I stare as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Then I force myself to look up. Fine. If we must.
He grins. “Oh good, thank you. Now how should we do this? As a wolf? On my back perhaps, or would you rather shift so you can hang on?”
All of these options sound terrible and embarrassing. I snort my displeasure.
“Come now. It’s not so bad. I’ll be fast about it. Promise.” Bowie crosses his heart.
One last snort and I make up my mind. This would be better—still awful—but better if I could hold on. I step back from him, close my eyes, and force a quick shift. It hurts a bit when I rush, but with my arm already throbbing, I don’t care so much.
I roll my head. My neck gives a loud crack. Ah. With another snort, less effective in this form but still perfectly ruffled at what comes next, I open my eyes to find Bowie staring.
Though I’ve gotten used to being naked around him—it just comes with the territory when you’re a werewolf—he generally averts his eyes. His gaze has a weight to it that brings warmth to my throat and face.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “I’ve got to be as heavy as you.”
He snaps out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into. “Yes, it’s no problem. Did you want to dress first, or shall we go? There’s no one around, and we’ll be traveling too fast to be seen anyway.”
I haven’t even thought of that. I envision a farmer, perhaps up all night with a birthing cow or some such, peering out along the road and seeing to his utter shock one completely dressed man carrying one completely naked man in a mad rush for shelter. We’d scar him for life.
Thunder and lightning in a rapid burst, too close together for comfort and signaling an imminent deluge of rain, makes my decision for me. “Let’s just go.”
Bowie turns, goes down on one knee, and presents his back.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Chapter 14
Iclimb on, gripping his shoulders. His muscles flex beneath my palms. As he stands, I wrap my legs around his slim waist, feeling ridiculous and far too heavy.
Bowie holds on to me underneath my knees. “Ready?”
I mumble an affirmative and cling to him as a flutter of anxiety floods my senses. I’m about to travel faster than the eye can see. I’m scared, but I trust Bowie, so I try to relax.
He must sense my trepidation. “Perhaps if you close your eyes, dear. I’ll let you know when we arrive. Ten minutes at most.”
I shut my eyes and nod. With my head pressed next to his, he must feel the motion because the sensation of the wind sweeping beneath us drops my stomach. I hold my breath and squeeze his hips between my thighs. I’ve never experienced anything like this. The speed. The pressure. Are we flying? Do birds feel this way when they take to the sky, soaring over clouds? Because I feel as if we’re gliding on a wind current.
There’s no left-right-left-right of a man’s stride in these sensations. Only forward momentum so fast as to make me release my breath and gasp for another. My lungs accept the rush of hurtling pressure, my chest tight, as I clench my fingers against Bowie’s flesh. I hope I’m not hurting him with my death grip, but I’m terrified to let go.
I don’t open my eyes. I think about it, but I’m afraid of what I might see. I doubt my mind’s ability to take in the sights, so I focus on smell instead. First the comforting scent of Bowie himself. His freshly washed hair, the soap from his skin, the blood beneath his veins. I take another rushing breath and tuck my face into his neck. He squeezes my legs in his grip—an attempt to comfort me, but I’m doing all right.
As good as a person can be doing when flying through a strange land on the back of a vampire you’ve only recently met and have half fallen in love with on the way to rescue girls from a terrifying lady murderer.
I’m fine.
Really.
I’d tell him so if I didn’t think my voice would be lost to our speed.
By the time I’ve finally settled in, Bowie is slowing down. He walks at a regular pace. The familiar rhythm of an actual stride rather than the sweeping glory of flight is my cue to open my eyes.
“How are you? Still breathing?” asks Bowie, his voice perfectly normal. He isn’t the least bit winded after such exertion.
Blinking, I collect my thoughts. “Can all vampires do that?”
“I don’t know. Many can.” He comes to a stop.
I unclench my thighs and peel myself off him to look around. We stand in front of a tumbledown abandoned farmhouse, its wooden beams crooked, the roof caved in. Just when I’m thinking this surely couldn’t be the shelter Bowie meant for us, I notice a barn off to the side. It’s in much better shape, a massive building, at one time painted white, but the paint is mostly cracked away and flaking. The roof remains intact, and I smell no signs of human or farm animal habitation.
