Page 161 of Change

His touch lightened even further as he sucked in a breath, and his pulse thrummed wildly under my cheek. “Julian…” he muttered, holding me against him princess-style as he lifted me off the ground. “Need to get to Julian.”

Yeah, Julian. That’d be nice. I missed him.

“Let’s go,” Titus was half-talking to me, half-muttering to himself. “I need to get you out of here. Somewhere safe.”

Safe.

Was there anywhere like that anymore?

I closed my eyes, resting against him as he moved through the room and pushed the creaky door open with his hip and stepped into the dark hallway. His fingers remained tangled in my hair—pressed against the back of my neck—as he moved purposefully. Vaguely, I found myself wondering if he knew how to fly a plane.

That’d be useful right about now.

“Yes,” he muttered, still looking forward into the dark. “If it’s the right kind.”

I pressed my nose closer to him, curling my fingers into the barely-there remains of his shirt. He was still so warm, and I was cold.

A few steps later we moved into a new area—another cargo space, from the looks of it. Unlike the other, which had been empty besides Titus and the magical items that kept him prisoner, and dimly lit, this one had a row of windows and single rows of seats lining the walls under them. Half the room was filled, too, with some of the same small and medium-sized shipment containers that’d been stacked throughout the storage facility before.

Titus stepped toward one, touching the bottom of the crate with his toe as he glowered at it. “Drugs.” But the look vanished and a grim determination lined his face. “That’s something to deal with later,” he said, looking around the room. “It’s not important. First, let’s take care of you.”

Me? More important than drug trafficking?

My attention remained riveted to the box he’d been scrutinizing as he weaved through the room, making his way to some of the cushioned chairs. He set me in one, and it took almost a second-too long for him to move away from me—but wasn’t quite long enough either.

I’d felt cared for and almost at peace in his arms, but now that he was slowly backing away, my anxiety and fear began to come rushing back.

I didn’t even realize I still held on to his shirt until his fingers closed around my fist. “It’s okay, Princess,” he said, squeezing gently. “I don’t want to leave you either. But just let me just look, then I’ll kick out the pilot and we’ll be out of here.”

My attention wandered to the emergency exit beside us, and Titus followed my line of sight.

His grip tightened. “Let’s not jump out of any airplanes today,” his voice was light, but I could hear the underlying plea. “I’m not going to be much help there. This is quite a bit higher than I can leap.”

But…

My chest swelled with an unspoken argument.

He could fly. Hecould. I didn’t understand how, but I knew this.

But for some reason, he wouldn’t.

“Bianca, look at me.” Titus’s plea was a command that I couldn’t ignore, and I obeyed. He tended to me while the hum of the airplane engines sounded in the background, lulling me deeper into a dissociative state, and knelt between my knees as his hands gently pressed against my face and arms.

I was shivering, but that made no sense—I was no longer cold, and he paused in his ministrations. His eyebrows drew together as his green eyes flashed. Without hesitation, he shrugged off what was left of his shirt—leaving himself only in an undershirt—as he attempted to wrap me in the once-white garment.

The silk felt smooth against my painful, stretched skin, and I pulled it tighter.

“Bianca…” His petting motions stopped as his touch moved down my arms, down my torso and legs, and I glanced at him, noticing that his attention was riveted to my chest.

It wasn’t like I’d been hiding it much before either, but things had calmed down quite a bit since then.

I held the shirt out and looked down to see what might have caught his attention—it certainly wasn’t my breasts, since my bra was now covering me again—and a breath hitched in my throat as the corners of my vision turned black.

Dark purple, red, and blue marks ran over the entirety of my skin.

I pulled the garment to me, wrapping my arms around my stomach, and squeezed my eyes shut.

But that didn’t stop Titus’s explorations. His gentle touch moved lower, and his fingers lightly traced along my leg—along the hem of my skirt. It, too, was ripped in places, and my dark tights—once completely run-free—were barely held-together remains at the result of the day’s events.