Page 42 of Red Fury (The Dragon Tributes #8)

S hadow

I climb the narrow stairs to the jet. I turn back to the terminal and sigh. Then I walk into the aircraft.

“Thank you.” I nod once, pushing my boarding pass into my purse.

The cabin is sleek and comfortable. There are maybe eight other people scattered throughout the jet, all keeping to themselves.

I stow my bag in the overhead compartment and sink into my seat, grateful that the seat next to mine is empty. The leather is soft against my back, but I can’t relax. I push out another heavy breath.

Through the small window, I observe several other jets refueling. I wonder which of them is headed for Mistveil Island. Fury will already be on board. The thought makes my chest tight.

The flight attendant begins the safety demonstration, her voice a pleasant drone in the background. I listen with half an ear, my mind elsewhere. I’ve heard the routine several times before. I know the drill.

“In the event of cabin depressurization, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling…”

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. I’m sure that in time I will feel better. It isn’t like I’ve known Fury all that long. I hardly know anything about the male. It’s a good dose of lust. I’ll be fine.

The flight attendant moves through the cabin, checking that seatbelts are fastened and seats are in their upright positions.

“Cabin crew, prepare for departure,” the captain’s voice crackles over the intercom.

The engines hum to life, and I feel the slight vibration through the seat. We’re really doing this. I’m really leaving.

I have to.

I have no other choice.

The aircraft begins to taxi, and I keep my eyes trained on the window, watching the airport buildings slide past. Is Fury watching through his own window, thinking about me the way I can’t stop thinking about him?

Probably not. He seemed unaffected in the terminal when we said goodbye. I need to stop this. This isn’t me at all.

The jet picks up speed, and then we’re lifting off, the ground falling away beneath us. I press my face closer to the window, watching the airport shrink below. There is a ding as the seatbelt signs go off. We’re still ascending.

That’s when I hear it.

A soft clicking noise from somewhere behind me. It sounds like a cupboard opening and closing. It’s a normal sound one would hear on a flight, but for whatever reason, it has my hair standing on end and my dragon snarling inside me.

My heart rate picks up, my breathing, too.

I turn in my seat, and my worst nightmare is walking down the aisle toward me, a familiar smile playing on his lips.

Kozlov.

It can’t be.

I thought I was free of him. Turns out I was wrong. I underestimated the male.

But something’s different about him. His shirt is wrinkled and untucked on one side. Dark stubble covers his jaw, and there are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all.

I frown.

What should I do?

Scream?

Cause a scene?

There is nowhere to run.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides into the empty seat next to me, his movements fluid despite his disheveled appearance.

Up close, I can see that his eyes are bloodshot, and there’s something wild in them that makes my dragon recoil.

His vampire scent is so much stronger. I find it offensive.

“I can’t let you leave, little dragon,” he says, his voice almost gentle. “Not when we were just getting to know each other.”

The pet name irritates the shit out of me. I press myself back into my seat, putting as much distance between us as possible. “Leave me alone, Kozlov. I’m not your little dragon or your pet. I’m not yours at all.”

He laughs, but it’s not the smooth, confident sound I remember. This laugh has a sharp edge to it. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. And I thought we already established that you are mine to do with as I please.” His nostrils flare, and I watch in horror as his canine teeth begin to lengthen into fangs.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

His eyes are fixed on my throat, and I can see the hunger there, raw and desperate. This isn’t the controlled, calculating man I met before. This is something else entirely. Something much more dangerous.

“You smell…” he murmurs, his voice thick. “You smell incredible. I’ve been thinking about your blood ever since…” He swallows roughly, his throat working.

“Since…?” I whisper.

His eyes flick up to mine, and they’re starting to take on that reddish tinge. “Since I had a sample. Ever since I—”

He stops talking abruptly, his whole body going rigid. When he looks up at me again, his eyes have gone completely blood red.

“I can’t stop thinking about—” He lunges for me.

I react on instinct, my fist connecting with his jaw in a blow that would shatter a human’s bones. The crack echoes through the cabin, and Kozlov goes flying backward, slamming into the seats across the aisle. Thankfully, no one is sitting there, or they might have been injured.

