by Zoe Chant
“That's right,” Dai said, shooting his mate a grateful look for rescuing him. “As a shifter, I can promise you that Chase will be true to you. You're his mate. He'll never look at another woman again, now that he's met you.”
Killian's mouth tightened. “Chase met Connie three years ago.”
Connie avoided Dai and Virginia's shocked stares. Hot humiliation rose in her cheeks. She stared down at the table, unable to speak past the tight pain closing her throat.
“That's not possible,” Dai said blankly.
“My cousin is the most impossible person in the world,” Killian said, sounding resigned. “But I didn't think that even he could break something as sacred as the mate-bond. Connie, I'm so, so sorry. You're a good person, and you deserve better. It's not your fault.”
Maybe it is.
I'm too cautious, I could never bring myself to trust him fully. Maybe we would have had a beautiful, perfect bond, just like Dai and Virginia, if only I hadn't held back.
Maybe it is all my fault.
Connie angrily scrubbed her knuckles across her eyes, dashing away the tears before they could spill. “It's nothing to me,” she said defiantly. “I'm not a shifter, after all. I don't have some amazing instant connection that means he's the only man for me. Chase can sleep around as much as he wants, for all I care.”
“Chase doesn't sleep around,” Hugh said. For the first time, he didn't sound even slightly sarcastic. “He hasn't for as long as I've known him.”
“It's good of you to try to defend your friend,” Killian said to him. “But please, don't lie to Connie. She's been hurt enough already.”
Hugh rubbed at his forehead as if he had a headache. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he muttered, apparently to himself. “One mated pair around here is bad enough…”
He dropped his hand again with a sigh, looking at Connie. “If you're going to refuse Chase, do it for something he's actually done, not something he hasn't. Take my word on it, he’s not slept with anyone for at least three years. He hasn’t even lusted after anyone.”
Dai was looking at the paramedic in fascination, as though he’d never heard him talk like this before. “But Chase is always flirting with women.”
“No, he’s just being himself. The same way he is with everyone, male or female.” Hugh shrugged. “He’s charming and charismatic, and women mistake that for interest and throw themselves at him. But he never takes them up on it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Connie asked him, suspiciously.
“Healing is my useful talent.” Hugh sipped his drink, hiding his expression. “Not my only one.”
“You know, this would explain why no one ever asks Chase to walk them home twice,” Virginia said thoughtfully. “And why the women always look terribly disappointed afterwards. I just assumed he was an awful lover.”
“Evidently not,” Hugh muttered, flashing a sidelong glance at Connie.
Connie couldn't stop the blush from rising up her face again… or the hope from rising up in her heart.
Maybe it is true. Maybe Chase really hasn't played around since he met me. Maybe he can't. Maybe I really am his—
She realized that Killian was studying her. He touched her arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Connie let Killian draw her a little to one side, out of earshot of the others. “Do you think it's true?” she asked him.
“I can’t say that I do.” He blew out his breath, shaking his head. “I want to think the best of my cousin, I really do, but… I know him. He’s never been able to keep it in his pants for three days, let alone three years.”
Connie's heart plummeted like her plane. “But, what if Hugh really can tell whether someone’s been chaste?”
“I’ve never heard of any sort of shifter who can do that. I think Hugh is just trying to protect his friend. Connie, you're the one who caught Chase cheating on you. You saw it with your own eyes.” Killian spread his hands, palm up. “Do you really think nothing happened? It just doesn't sound very believable to me.”
Chase said nothing happened…
But he would say that, wouldn’t he?
“You're right,” she said dully.
“Of course he's right,” said a cheerful voice. “Killian is always right. You should definitely listen to him.”
Connie spun around to see Chase grinning at them. He was a little out of breath, as if he'd been flying hard and had only just walked in.
“As long as he's only been saying nice things about me, of course.” Chase's smile faltered as he looked at her face. “Connie? What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” Connie shook him off as he tried to take her hand. “Just been talking to your friends. I hope your conversation with Sammy was more productive.”
