The Witch's Quest. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
gestured toward the door, where one small carry-on backpack waited. She’d had the forethought to pack after Kelyn dropped her off last night when she wasn’t so nervous. Now all she wanted to do was sleep.
“The flight is long. You can sleep when we get seated.” He bent and suddenly Valor found herself flung over the man’s broad and reassuringly strong shoulder.
A humiliating position, and yet... Nah, she could go with it. Especially since...
Kelyn chuckled at the witch’s sudden snores. He grabbed her backpack and with a glance to the cat decided Valor had to have made arrangements for its care in her absence. Probably a neighbor would stop by. He slid the door closed behind him.
What a way to begin an adventure.
* * *
Kelyn accepted an offer of ice water from the stewardess and refused another white wine for his guest. They’d been in the air four hours, and Valor could snore with the best of them. She did not do sleep deprivation well. But if she had been nervous about flying, then it was good she was sleeping now. She’d managed to lift her head once while they were waiting to board, smiled at him and then her head had hit his shoulder.
And he was enjoying it. Because right now her head lay on his shoulder, and her hand had strayed to his chest. One finger touched his skin at the base of his neck. It was weirdly intimate, and yet not. She was just a friend. And he did mark her as a sort-of friend, not an enemy. They were working toward a common goal.
But he was seriously beginning to feel the old attraction to her again. Not that it had ever gone away. Losing his wings had honestly reduced his interest in her. But the chick was not like the rest of the women he had known or lusted after. She wasn’t fussy or high maintenance. He couldn’t imagine any woman he’d known allowing him to carry her into the airport, hair uncombed and T-shirt wrinkled, after a sleepless night on a bender.
Valor Hearst didn’t do the makeup and hair thing. Her long straight hair had a deep violet tint to it. Had to be dyed. He wasn’t sure if witches could have a natural color like that. His sister, Daisy Blu’s, hair was pink, but that was natural from her faery heritage.
Valor dressed as if she was ready to hop on a Harley and ride off into the sunset. Everything about her was casual confidence and gotcha smirks. One of the guys.
But the thing that had sealed his attraction to her a few years ago? It had been one night around a bonfire when a bunch of friends had gathered at a city summer festival. Beer and s’mores had been in abundance, as well as lawn darts and cheap sparklers. Valor had been pointed out to him as one of the witches who owned a local brewery. He’d thought she was pretty in that one-of-the-guys kind of way. Because she had an ease around people and wasn’t always fluffing her hair or checking her cell phone for texts from girlfriends. He hadn’t given her too much eye time. Until she’d laughed. It had come out as an abrupt burst of sound and ended with a snort. Ignoring what anyone thought of her and proud to be herself.
Ever since, he’d spent more time looking at her. And wanting to ask her out so he could hear that crazy, obnoxious laugh again. And wondering how she’d be as a kisser. Damn good, now that he knew. But he wished it hadn’t been because she’d thought she was dying that he’d gotten that kiss.
And now he still couldn’t stop looking at her and allowing his fantasies to take hold.
Valor’s lips were pale pink and plump. And they were so close to him. He wanted to touch them, but he held the water glass in one hand and his other arm was wedged beneath her sleeping body. So he’d take her in for as long as he could. And enjoy this quiet moment with a woman he wasn’t sure was safe to lose anything more to. He’d given up his wings for her.
What more did he have left, besides his heart?
* * *
Valor woke without opening her eyes. Her body took a survey of her immediate surroundings—hard plastic seat and walls, tight confines, stale air, compressed sensation going on in her sinuses—and she determined she was on a plane. Not on the ground.
Mercy.
The thing about flying was that it was unnatural. Yes, even for a witch. Witches didn’t fly on broomsticks or by their own power. Well, they could do both with the right kind of magic. Air magic. But she’d always avoided considering such study. And the cliché of the broomstick was just that. She preferred her feet to remain on the ground. And even though there had been no other option to get where they were going—a ship would have taken far too long—it was never easy to dispel her nerves.
Fortunately, the alcohol had worked for a while.
Now groggy but feeling rested, she came awake more fully and curled her fingers against the hard warmth beneath her hand. Mmm, that felt great. And her pillow was firm but smelled nice. Like a forest after the rain. Why was that? Weren’t airplanes the least inviting and uncomfortable conveyances in existence?
“You rest well?”
The voice vibrated against her cheek and into her very bones, and Valor realized what exactly was up. She was lying on Kelyn, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. And that warmth under her hand? It was his hard pec. The man had to work out. Seriously.
Such a surprising but welcome bit of reality proved beyond nice. And she didn’t want it to end. But really? This accidental sharing and caring between the two of them was not cool. On a scale of not-coolness, from one to ten, her current position probably topped out at an eight.
Maybe if she didn’t move, he’d think she’d fallen back to sleep?
The smell of roast beef suddenly wafted through the air and Valor realized she was more hungry than embarrassed. So she slowly pushed herself up and met Kelyn’s smiling violet gaze. “Morning.”
“Evening, actually. At least, according to Australian time. But don’t get too excited. We’ve still got another six hours to go.”
“Ah, Meredith Gray!”
“Is she a doctor?”
“Yes, Gray’s Anatomy. She and McDreamy—oh, never mind.” She averted her eyes to the leather cords around his neck. A long, thin white spiral dangled from one of them. Looked like a seashell. On the other was a black ring of stone. She tapped it. Six more hours? Could a witch get a break? “Maybe I should go back to sleep.”
“I take it you wish you could sleep through the whole flight? Maybe one more beer would have done the trick?”
She groaned. “Please don’t mention beer. It was the vodka that did it for me. The beer makes me want to...” Pee a very long time. She wouldn’t say that. She and he were not that tight as bros yet.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “They’re serving now. Might keep your thoughts from...dire things.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She leaned back and slowly took her hand from his chest. “Sorry about that. Lying on you and all.”
“It’s all right. And you didn’t drool that much.”
“I—” She wiped her mouth and hoped to catch his teasing laugh, but he merely shrugged. Perfect. Not. “Really sorry about that one.”
“Valor, your apologies are always superfluous. Now tell the nice stewardess what you’ll have to eat.”
When Valor turned to the flight attendant, she only then realized the luxurious space she sat in. It was still the inside of a tin can, but much more roomy than she’d experienced that one other time she was inside an airplane. They were in first class? Mercy, but she could never afford this ticket. And she did intend to pay the guy back.
“I’ll take the roast beef,” she said to the attendant, who sported a perfect blond coif and a red scarf tied about her neck. Valor refused the offer of alcohol. She’d drunk a whole growler of beer last night. Or this morning. Or whenever. Plus the bottle of vodka. Those two alcohols should not be mixed. Stupid nerves. “And some ginger ale.”