The other passengers start screaming.

Kozlov is on his feet almost before he hits the ground, but so am I. The narrow aisle doesn’t give us much room to maneuver, but that works both ways. He can’t use his full speed, and I can’t—

I can’t shift.

Crap! I’m trapped in this metal tube thirty thousand feet above the ground with a bloodthirsty monster, and I can’t access my greatest weapon. If I shift, I’ll tear the aircraft apart and kill everyone on board. Innocent human lives will be lost.

“Everybody get back!” I shout as Kozlov advances on me again, his fangs fully extended now.

The passengers scramble toward the back of the cabin, their screams filling the confined space. A woman stumbles and falls, and I move to help her.

It’s the opening Kozlov needs.

His fist catches me in the ribs, and I feel something crack. Pain explodes through my torso, but I grit my teeth and swing back at him. My elbow connects with his solar plexus, doubling him over.

“Stay down!” I snarl, but he’s already straightening, that horrible laugh spilling from his lips again.

We trade blows in the narrow space, our bodies slamming into seats and walls. I’m stronger than he is, but I’m handicapped by my need to protect the humans.

Kozlov, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give a damn about collateral damage.

A young man tries to rush past us toward the cockpit, and Kozlov hits him. The man’s head snaps back, and he crumples to the floor, unconscious.

“Bastard!” I scream, launching myself at Kozlov with renewed fervor, trying to coax him away from the fallen male.

“How sweet. Trying to protect the food,” he snarls back, catching my wrist and twisting it until I cry out. “Just like you, my pet.”

I drive my knee up toward his groin, but he moves at the last second, taking the blow on his thigh instead. His free hand wraps around my throat, lifting me off my feet. My vision starts to go spotty.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he whispers, his face inches from mine. “Just let me feed, little dragon. I promise it will be quick.”

Like hell.

I grab his wrist with both hands and use it as leverage to kick both my feet into his chest. The impact sends him staggering backward, and his grip on my throat loosens enough for me to break free.

I land in a crouch, sucking in great lungfuls of air. My throat feels bruised, and I can taste blood in my mouth, but I’m not done yet.

Kozlov starts toward me again, but this time I’m ready. I feint left, then pivot right, my fist connecting with his kidney. He grunts in pain and staggers, giving me the opening I need to grab him by the back of his shirt and slam his head into the bulkhead.

The impact leaves a dent.

Kozlov doesn’t fall down unconscious like I hoped he would. He shakes his head; it looks like his vision is clearing. I’m sure a few more hard punches will fell him. From the way he is breathing, I can see he is tiring.

Good!

But instead of coming at me, he walks around the bulkhead, grabbing the flight attendant, whose eyes are wide. She’s crying.

“Please! Please don’t hurt me. I have a baby at home. Please.”

“If you do exactly as I say, you won’t get hurt,” Kozlov says, eyes on me.

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to her.

“Let the female go,” I tell him.

His hand tightens for a moment on the human’s neck, and her eyes get bigger, bugging out of her skull. She starts to make these choking noises.

“No!” I shout.

He eases his hold. The flight attendant coughs between deep breaths.

“What is your name?” Kozlov asks her.

“Amy,” she pushes out.

“Listen carefully, Amy. Put your hand into my right pocket and take out the syringe.” He turns his attention back to me. “If you try anything, Claire Douglas , I will snap Amy’s neck like a twig. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say between clenched teeth.

Amy whimpers. She’s still crying, trying frantically to find the syringe in Kozlov’s pocket.

“Hurry up!” he yells.

The passengers at the back are still screaming and crying.

She pulls out the syringe, holding it up.

“Good girl!” Kozlov tells her. “Now uncap the needle. You!” he tells me. “Hold out your arm. I swear to fucking Christ if you try anything, she’s dead. I don’t give a shit about her life. I’ll kill everyone in the cabin. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Yes.”

