Chapter 8
ELENA PIERSON
“Okay, but I can’t believe you’re not going to eat something,” I mutter.
We’ve been standing in the boarding line for a bit, but according to the time, they should be scanning tickets any second now.
I glance down at the frappe coffee I’ve practically inhaled in the last twenty minutes and frown into my cup. Turning to toss it and my leftover burger wrapper into the trash bin before we load onto the plane, I glance up at the red-haired giant beside me.
After he made me promise I’d not leave and calmed down enough to let me go, we made our way to the restaurant and coffee shop to get some sustainable food.
The champagne and peanuts I managed to eat on Frank’s plane weren’t enough to keep my stomach happy any longer, and I assume Lachlan needed to eat too, but so far he’s been stubborn. “Have you eaten since you got up this morning?”
“It’s been more than three hundred years since I’ve eaten the food of my homeland.
Whitley’s cooking fattened me right up in the last few weeks, but bless her, she can’t make neeps and tatties to save her hide, which is alright.
I don’t need to eat the way you do, and we’ll be in Scotland soon enough.
I’ll eat when I get hungry,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulders and looks out over my head.
My jaw unhinges just as the first group number is called, and the first-class passengers start making their way to the kiosk lady to scan our tickets.
“What?”
He doesn’t need to eat?
I stand there like an idiot until a throat clears at my back and discover I’m holding up the line, before muttering a hasty sorry over my shoulder to scurry and reach his side. “What do you mean three hundred years? How long were you in the moat?” I whisper screech.
We can circle back to what way he eats for food later, but he’s been locked in the moat longer than America has been a country?
“A very long time,” he says, giving me another wink.
I glance up, marveling at how at ease he seems wearing a ridiculous smile while holding our luggage. I blink realizing he’s not been around this many people in years, and he’s likely never seen a building like this with glass walls, or any of it.
He’s missed years, and no one mentioned he’d been stuck for that long.
I start to ask him how he’s taking being around this much stimulation so well, but catch the sharp frown between his brows and the stiffness in his broad shoulders.
My gaze follows where he’s staring at a lone couple who are acting as if they’re alone in their bedroom and not in a packed airport in the middle of the afternoon.
The woman’s face is flushed as the man presses kisses along her neck, and I glance around and notice more than a few people are watching the display as if it’s live pay-per-view.
Realizing I’m gawking, I turn away and my gaze clashes with Lachlan’s. “Since we’re going to be spending quite some time together, do you have a boyfriend?” The usual teasing demeanor he has is washed away, leaving only sincerity in its place, and his gaze searches mine in earnest.
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
As if by light switch, he goes back to his affable self. His form visibly relaxes as he nods. “Good. Now, why are the colors of this place so drab? You’d think they’d paint the walls in cheery colors to invite guests to travel,” he says, shaking his dark red mane of hair.
Our group is called the first set of travelers to board the flight and my gaze travels up his wide back and shoulders watching as he charms the airline agent and hands her our tickets we grabbed earlier.
She blushes up at him, barely offering me a glance as she takes them and lets us make our way to the plane.
“How are you taking all this so well?” I ask as soon as we’re out of earshot of anyone.
“All of what?”
“This.” I gesture at the line of people behind us at the dark hall enclosure leading us into the plane, basically everything.
He chuckles and loops an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me to him in a display of affection as we walk along the gray carpeted pathway.
“I’ve had months of Whitley and Connor readying me for humans, but I’ve no worries. We’re going to be just fine, my flower.”
And with this ridiculous line, he kisses the top of my head and sends my heartbeat racing just as we reach the open plane door.
“Welcome to Comfort Airlines,” the smiling flight attendant says in a way of greeting, her blonde hair tied up at the back of her head in a tight bun.
“Hello,” I reply.
I step over the small threshold onto the plane and glance over the rows of blue and gray seats. The first few rows of blue seats are a bit larger and do have inches more in leg room, but I doubt it makes much difference to Lachlan. He’s gonna be cramped up for most of the ride. Ouf.
Realizing we may be a bit smooshed for the next few hours, I sigh and make my way to our row before wedging myself into my assigned seat and wait for him to climb in beside me, still reeling from his endearment.
“What sort of plane is this?” he asks, standing in the middle of the aisle, hand on the handle of both suitcases that are rolling along behind him.
He glances around and looks more agitated by the second as the aisle begins to crowd with people behind him.
“What? It’s a commercial plane. Sometimes the seating is a bit small, but it’s a really short flight to London. What’s wrong?”
“Are you comfortable?”
His gaze is on my thick hips and where the arm of the chair is already digging into my side, leaving an imprint that will likely be red and raw by the time we reach Great Britain.
Flights are never comfortable though for a curvy girl like myself.
“Well, no. Can you come sit down so everyone can get on?” I ask.
An older man in thick glasses throws a nasty look my way and sighs before clearing his throat. The plane passengers are becoming more disgruntled by the second.
“Out of the chair, lass,” he says, motioning for me to get to my feet.
When I can’t get up easily, having to unwedge myself from underneath the armrest, his lip curls.
“Nope, we’re not riding in this piss pot shaped like a biscuit can. It’s unsafe,” he utters.
“We can’t just get off the plane,” I whisper-hiss at him as he helps me to my feet easily.
“Nonsense,” he utters.
Quicker than I know what’s happening, he grabs hold of my hand and starts walking, using our luggage as a shield to push his way back to the front of the plane.
“What the hell are you doing?” someone shouts.
He walks us a few seats forward toward the cockpit even as curses, expletives, and yelling starts from the multitude of people trying to board the plane, and my mouth drops open for the third time today.
