by Juniper Hart
Cruz sat up suddenly, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He had inadvertently fallen asleep to the rhythmic motion of the plane. He looked around in stunned confusion.
We’re in Madrid already. I slept for hours! Troubled, he realized how much time he’d wasted when he could have been planning his two-pronged approach to handling the issues waiting for him. First the Council, then my father. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
He looked up at Sage, who was strolling slowly through the aisles, smiling sweetly and offering her assistance to those she passed. When she reached the end of the row, her eyes passed over his face fleetingly, and Cruz was once more overcome with a flutter of anxious jitters.
I wonder what she would do if I told her who I was, he thought idly, watching her turn to walk toward the galley. How would she react?
Although a part of him was grateful that she didn’t recognize him, he couldn’t help considering exposing himself, just for a reaction. He didn’t deem her to be someone to display undue emotion, but he could be wrong. Everybody had different ways of handling awesome responsibility. An overwhelming urge to tell her crossed over him, and he arched his back as if to keep himself planted in his seat. Quickly, he glanced at his neighbor, who had slept through most of the flight and was only stirring awake.
“Are we here?” the twenty-something girl mumbled, yawning, and Cruz nodded.
“We will be landing soon,” he told her. She smiled sleepily and rubbed her eyes.
“Sorry, I took a sleeping pill as soon as we boarded. I’m not good with flying, what with turbulence and all.” She eyed Cruz speculatively for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Do you live in Spain?”
“Yes,” he lied, not wanting to get into the details of his life.
Her crooked smile widened, and she straightened up in her seat.
“I can tell. I have always wanted to go to Spain, and I am finally getting to live my dream. The food, the islands, and of course, the tall, dark, and handsome men.” She winked coyly at Cruz, and he gave her a tight smile.
Now, this is a woman who would react hysterically if I told her who I was, he thought, turning to look out the window. His seatmate seemed disappointed by the rejection and popped earbuds into her ear cavities when he didn’t turn back to her.
Effortlessly and without issue, the aircraft landed. Cruz waited as the rest of the passengers disembarked, specifically the woman at his side. When she finally rose, he pulled out his cell phone and powered it on. He stared at it for a long moment as the screen blinked, showing a picture of him and his brother, Matin, standing proudly in their graduation gowns.
The graduation was one of hundreds they had attended over the years, and yet Cruz couldn’t help thinking they looked so young, despite the picture only being taken five years ago.
“Excuse me, sir, do you need some assistance?” While Cruz heard Sage’s voice, the words did not register as his thumbs poised against the now unlocked keypad.
Do it. Do it now, before you lose your nerve. You have to do this. Show them that you still have the gall. With trembling fingers, he began to type, vaguely aware of someone cautiously approaching him through his peripheral vision.
“Sir, what are you doing?” This time, the words filtered through his subconscious. Startled, Cruz looked up at Sage, his face a mask of consternation and guilt. Immediately, he took account of his surroundings and grinned self-consciously. He hadn’t realized that he was the last one left on the plane.
“I’m keeping you. I apologize,” he realized, shoving his cell into his suit pocket. She eyed him, and he suddenly recognized a spark of fear in her eyes.
She thought I was up to something dangerous, he concluded, rising to his feet, embarrassed. She had every right to think so; he was the last soul on the craft, acting furtive. Still, he was slightly offended that she’d considered it. Now you’re being overly sensitive, he thought, rolling his eyes. Let the woman go home. You’re holding her up.
He stepped into the aisle, and she allowed for him to pass. Instantly, she exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath.
“My apologies,” Cruz told her again, reaching into the overhead compartment for his luggage. She did not respond, carefully watching him as he removed his bag and shuffled toward the exit. He cast her a quick look over his shoulder, trying to capture her beauty to memory, before walking into the tunnel toward the airport.
He couldn’t resist casting her one last look over his shoulder, their eyes meeting as he continued to walk away.
She just stopped me from making a terrible move. Maybe one day, I’ll get a chance to thank her.
3
“So, do you think he was going to hurt you? Or blow up the plane?” Dayna shrieked in her ear, and Sage pulled the phone back, groaning at the overreaction. It was her own fault for saying anything, but the weight of what had happened on the flight still sat heavily on her chest. Mostly, she was devastatingly embarrassed at her own thoughts.
“I don’t know what to think. Maybe he was just lost in thought or something. I don’t know. It kinda creeped me out. He was jittery and mumbling to himself. But…”
“But what?” her best friend demanded. “Did you report it?”
“Of course not! What was I going to report?” Sage demanded in exasperation. “The guy wasn’t doing anything. He was just holding a cell phone.”
Dayna snorted in disbelief. “Uh, that all seems a little strange to me.”
“I should have never said anything to you,” Sage interjected, taking a sip of champagne as she rolled her eyes. She had already had a bath, though it had done little to alleviate her jitters. She was feeling unusually charged by the day’s events. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have a hard time winding down, but tonight was worse than she ever remembered it before.
