The silence that followed was deafening.
My toast sat forgotten on my plate, the butter congealing. My stomach churned, the nausea rising despite having eaten almost nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered.
Through the bond, Hastings' emotions crashed over me. Guilt, fear, anger, and underneath it all, a desperate, clawing need to fix this.
But I didn't know if this could befixed.
"I need to leave," I said quietly.
All three heads turned to me.
"I need to go see Maeve. I need—" My voice broke. "I need to not be here right now."
"Presley—" Hastings reached for me, but I stood, stepping back.
"Please. Just let me go. I'll come back. I promise I'll come back. But I need space right now."
"I'll take you," Hastings said.
"No." I looked at him, at the man I was bonded to, and felt the pull of the connection between us. It would have been so easy to say yes. To let him fly me to North Yorkshire and hold my hand and try to make this better.
But I needed to do this alone.
"Fritz," I said, turning to him. "Will you take me? Please?"
Fritz looked between me and Hastings, his expression torn.
"Please," I repeated.
He nodded slowly. "Ja. I'll take you."
"Thank you."
I didn't look at Etienne as I left the room. I couldn't. Only now did I realize how much I meant to him.
I didn’t look at Hastings either, but through the bond, I felt his pain.
I walked away, needing some space to breathe.
24
Presley
The helicopter blades slicedthrough the heavy London air, the steady thrum-thrum-thrum vibrating deep in my bones. The rhythmic pulse matched the frantic beating of my heart.
Through the headset, the static hissed, a white-noise barrier between me and the world I was leaving behind.
I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the sprawling gray of the city shrink into a miniature model. Buildings became toys. Cars turned into ants. I was free from the cage up here.
The Thames snaked below us, a dirty ribbon cutting through gray. I traced its path with my eyes, following it until it disappeared into the horizon. Somewhere down there, Hastings was pacing. Etienne was probably breaking something.
And I was running away in a helicopter because apparently, that was my life now.
"You're doing that thing again," Fritz's voice crackled through my ears, warm and far too perceptive.
I didn't turn. "What thing?"