By the time I’m asking if he’s crazy, we’ve reached the flight attendant who’s looking less than pleased to see him. I grab the back of his shirt and fist it in one hand as I wait to see her reaction.
“Hello, we wish to leave,” he says.
He clears his throat as if what he’s done is a common occurrence while the people who were just forcibly shoved backward bluster.
“Sir, please move to your seat,” she says.
“Security is on the way,” another flight attendant suddenly says into a phone and then reattaches it to the wall.
All the blood leaves my body when I catch a glimpse of the tall male flight attendant behind us that must have come out of the galley after hearing the commotion.
“You need to get to your seats, now,” he says, his lips in a thin hard line.
Fuck.
My heart rate is tripping now that I realize what Lachlan’s done.
“Lachlan, this is bad,” I tell him, trying to convey that this isn’t what’s normal and we are now in trouble.
Usually people who wish to disembark would wait until passengers have boarded the plane before leaving. But now he’s delayed the entire flight and people are pissed and it’s valid.
“I can’t imagine it’s uncommon for anyone to decide against riding in one of these,” he says.
“You’re going to make us miss our flight, asshole,” some dude shouts from outside the plane.
The intercom squeals with static piercing my ears as the pilots begin rattling off orders over the radio to try and calm the wayward passengers trying to onboard.
“I think we’re holding up the gate,” I say hoping Lachlan can somehow hear me over the intensity of the crowd.
Belatedly, I realize now I should have maybe warned him that once we scanned our tickets, we wouldn’t be able to just leave. It’s always difficult getting everyone on and off the plane, almost like we’re packing into a sardine can, not unlike the biscuits he accused the airline of being.
“Sir, causing a disruption in flight is a government offense,” a newcomer says.
And as the flight attendants step aside to let them through, a man wearing a white collared shirt with a tie and a bunch of yellow bars makes their way toward us.
“Shit. That’s the pilot,” I murmur.
The co-pilot with less stripes on his shoulder pads joins the first, but Lachlan seems to loom over them both like a giant; he’s so tall.
“No wonder the planes are so wee and tiny, if the menfolk flying the tin cans are this toaty,” he replies.
The two pilots sputter in outrage, and my face turns beet red as everyone starts arguing.
My stomach dips and forms into a tight knot in my middle, and I’m beginning to see real jail time in my future when obviously carrying airline security shows up at the plane doors.
And they’re not short men like the pilots.
Shit.
The airline security officers are huge, one is maybe an inch or so taller than Lachlan and don’t look like the kind of men you’d want to meet in a back alley or anywhere unless it involved sheets and a lot of safe words.
“Oh my god,” I breathe when one of them reaches out and touches Lachlan.
“Ciùinich,” Lachlan’s voice booms.
The word seems to expand from his voice like the crack of a whip, and sparks fizz in bright colors of yellow and gold that seem to permeate and dissipate into the air.
Instantly the atmosphere changes, the shimmery haze collecting overhead like a shiny smog within the plane cabin.
Everyone calms collectively. A satisfied sigh rises up from someone at the back of the group, and it seems to echo, as if contagious, while everyone from the flight attendants, pilots, and passengers begin to smile at Lachlan.
“What the hell was that?”
“A charm,” Lachlan answers, rubbing my knuckles with his hand lightly.
“What did it do?” I ask, pulling my hand from his before my body can begin betraying me in front of a very large audience. The man just doesn’t have a clue what he does to a woman. Or anyone else, from the looks of it.
“They’ll have no memory of what made them angry. Not to worry, all will be well,” Lachlan says. He peers out the big plane doors and then turns back to me and gives me a grin.
“So, do you want to call Bernadette and tell them we’re going to need a ride to London after all?”
“No.”
“Then how are we getting to London?” I ask deadpan.
“You there, how do you propose we get to London without flying?” Lachlan asks the security officer closest to him.
The tall man has a buzz cut and weathered skin, but the smile wreathing his face is sunshine itself. “You’ll need to get to the closest train station, or perhaps the bus route, but I think the train is the more scenic option,” he says.
From a short flight to London, to something else that will surely take hours if not days, to reach Great Britain… but I suppose it’s not the worst that could’ve happened with Lachlan deciding he’s not cut out for domestic travel.
I don’t blame him when the seats are razor thin, forcing passengers to practically have their knees pressed into the seatback ahead. It’s really no wonder customers feel squeezed and claustrophobic.
“I’m so very sorry for the current situation. Would you like us to procure you a shuttle to the nearest train station?”
My arms go over my chest as my face screws up into a look of confusion at how accommodating they’re all now being. “What did you do to them, and why am I not acting the same way?” I ask, wondering why I’m so unaffected while everyone is gazing at him like he hung the moon.
“It’s like a pheromone. Come on, let’s go see this shuttle they’re talking about,” Lachlan says, avoiding the other part of my question.
He sounds positively giddy at the prospect of riding in a shuttle though, and walks a few steps through the gate as everyone makes way and parts for him, allowing him through easily, stupid grins on faces all.
One of them actually takes our luggage from him, and I can just make out their assurances of taking care of it for him, while I try to make sense of what’s happening.
I do know of several insects that emit a calming chemical, like queen bees for example that keep the hive stable and the worker bees working, but this is insane. “And this pheromone doesn’t affect me like these fine people because?” I ask, as I step out of the plane back onto the boarding gate.
I glance around at the throng of passengers who seem to be the most relaxed bunch you’d ever seen, like they just had a full spa experience with the sheer amount of warmth and happiness exuding from them.
He turns around, his sharp greenish gaze meeting my own, causing my heart to pitter patter like an idiot again.
“Because you’re my mate.”