I won’t figure that out tonight, so I put on Home Wreck Fixer and drop the bath bomb into the water, trying to distract at least a little from the unbearable ache in my chest.
Chapter 27
MORGAN
The beast rears up as soon as I smell Jamie again. He’s waiting on the plane, nose buried in a book.
I take the seat across from him and open my laptop.
Sitting there with my seatbelt on until we hit cruising altitude is torture. My head aches as the beast tries to claw its way out again.
I hate that it feels like retreating when I head for the back of the plane and step into the bathroom.
The second I’ve locked the door, my body convulses. The all-too-familiar sensation is like nausea but even more visceral. It’s like every cell in my body is tensing, trying to expel the acid coursing through me.
I don’t have to look in the mirror to know that with every heave, my ears and fangs lengthen. My bones shift and pop.
I’m right on the edge.
If I shift, the flimsy bathroom door will be no match.
I claw under the cabinet for what I know is there—a backup bottle of suppressants. I keep them everywhere.
I down the whole thing, choking the pills down withoutwater.
My stomach roils, as if the beast is rejecting them. I almost vomit, but I force a swallow down past the convulsion. I’ve done this before—I can do it again.
But this is different. Jamie makes it different, and I can’t figure outwhy.
I’m sweating, shaking. Jamie’s scent still lingers here. It’ll take time for the suppressants to kick in.
I wedge a claw into the ceiling panel that holds the oxygen masks and pry it open, forcing one to pop down and engage. I strap it over my head and breathe deep. The oxygen smells like plastic and metal, and I hate it, but it doesn’t smell like Jamie.
Pain ripples down my spine again as my vertebrae pop, ears and teeth shifting again. I brace myself against the counter as my body curls in on itself, lungs emptying with a whimper muffled by the oxygen mask.
The next ten minutes are hell. I count every second on my watch.
Finally, the suppressants hit. A fog comes over me—a side effect at high doses. Infuriating but necessary for the moment. With one last series of pops, my bones settle back into their human form. I sweep my tongue over my teeth, and my canines are no more than slightly pointed.
I slip out of the bathroom and head further back in the plane, locking myself in the soundproofed bedroom. I pull out my phone and start a VoIP call.
“Hey, Mor,” Gia chimes.
“Something is wrong with the suppressants,” I grind out.
“Mor… you sound like shit.”
“I want to run more tests without triggering an investigation. Tell me how to do that.” I rub my temples, hating how sluggish my brain feels.
“Whoa, whoa. What makes you think it’s thesuppressants?”
“They’re not working.”
“Arthur would have told you if there were any upticks in adverse events.”
“Then what the fuck else can it be?” My hand clenches the bedsheets, claws tearing tiny holes.
“Canwhatbe, Mor? What’s going on?” Gia’s tone is suddenly even, calm.
