Page 183 of Whispers of Wisteria

He hesitated, then locked his jaw. He squared his shoulders and pulled me into his lap.

I let my head rest against his chest. This was nice. It was so much warmer here. Still, it felt like nothing could chase away the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Calloused fingers pressed down my arm. “Are you okay?”

That was a loaded question, and one that I really should answer. His heart was beating so quickly—he was probably worried sick.

But my lips were numb, and I was so ready for this adventure to be over.

Titus pressed across the tangled, half-braided mess of my hair until he reached the back of my head, and I winced. The pressure was a sharp reminder of the headache that wouldn’t go away.

His touch lightened further and his pulse thrummed wildly under my cheek.

“Julian…” he said. He held me against him, princess-style, and stood. “We need to get to Julian.”

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

“Let’s go,” Titus was half-talking to me, half to himself.

I closed my eyes as he moved through the room, pushed the door open with his hip, and stepped into the dark hallway. He moved with a purpose. Did he know how to fly a plane?

I pressed closer and curled my fingers into the barely-there remains of his shirt. How was he so warm when it was freezing?

He stepped into a second cargo space. Unlike the first, which had been empty except for Titus and the magical items that kept him prisoner, this one had a row of windows and seats lining the walls beneath them. Half the room was filled with the same type of containers that’d been in the storage facility.

Titus stepped toward one and touched the bottom with his toe as he glowered. “Drugs.”

Then the look vanished and he shook his head.

“That’s something to deal with later,” he said, looking around the room. “It’s not important. First, let’s take care of you.”

My attention remained riveted to the box as he moved to the chairs. He set me down and my thoughts went blank.

I’d been numb, but now that he was slowly backing away, my anxiety had begun to return.

I didn’t even realize I was holding his shirt until his fingers closed around my fist. “It’s okay, Princess,” he said. “I’m not going far. I’ll kick out the pilot. Then we’re out of here.”

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

His grip tightened. “Let’s not jump out of any planes today,” his voice was light, but I could hear the underlying plea. “I’m not going to be much help in the air.”

But…

My chest swelled with an unspoken argument.

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

But for some reason, he wouldn’t.

“Bianca, look at me,” Titus commanded. He knelt in front of me and touched my arms.

I was shivering, but that made no sense. I was no longer cold. His eyes flashed and he shrugged off the remains of his shirt—leaving himself only in an undershirt—and wrapped the once-white garment around my shoulders.

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

“Bianca…” He stopped petting me and I glanced at him. He was staring at my chest.

I held the shirt out and looked at myself. What had caught his attention? It certainly wasn’t my breasts, since my bra was covering me again.