Our scent match who's currently hidden away in some shithole motel in Cedarbrook with Wraith and Thane. The knot of anxiety that's been sitting in my chest since we left tightens. The only way I know she hasn't ended up in a pot of soup in someone's basement is because Thane texted us to let us know they're safe and staying in for the night.
"Has anyone reported seeing us?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral despite the concern eating at me. "At the hotel?"
Whiskey scrolls through different tags and forums. "Nah, they're all losing their shit over Valek. There's already fanart of him. Some of it's…" He makes a face that tells me everything I need to know about what he's looking at. "Yikes. Wanna see?"
"Absolutely not."
"This one has you guys?—"
"I will literally throw your phone in the trash."
He grins, that insufferable expression that makes me want to either smack him or... something else I'm not thinking about in this crowded airport.
"Relax, Ice Prince. Our secret's safe. Everyone's too busy thirsting after Valek to care about anything else."
A harried-looking gate agent announces pre-boarding for our flight. The mass of humanity starts shifting toward the gate like cattle being herded.
"Finally," I mutter, gathering my carry-on.
Whiskey is practically bouncing. "You nervous about flying?"
"No."
"You sure? Because you look like you're about to have an aneurysm."
"I look like someone who's been forced to spend hours in close proximity to you."
"Aw, you say the sweetest things." He bumps my shoulder playfully as we join the boarding line. "Hey, what if I told them we're on our honeymoon? Think we'd get upgraded?"
"What if I told them you have drugs?"
"What do you meandrugs?" he asks, his eyes glinting as he immediately latches onto that. "Do you not even know the actual names of any of 'em?"
"I know plenty of fucking drugs," I mutter under my breath.
Whiskey throws his head back and laughs loud enough that the gate agent looks over. "I'll take my chances. Fancy ass straight-edge alpha."
"They'd believe me," I say pointedly. "You have the energy of someone who makes impulsive, destructive decisions."
"True." He shows his boarding pass to the gate agent, flashing that megawatt smile that probably gets him laid more than it should. "How's it going? Love the nails, by the way."
The agent, clearly charmed, smiles back. "Thank you! Have a great flight."
I hand over my boarding pass without comment, already trying to figure out how many hours I'll be trapped in a metal tube with Whiskey. He's rife with energy as we walk down the jet bridge and board the plane, his broad shoulders barely fitting down the narrow aisle. He stops at our row, then surprises me by stepping aside.
"You take the window," he says.
"Why?" I eye him suspiciously.
"So you can stare at the wing and pretend you're in control of the plane."
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don't argue. I slide into the window seat without comment, immediately checking the location of the emergency exit. Two rows back. Close enough.
Whiskey drops into the middle seat with a grunt, his bulk immediately invading my space. "Cozy."
"You could have booked business class."
"Yeah, well, I'd rather spend business class money on another trip with two special someones."