The passenger sitting in seat K9 had certainly been acting strangely, but there were a million reasons why that could be. Sage’s training had taught her to always report if anything seemed remotely out of the ordinary. However, she was not illogical. She had read the accounts of crew members acting rashly toward passengers, and it angered her as a human being.
She couldn’t shake the memory of his troubled but smoldering dark eyes as their gazes locked. There was a feeling of familiarity between them, as if she’d known him in another life. Because I sure as hell don’t know him from this one. I’d remember his face anywhere.
A flutter of nervous warmth coasted through Sage, but she tried to refocus on the matter at hand, especially with Dayna’s skeptical words in her ear. “I don’t know, Sage. Your instincts are better than most. We’re gifted that way. If you feel like something was wrong—”
“Nothing was wrong. I was tired, and I overreacted. End of story.”
“If you say so.” Dayna’s voice was dripping with doubt.
He was distracted, yes, but if he wanted to do something violent, why would he wait until the plane was near empty? Sage questioned. No, he wasn’t planning anything weird. He was just a Spanish guy going home to his family. That was probably why he was sitting there in the first place. He wasn’t looking forward to going home.
Sage could relate to the idea that the guy simply didn’t want to go home. She could almost envision herself, sitting on the ground in New Jersey, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, trying to think of ways to avoid calling her father.
She had gone to check the manifest after the mysterious passenger had disembarked, but Ricky had taken the tablet with him into the airport, and the two had not reconnected inside. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she was being an alarmist, a deep shame filling her cheeks.
He was too handsome to be a criminal, she joked with herself and then cringed at the stupidity of the thought. She knew that a book could never be judged by its cover. Would anyone guess the secrets I harbor by looking at me? she scoffed to herself.
“Oh, come on, Sage. I am just worried about you,” Dayna retorted. “It’s not every day t
hat your best friend gets to disarm an international threat.”
Sage grunted and rose from the suede sofa, wriggled her toes to glance at her pink toenails. She knew that Dayna was just being a jackass now. “Your propensity for hyperbole never ceases to amaze me, Dayna. I’m going to bed.”
“Too many big words for the day I’ve had. Sleep well. I’ll see you on Thursday morning. We’re still going to the island, right?” There was a twinge of worry in Dayna’s voice.
“Yeah,” Sage replied, sighing, although she suddenly remembered how annoying her best friend could be when given the opportunity.
You opened up to her, Sage reminded herself. You brought this on yourself.
She and Dayna had been paired together in training a decade earlier. Dayna was the opposite of what Sage would have expected from a flight attendant at Northeastern, and she had immediately wondered how the punk-looking girl had landed the position. Sage had considered that Dayna’s rich daddy had bought her a place in the company. But upon getting to know the tattooed firecracker, Sage was shocked to learn that Dayna had grown up under terrible circumstances.
Dayna was from Seattle and had run away from an abusive home when she was fourteen. She had lived on the streets until she was eighteen, battling a drug addiction and dabbling in prostitution to support a terrible habit which haunted her for years. When she was nineteen, she finally moved into a shelter and accepted help to get on her feet. While she was also a bear shifter, she had no ties to any pack or any interest in pursuing a relationship with one, even though Sage had invited her home several times.
“I was a rebel with a cause,” Dayna told her once, “but I finally realized it was time to let go of my anger and put it toward something positive before I got arrested or ended up dead. Heroin certainly wasn’t doing me any favors. Being a bear isn’t going to propel me forward. Being in touch with my issues is. I can’t escape it, regardless of what’s in my DNA. The Enchanted leave me alone for the most part.”
I wonder what that’s like—answering to no one, living your life without having to check in with a pack and worry about the Council. Sage could barely imagine it. She had been impressed with Dayna’s in-your-face approach to life, and the two became fast friends, but some days, the short-haired pixie could be too much to handle. That was one of those days.
Living that dangerously turns you into a tough cookie, but man, can she ever be brash, Sage thought, shaking her head. She has absolutely no filters.
“Sage?” Dayna asked, sounding confused. “You still there?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m looking forward to it,” the redhead answered. “Until Thursday, then.”
“Okay, sister. Sleep well. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Sage replied, hitting the end button on her cell and placing it on the glass coffee table. She picked up the stemmed goblet of champagne, downing the rest of the liquid and rising from her seated position.
Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she was hungry. Idly, she considered ordering room service, but suddenly, the thought of staying in the suite was suffocating. She’d spent enough time staring at the four walls around her. The exhaustion she had felt when they had landed had completely disappeared. She would go have dinner at the restaurant and come back to bed. Getting out would tire her out, she was sure of it.
It was almost seven o’clock, opening time for the late-eating Spaniards, and Sage glanced at the hotel’s brochure. As she had suspected, the restaurant opened for dinner at precisely that time.
Have I really been sitting here all afternoon? she wondered, shaking her head. Where had the day gone?
Sage had checked into the Hotel Catalonia Las Cortes at noon, after clearing customs without issue. She settled into her suite on the executive floor of the airport hotel, responding to emails on her phone and catching up on social media before ordering a light lunch and a bottle of homemade Catalonian sparkling wine. Finally, she had taken a bath and found a romantic comedy to watch, but she could not concentrate on the screen. Her mind continued to filter back to the passenger in seat K9.
