tentative, and I can’t help feeling like the wrong words could ruin it. It’s hard to ever feel sure of yourself with a history like mine.
“About all of you,” Mr. Time corrects. He quirks an eyebrow at Aiden and says, “No matter how rude you are.”
I can feel Oliver’s irritation radiating from him in the way he crosses his arms. He doesn't want to be here with us, hearing this. I wonder if it hurts because of the way he’s been raised in that god-cult with Thea, or if it’s because he can’t wait until we’re gone.
The jet we board seems enormous. There are several rows of huge, plush, white, leather seats and warm, dark wood everywhere. I stare around me in fascination, and Mr. Time says, “You can explore once we get underway. It’s a long flight--best to get started.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to pretend like I take private jets every day.
I can feel Wilder’s gaze on me. He catches my hand in his and tugs me next to his side. Together, the two of us slide into a pair of seats, and he makes sure I sit by the window.
“This is your first flight,” he whispers into my ear.
“You remember,” I say, surprised. I talked when we were kids about how I’d never flown in a plane, just once.
Then I realized it was the kind of thing that made people feel sorry for me.
I shouldn’t talk about stuff like that with someone like Wilder, who went to Disneyland and on Caribbean cruises with his family.
They weren’t rich like Van was, but Wilder’s family still seemed plenty rich to me.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, right as Oliver drops into the seat across from me, which makes my anxiety spike up.
Oliver crosses his arms and stares out the window. He has a sullen look across his face.
“You know, friend, if you don’t want to be here, we don’t need you.” Van suddenly sprawls beside him. Van looks so comfortable with himself, as if he belongs here; of course, this isn’t his first private jet.
But Van looks comfortable everywhere, no matter what.
“You do, actually,” Oliver says icily.
Wilder holds my hand, caressing the back of my hand with his thumb.
The small, tender touch helps make my nerves dissipate.
I’ll be fine once I get into the air, I’m sure.
It’s just hard doing something for the first time as an adult.
That’s true for so many things for me. I’m always trying new things I’ve never done before.
Oliver and Van trade barbs as the plane leaps forward. I bite my lip, but it begins to smoothly taxi. When we start to pick up speed, the force pushes me back into my seat and my heart jumps.
Wilder leans in toward me, wrapping his big arm around my shoulders. He tugs me into his side, and I lean into him. I feel a sudden rush of terror.
“Hey, what’s wrong with her?” Oliver asks suddenly.
“Nothing,” Wilder says. “Flying makes me nervous so she’s staying close to me.”
He’s so ridiculous--and so sweet--that it makes me smile. I release my death grip on the chair railings and rest my hand lightly on his thigh instead. The plane is starting to level off, and I can finally relax.
“You’ve never been on a plane before?” Oliver sneers.
“We don’t need to, because we can teleport,” Van sneers right back. His cocky, rich bastard act is on full display right now, and I could kiss him for it as Oliver shrinks back a little. “We’re just trying to help you out.”
“That’s right,” Wilder says. “I should get over my flying fears, really, because if something did happen to the plane--I’d just teleport back to the academy.”
“What would you do if someone got tired of your shit and threw you out of the plane?” Van asks, lowering his voice. “Just…hypothetically. Can you teleport?”
Oliver glances out the window, refusing to answer.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Wilder says.
The plane has leveled off, and the little seatbelt warning has disappeared.
“I’m not going to be your airline steward,” Mr. Time leans over the seat back, “but there’s a stocked fridge in the back. Feel free to get up and explore.”
Wilder lets out a boyish whoop, and it makes me smile. It’s in such contrast to the intimidating way he acted a moment before with Oliver
“I’ve never been on a private jet before like this,” he says. “Let’s check it out.”
I have a funny feeling that without Wilder to distract me, I might still be clinging to the arms of my chair. Instead, I smile and take his hand. Together, the two of us roam from the pilots’ cockpit to the private bedroom in the back.
“I think we’ve seen every inch of this place,” Wilder says, when the two of us are kneeling on the narrow bench underneath one of the plane’s windows in the bedroom, to get a glimpse of the clouds below. It’s starting to make my heart lift to be up among the clouds.
“Thanks, Wilder,” I tell him.
His lips part as if he has something to say, and then he just leans forward and kisses me.
It’s a slow, sweet kiss. I kiss him back, my fingers tangling in his blond hair, as our kisses deepen and turn more passionate.
His lips nudge mine open, then the tip of his tongue dances along my upper lip.
When his tongue thrusts against mine, I moan softly, and his hands sweep down my sides, then wrap around my hips.
“Oh, Izzy,” he breathes into my ear, just before his lips plunder my throat. I tilt my head back, inviting him in.
My voice comes out in a breathy gasp when I ask, “Isn’t the mile high club a thing?”
“Really going for broke on your first-ever flight, hm?”
“Well, I’ve got to do something to calm my nerves.”
“Well, as long as it’s all medicinal…” He suddenly slides behind me.
Fluffy white clouds and the brilliant blue sky are in front of me through the window, and his hard, muscular body presses against me from behind.
My fingers find the cool glass, holding myself steady as his hand slips across the front of my jeans.
His thumb teases against the seam between my thighs, and just that faint touch makes my breath hitch.
I breathe in the scent of his cologne. I feel enveloped by him--the way he smells, the way he’s holding me close, the safety I feel.
I think of that night I ran from the library right into his arms--the night we began to all find our way back together again.
Sometimes the gods have helped and sometimes they’ve made it harder, but the way these men love me has a feel of inevitability; we would’ve been together, magic or no.
His fingers walk up the front of my jeans.
He undoes the button, and when his fingertips glide over my cleft, my breath hitches.
I lean back into him as he pushes my pants and underwear down with the back of his hand, his fingers already expertly strumming over my clit.
He teases me until I’m grinding down on his palm, desperate for more of him, and I can feel him smile against my cheek before he kisses me again.
I turn and face him, kissing him back fully, then walk him back toward the bed.
He lets me push him, and when we reach the edge of the bed, I shove him.
He lets himself fall, but he catches me around his waist, bringing me with him.
I’m laughing as the two of us scramble across the bed, playfully wrestling to be on top.
He wins. The faint scruff across his jaw tickles my skin as he kisses me over and over, and my hips roll up, wanting more of him.
I catch him in my hand and draw him out, teasing his tip over my core.
He glides easily through all the proof of how hot he’s made me for him.
“Oh, Izzy,” he groans, and it’s good to see his breath hitch the way he did mine. I smile as I wrap my thighs around his lean waist, and he drives inside me over and over.
I’m flying high, and I’m not scared anymore.