I want so badly to shift and to end this prick, but I can’t. I believe him. He will do as he says. I can’t see a way out of this. I need to give myself up and then look for an opening.

I hold out my arm, my eyes on Kozlov.

“Inject her.”

“I-I…I um…I…d-don’t know how,” the flight attendant whimpers.

“Stick the needle into her and depress the syringe. If you fuck up, you die.”

Her hand is shaking, and tears are rolling down her face, but she does as he says.

I feel the sharp sting of the needle, and immediately, my world turns on its head. The strength drains from my muscles, and I collapse to my knees on the cabin floor.

“No,” I whisper, my voice already slurring.

The flight attendant scrambles away from Kozlov as he lets her go, her face pale. Around us, the other passengers are pressed up against the back wall of the cabin, some crying, others just staring in shock.

I stagger, trying to keep my feet. I hold on to the seat backs, finally falling between a row of seats.

Kozlov drops down beside me. “Finally,” he rasps.

His fangs sink into my throat before I can protest.

I try to scream, but a garbled sound escapes.

I can feel myself getting weaker with each pull of his mouth against my neck. His greedy gulps and grunts make me feel sick. My vision blurs. He’s drinking too much, too fast. At this rate, he’s going to kill me.

He moves to get a better position above me, giving me an opening. With the last of my strength, I pull my knee up and drive it into his groin as hard as I can.

Kozlov jerks back with a howl of pain and rage, his fangs tearing free of my throat. Blood drips from his chin as he doubles over, clutching himself.

“You bitch,” he gasps, but there’s something else in his voice now. Confusion. Like he’s fighting with himself.

I manage to prop myself up on one elbow, my hand pressed to the bleeding wounds on my neck. The drug is still in my system, making everything fuzzy and distant, but I’m alive. For now.

Kozlov straightens slowly, and I watch in fascination and horror as he seems to wage some kind of internal battle. His eyes flicker between red and normal, and his hands shake.

“No, no, no,” he mutters to himself. “Control. You have to maintain control. This is not who you are. This is not—” He looks at me, and for a moment, his eyes are almost normal again. “What have you done to me?” he asks.

I frown. My tongue feels too thick in my mouth to answer.

What is he talking about? I’ve done nothing to this asshole.

He shakes his head, like he’s trying to find clarity. Like he’s failing. He shakes it again, and some normality returns to his eyes.

Then he stands up slowly, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns to face the terrified passengers huddled at the back of the cabin.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, his voice taking on that smooth, commanding tone I remember. “I apologize for the disturbance. Everything is under control now.”

I use the armrest of a nearby seat to pull myself to my feet, my legs shaky but functional – only just; I’m not running a marathon any time soon. The passengers stare at me with a mixture of fear and confusion. I realize that I have blood dripping from my neck, which is stinging.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Kozlov continues, straightening his shirt and smoothing back his hair.

“We’re simply going to make a small detour, but I assure you that everyone will reach their destination safely as long as nobody tries to be a hero.

Do you want to be a hero today, ma’am?” he asks a lady, who shakes her head, her face a mask of terror.

His smile is charming and reassuring. The blood on his chin tells a whole other story.

“Now,” he says, his gaze finding mine, “I need to have a little chat with the pilots about our new flight plan.”

His eyes lock onto mine for a moment, and I see the hunger there again, barely contained. He makes a sound – a soft snuffling noise that reminds me of a rabid animal. The sound raises every hair on the back of my neck.

Then he blinks, and the moment passes. Turning, he walks toward the front of the cabin, leaving me swaying on my feet and fighting not to collapse.

The cockpit door is just a few feet away. Once he’s in there, once he’s convinced the pilots to change course, we’ll be completely at his mercy.

I press harder against the wounds on my neck, trying to stem the bleeding. The drug is still making me weak and dizzy, but I have to stay conscious. I have to find a way to stop this…to stop him.

The passengers are still staring at me, waiting for someone to tell them what to do, waiting for someone to save them.

“It’s going to be alright,” I tell them. “You’re going to be fine, I swear.” I’ll do whatever it takes to make good on my promise.