I wish I’d at least caught his name, she mused. Maybe that’s why I keep thinking about him.
When Dayna called, she had been unable to resist spilling the story to her best friend, who had reacted exactly how Sage had expected: over the top. Not that Sage had behaved any better.
I need to get out of here for an hour, she decided, padding toward the bedroom to change from her robe. That will take my mind off stupid things.
A jovial maître d’ escorted her to a table in the near empty restaurant. He was obviously smitten with her, since he made every effort to chat with her, but Sage was not feeling overly conversational. Her job robbed her of all her decorum, and when she was alone, she preferred the peace of silence to speaking with strangers. While she could not sleep, she was drained, emotionally and physically.
It was commonplace for cabin crew to experience that level of exhaustion after long flights. The time and altitude changes, coupled with the long hours of dealing with people, was exhausting to the most seasoned flight attendants. Although long flights could do that, that night, there was more to her fatigue than the usual wear and tear on her body.
The host seemed disappointed he could not draw her out for conversation. Sage gave him a small smile as he placed a linen napkin on her lap.
“Thank you,” she told him, and the sound of her voice seemed to light up his entire existence.
“My pleasure, señorita,” he told her, his thick accent charged with happiness that she had paid him any mind at all. He bowed formally before hurrying off to smack the waiter who was flirting with the bartender.
Sighing, Sage turned to the menu, rubbing her tired blue eyes so she could read the words through the grittiness. This was a bad idea. Go back upstairs and order room service. You’re going to crash face first into your salad, and who knows what the maître d’ will do to you then?
She wasn’t worried about what would happen to her—after all, Sage had always been able to take care of herself. She just wondered if her legs would carry her back upstairs once she was full of food and wine.
All the signs that she was getting ready to crash were there. Her lids were growing heavy, and her retinas were burning, but the stubbornness in her prevailed.
No, she thought. You got your ass off the sofa, put on a sexy dress, did your make-up, and are wearing high heels. There is no going back now. Order your appetizers and shut up. You’re going to enjoy yourself whether you like it or not.
The young, bored waiter approached, and Sage ordered a salad and a glass of wine before settling back and staring out into the airport. He barely said two words to her, and she could see that she wasn’t really his type, anyway.
What a life, she sighed, a mixture of exasperation and gratitude crossing through her. If anyone had told her ten years ago that she would have been jet-setting across the world and dining alone in five-star restaurants, she would have laughed in their faces.
Daddy would have laughed harder than me, she thought wryly. She had grown up as an only child of a functioning alcoholic, and contrary to popular belief, she’d had a relatively happy childhood. The pack had taken good care of her when her father had been on benders, and she had wanted for little. They were shifters, and they looked after their own. It was what separated them from the mortals, who were hellbent on killing themselves.
David Aubin was a carpenter by trade, but a dreamer by heart. He had always believed he was cut out for more than a three-bedroom bungalow in Windsor, New Jersey, and he had been determined to show his stunningly beautiful wife, Micheline, that he could give her the life she had always known before agreeing to marry him. Micheline had been David’s sixth wife and unaware of her husband’s supernatural abilities. Micheline always talked about how lucky she felt to be married to a man who looked thirty, even though she believed he was in his fifties.
Even though Sage was decades older than Micheline, the cold, Fr
ench blonde had asserted herself as a difficult-to-please mother figure, and the shifter had learned to regard her as such. However, Micheline had stuck out her marriage longer than her father’s other wives, and Sage did grow quite close to her over the years.
The problem arose when Micheline finally discovered her charming husband had a silver tongue but no ambition, favoring beer over financial planning. Micheline had sat Sage down and given her an option, despite believing Sage to be in her twenties.
“I am leaving your father,” her cold, perfectly coifed mother had informed her. “You may join me if you like, or you can stay here. The choice is completely yours.”
Sage had not understood. The idea of picking up the pieces after yet another divorce was insurmountable, and she had hoped that this one would stick around.
“Where are you going?” she had demanded. “Why are you going?” She couldn’t deny that she was crushed by the news, knowing how her father would take it.
“Sage, you are too young to understand the intricacies of married life,” Micheline told her, as if Sage were a child of eight, without realizing that her stepdaughter was older than her own grandmother, “but let me give you this piece of advice. Don’t ever depend on a man for your happiness. If you think you can escape a bad life by running away with a stranger, you get what you deserve. You must learn to find what you are lacking in yourself. No one else will give you what you need in life.”
“But my dad loves you!” Sage wailed, loathing the pitch of her tone. She sounded exactly like the child Micheline was treating her as. “You can’t leave him!”
Micheline had shaken her head sadly. “I am leaving him because I love him. He will never figure out who he is if I continue to indulge his delusions. When he is on his own, he will need to figure out a way to get what he wants out of life. Besides, I am in my mid-thirties. I want security and children of my own, but right now your father can’t give that to me.”