“This okay?” Steve asked, hesitating next to the seat.
“Of course,” Dylan said, pulling his legs back. The seats were roomy – similar to first class seats on normal planes – and there was enough room between them that neither one of them would be cramped for space.
Steve sat down, planting his feet flat on the floor and fastening his seatbelt. He was still dressed in the suit he’d worn at the funeral, clumps of snow sticking to his shoes, and he smelled like smoke.
He looked depressed.
Dylan folded his hands in his lap, having no idea what to say. He was used to Steve being cocky and self-confident – grinning and joking as he tried to convince Dylan to date him instead of August and Ryker – and seeing him so unlike himself was distressing.
The captain climbed onto the plane and came down to talk to them, letting them know how long the flight would be and warning them that there were no attendants to wait on them during the flight.
“That’s fine, Jennifer,” Steve said, shooting her a tight smile. “We don’t need any service. We just want to get home.”
“Of course, sir,” Captain Jennifer said, nodding at him. “And can I just say, I’m sorry for your loss. You and your family have been in my prayers.”
Steve’s tight smile turned into a grimace, but he quickly schooled his expression.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Barney is my co-captain today. If you need anything, come up and let us know,” Jennifer said. She gave Steve another sympathetic nod and turned around, walking up to the cockpit and closing the door behind her.
Steve leaned his head back and sighed. He closed his eyes, the position putting the sharp line of his jaw and his pronounced Adam’s apple on display, along with the scars of his mating bites from August and Ryker.
Dylan reached up and touched his neck where John had bitten him, feeling over the faint scar tissue that was all that remained from the brutal attack.
It was magic, pure and simple, how quickly he’d healed. He’d hardly been able to believe it when he woke up and the bite looked years old and faded, and it had faded even more in the hours he’d been awake.
Dylan was convinced that it would disappear entirely within a few days, while August and Ryker’s marks would linger on his skin until the day he died.
He caught Ryker looking at him, the alpha’s expression pinched as he watched Dylan feeling along the skin where John had bitten him. Dylan quickly dropped his hand down to his lap.
Before he could say anything, the speakers cracked to life and Jennifer’s voice filled the cabin. “Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for departure. We have been cleared for takeoff.”
Dylan realized he hadn’t fastened his seatbelt and quickly buckled himself into his seat. He looked out of the window, watching as they taxied to the runway, and then held on to the armrests as the plane accelerated and they lifted into the air.
Flying in a small private jet felt very different from flying in a large commercial airliner, Dylan realized. There was a lot more movement than he was used to, and Dylan hoped he wouldn’t be sick.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked, nudging Dylan’s ankle with his shoe. A clump of snow fell off and landed next to Dylan’s sneaker.
“I’m fine,” Dylan said, relaxing his clenched muscles. “I’m just not used to this much movement.”
“It will calm down when we reach altitude,” Steve assured him.
Dylan nodded, turning his attention back out of the window and watching as they lifted into the clouds.
“So, how was the funeral?” August asked, making Dylan flinch and stare at him incredulously. August noticed his look and shot him a tight smile. “Sometimes it’s better to talk about these things. If Steve wants to, that is. We’re willing to listen, right?”
Dylan nodded. If Steve wanted to talk about it, of course he’d listen.
“If Dylan doesn’t want to talk about it, we won’t,” Steve said, laying down the law.
“I don’t mind,” Dylan said.
It was weird. Right after John had attacked him, when he’d been sitting there waiting for his alphas, it had felt like the end of the world. After they arrived and cuddled with him, however, the bad feelings had been muted, as though someone had turned the emotional trauma dial all the way down to low.
Dylan suspected it was werewolf magic at work. Something about his bond with his alphas was protecting him from the severity of his experience. Either that, or he was still disassociating – though he didn’t think that was the case.
“It was fucking awful,” Steve sighed, breathing out through his nose. “He did something terrible, and I had to pretend to be sad when all I really wanted to do was scream. And I kept thinking, what other awful things has he done that I don’t know about? I mean, how many people at the funeral were secretly relieved that he’s dead? And how could he be like that and I didn’t notice?”
