Fit,Francine decided, swallowing.Which is good, because if he’s wearing them, his other trousers must have been ripped up back at the safe house—which means…
She took a deep breath and absolutely did not think about the fact this meant he had been sitting next to her with his pants covering as little as his ripped-up shirt had.
“Sorry the shirt’s a little small,” she muttered, gesturing for him to follow her inside. “Someone should be with us shortly after boarding to take your measurements for a full wardrobe—ah.” The valet had reappeared, practically towing a dapperly dressed older man. She nodded at him. “Is everything in order?”
*I don’t have a passport,*Julian murmured in her mind.*Or any other form of identification.*
A shiver went down Francine’s spine at the sensation of his voice in her mind.*That won’t be a problem.*
The plane was a private charter, organized the moment Francine had heard about the plan to auction off the Antarctic dragons. Julian’s lack of a passport wasn’t an issue. When you were as wealthy as she was, nothing was an issue. A thought that made her lip peel back, these days.
Not that she wasn’t still taking advantage of it.
Within minutes, they were safely aboard the plane.
Francine felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders the moment she stepped aboard. Part one of her insane plan was complete.
Now all you have to do is ensure news of you traveling to Antarctica reaches Lance so he suspects you of evil-doing and chases after you, then actually reach Antarctica, convince a family of dragons to abandon their home before the invaders show up, and evade the world’s most evil shifters as you all escape the planet’s least hospitable continent. Child’s play.
A muscle twanged in her neck as she pulled off her coat. Behind her, someone gasped.
Francine turned to see the tailor staring at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Are you here about the wardrobe?” she prompted him.
“I—yes, but—”
Francine nodded to Julian, who was standing with one hand outstretched to stow his bag in the overhead locker. His eyes were fixed on her, too.
Irritation grated across her nerves.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to stick around to watch him take your measurements,” she snapped, pushing past him.No. Definitely not.“I need to speak with the pilot—”
“Francine.” Julian grabbed her arm. “You’re bleeding.”
His eyes pierced hers, their green depths cloudy with an emotion she couldn’t recognize. Francine tugged her arm free, mouth open to tell him he was being ridiculous—and then winced as the movement made pain shoot up her side.
She looked down.
I’m sure this blouse was gray when I put it on.
Dark red splotches spread out from a line of jagged rips around her waist. She didn’t need to wonder what had caused them: Julian’s claws, when he carried her out of the safe house’s second-floor window.
A wave of dizziness struck her. The floor seemed to drop away, and Julian’s arm wrapped around her to keep her from falling. The scent of ice and spring flooded her senses.
“I need to talk to the pilot,” she gasped, and pushed away from him. She snatched up her coat and fled to the pilot’s cabin, her head whirling.
The pilot turned his head as she came in, but Francine was already buttoning her coat. She glanced down to check herself—no blood. Her shirt and coat lining must have soaked it all up.
Her injuries were dramatic but not severe. Clearly. Or else her lioness would have said something. She hadn’t even felt the cuts, which she put down to adrenaline and … well, she’d had difficulty paying attention to her body for months now, ever since she realized what a perfect job Harper had made of turning her into his attack dog. She and her lioness had been so unified in hunting down what she thought were her enemies, and when the truth came out, it wasn’t only her lioness she felt dislocated from. Her own body felt like it was falling away from her.
But now she knew she was hurt, she couldn’t ignore the sharp pain of the claw marks. Julian’s telepathic voice nudged at her mind, asking her if she was all right, and she pushed him away. She kept her expression cool as she talked through the flight plan with the pilot, but her hands were balled into tight fists in her coat pockets.
Julian’s eyes burned into hers the moment she stepped back into the cabin, but he didn’t say anything until they were airborne. When the plane finally finished its ascent and leveled out, he rose from his seat with a thunderous look on his face.
Francine groaned. The plane’s seats were comfortable, but they did nothing for the stinging cuts on her sides. “What now?”
“You’re injured.” He crossed the cabin in three steps, his movements sharp, and pulled a first-aid kit from a cupboard on the wall. “And you’re not healing. I know what that means.”
I doubt that.Francine was too tired to fight—and it scared her. Once, her lioness would have leaped at the chance to exchange barbs. Instead of snapping back at Julian, Francine reached out to take the first-aid kit.