“I got what I needed, though not everything I'd hoped for.” Chase reached out to her again, but she stepped away. “Connie, what—?”
“I don't want to talk about it.” Connie hugged herself, glaring at him. “I've wasted enough time already. What about my plane, Chase? That's all that matters. How am I going to save my plane from Sammy?”
“But—” Chase started.
“For once in your life, drop it,” Killian told him. “Seriously. What's your plan?”
Chase looked rebellious, but allowed the change of topic. “The same as before, of course. We're going to win the race in Connie's Spitfire.”
“My Spitfire is underwater, Chase,” Connie snapped. “Even if your sea dragon friend can get it out, there is no way it's flying anytime soon.”
Chase's grin reappeared. “Sammy just said West's Spitfire had to win the race. He didn't specify which one.”
Connie stared at him. “Are you seriously suggesting that we go out and buy another Spitfire?”
“Oh no.” Killian held up his hands, palm out and fingers spread. “Chase, I can't liquidate assets on a moment's notice. I don't have the ready cash for this sort of purchase.”
“Even if you did, it wouldn't do any good,” Connie told him. “You can't just buy a Spitfire off eBay. They only come up for sale once in a blue moon!”
“I know that. In fact, I know that better than you do.” Chase stuck his hands in his pockets, gazing contemplatively up at the ceiling. “Killian, you remember that money you lent me a little while ago?”
“Strangely, I do indeed remember advancing you several million pounds,” Killian said dryly. “It's the sort of thing that sticks in my memory. Why?”
Chase looked insufferably smug. “I think it's time to show you what I bought.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Now this was definitely worth two and a half million dollars, Chase thought, delighted by the matching dumbfounded expressions on Killian and Connie's faces as they stared at his plane.
The single-seater Mark IX Spitfire dominated the small private hanger he'd rented. Chase was glad of all the hours he'd spent lovingly polishing the plane's sleek curves. It shone like a vast precious gem, light sparkling from the immaculate paintwork. If they'd been in private, he would have been tempted to try proposing to Connie with it.
“When did you buy a Spitfire?” Connie said at last, weakly. “More to the point, why did you buy a Spitfire?”
“I told you.” Chase raised an eyebrow at her, unable to control his wide smirk. “Whenever I saw something that reminded me of you, I had to get it.”
Killian shook his head, his expression half-amused, half-despairing. “And I thought you needed the money to pay off gambling debts. Well, I suppose that there are worse investments. At least you should be able to resell it in future at a profit.”
“Sorry, coz, but no.” Chase pulled the Spitfire's registration papers out of his jacket, casually handing them to Connie. “Because it's not my plane anymore.”
Connie looked down at the paperwork, then back up at him in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
“The bet is on West's Spitfire winning the race. Sammy said so himself.” Chase pointed first at Connie, then at the plane. “
You're West, and now this is your Spitfire. So you can still win the bet.”
“How much did you say this plane was worth?” Killian's voice had gone high and strangled.
“Two and a half million dollars, give or take a bit.” Chase patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, Killian. It's only money.”
“I promise, I won't keep it,” Connie said to Killian. “As soon as the race is over, I'll give it straight back.”
Killian pulled at his dark hair, his gray eyes rather wild. “Do neither of you understand capital gains? This is a very tax-inefficient plan! And what happens if you don't win the race? Does Sammy get to keep both Spitfires?”
Chase shrugged carelessly. “I suppose so. I hadn't really thought about it. We're not going to lose the race, after all.”
Connie walked around the plane, scrutinizing every inch with an expert eye. “Well, she certainly looks to be in good repair. I can give her a last-minute tune-up to make sure she's at peak performance. But Chase, are you really sure you can do this?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She's a standard single-seater fighter.” Connie pointed up at the cockpit. “Not a two-seater trainer plane like mine. I won't be able to navigate for you. Are you really going to be able to learn the route by tomorrow? Well enough to fly it unaided?”
“Not a chance,” Chase said, honestly. “But I'm not going to be piloting. You are.”
Connie went white. “I'm what?”
“Good-bye, two and a half million dollars,” Killian muttered.
Chase kicked the side of his cousin’s foot. “Don't underestimate my mate. She knows the course so well, she could fly it in her sleep. She can do this.”
“No, I really can't!” Connie yelped. “Chase, you have to fly. You're the one with magic powers!”
“Which means I have to be outside the plane, ready to protect you from the wyvern,” Chase said firmly. “I'm certain it's going to come back. I can't fly in the race and evade it at the same time. But I can fight it in pegasus form. I can hold it off long enough for you to win.”
Connie looked desperately at Killian. “Couldn't you guard Chase while he races?”
“Me?” Killian took a sharp step back, looking dismayed. “I'm not as crazy as my cousin. I'd have to be suicidal to try to take on a wyvern single-handed. Though I'm not going to let him take one on by himself, either. I'll back you up, Chase.”
“I knew I didn't even have to ask.” Chase bumped him affectionately, shoulder to shoulder. “And don't run yourself down. Even if you spend most of your time behind a desk, you're still a pegasus, and a Tiernach. You're tougher than you realize. Just like Connie.”
“I'm not.” Connie swung her head from side to side in vigorous denial. “I can't, Chase. I can't do it. I'm not as good a pilot as you.”
“No. You're not.” He caught her chin in his hand, holding her still and forcing her to look at him. “You're a better pilot than me. I couldn't have pulled your Spitfire out of that death-spiral, but you did. The only thing that's ever held you back is your sense of caution. You just have to be willing to take a few risks.”
“I'll lose, I'll lose my plane, and it will be all my fault,” Connie said, her voice rising. She reminded him of a cornered animal, lashing out in fear. “It'll be your fault for making me do this. I'll never be able to look at you again.”
“You aren't going to lose.” With all his heart, Chase wished that they were truly mated, so that she could feel his bone-deep confidence in her. “Please, Connie. Trust—”
“Don't you dare tell me to trust you,” Connie snarled at him. “Not again. Not ever again.”
“That's not what I was going to say,” Chase said, with perfect truth. He stared deep into her frightened eyes, willing her to believe him, just this once. “Connie. Trust yourself.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I can't do this.
Connie felt physically sick with nerves, her stomach clenching around the small breakfast Chase had forced her to eat. An excited crowd was gathering around the edges of the airfield, eagerly waiting for the race to start. Connie tried to concentrate on her plane, but it was hard to ignore the way people kept pointing at her and the Spitfire. The back of her neck burned under the heat of hundreds of curious stares.
“That's everything on the pre-flight checklist,” Chase said, ducking under the nose of the plane to rejoin her. “As soon as we get the signal, you'll be cleared for take off. Are you ready?”
“No.” Connie's hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't even do up her flight jacket. “Chase, I can't do this.”
“Here.” Chase carefully fastened her zip for her. “There you go. All set.”
“I mean, I can't fly this race!”
“I know what you meant.” Chase brushed a stray strand of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “And you can. Your practice run earlier was perfect. You comfortably beat everyone else's time.”
“That was just the practice run, with a clear sky. It'll be different with the other planes up there too. What if I can't get past the leaders? What if I make a mistake? What if—”
“Connie. You can do this. Just—” Chase cut himself off, his back stiffening. “What is he doing here?”
Connie followed the direction of his gaze, and her heart leapt with anxiety. “Oh God, this is really happening. It's the race marshal. He must be coming to give us permission to take off.”
“Not him,” Chase said grimly. He was staring hard at an enormous man in a brilliant white suit who was sauntering alongside the approaching marshal. “Him. That's Sammy Smiles.”
Even if Connie hadn't known Sammy was a shifter, she would have thought there was something odd about his bizarrely top-heavy physique and impossibly wide, toothy mouth. Knowing what he truly was, she recognized them as the unmistakable traits of his other form. He looked more like a shark stuffed into a suit than a human being.
He also looked very, very pleased with himself.
“Ms. West?” the marshal said, consulting his clipboard as he came up to them. “Are your pre-flight checks complete?”
Chase thrust the paperwork at the marshal without looking, never breaking eye contact with Sammy. “You're not welcome here, Sammy. Get back behind the line with the other spectators.”
The marshal coughed disapprovingly. “Mr. Smiles, as our very generous sponsor, is personally wishing all the pilots the best of luck before take off.”
A minute ago, Connie wouldn't have thought that she could possibly feel any more sick. “You sponsor the Rydon Cup?”
“Why, didn't I mention that before?” Sammy drawled in a thick Texan accent. He beamed at her, showing double rows of sharp teeth. “And you must be West's daughter. Aren't you just a sweet little thing. Why, who'd have thought such soft, pretty hands could possibly manage to fly a big ol’ plane like this?”
No doubt he'd been intending to psych her out… but his underhanded insult had the opposite effect. She was used to patronizing older men trying to tell her how to look after a plane, as if she hadn't cut her teeth on a torque wrench. The butterflies in her stomach turned into angry bees.
“I flew my first Spitfire when I was seven,” she spat, clenching her fists. “Sitting on my mom's lap. You'll find that I know what I'm doing.”
Chase's chest swelled with pride, his eyes shining with fierce delight as he glanced at her. “Oh, Sammy. You're about to find out that you've jumped out of the frying pan and into the inferno. By the end of today, you are really, really going to regret that you prevented me from piloting.”
A wounded expression spread across Sammy's broad face. “Now, now. I haven't prevented anyone from doing anything. And if you keep making these accusations, son, I'm going to have to insist you speak to my lawyer. But let's not be unfriendly. We all need to put any little differences aside and be good sports. We want a nice, clean race, don't we?”
Connie noticed that Sammy looked hard at Chase as he said this last bit. She r
ealized that the shark shifter was worried that Chase, in pegasus form, might take it upon himself to interfere with the other planes.
“Cheaters always think that everyone else cheats too.” Chase matched Sammy's smile, baring his teeth. “But we're not like you, Sammy. Connie is going to win this race fair and square.”
Sammy gazed up at the plane. “Speaking of a fair race…” he trailed off, glancing at the race marshal meaningfully.
“Ah, yes.” The marshal, who had been looking rather confused by the hostile undertones to the conversation, straightened up. “Ms. West, due to the unfortunate malfunction on your other Spitfire, we've accepted this rather unconventional last-minute substitution. But, after careful consideration, we have decided that we must adjust your handicap.”
Connie had been expecting something like this. As a handicap race, all the planes in the Rydon Cup started at different times, so that it became a test of pilot skill rather than just the plane's raw capabilities. Previously, Connie had been set to start in sixth position, out of a field of twelve.
But Chase's Spitfire—she still couldn't think of it as hers—was a fair bit lighter than hers, thanks to only carrying a single person rather than two. It would be fractionally faster in the sky as a result, and therefore needed a bigger handicap.
“Now, wait a second—” Chase began.
Connie stopped him with an upraised hand. “No, it's only fair. So I'm starting in seventh place now, marshal?”
“Er, after impartial review and consideration of some new evidence…” The marshal's eyes flicked briefly to Sammy. “You will be starting in twelfth position.”
Connie stared at him in utter horror. “Dead last?”
Chase towered over the smaller man, his muscular shoulders bunching ominously. “Let me guess. Did this 'new evidence' come in the form of a fat check, by any chance?”
The marshal held his clipboard in front of him like a shield, visibly paling. “The—the decision of the committee is final,” he gabbled. “Please prepare for take off, and await your starting signal.”