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He winked, all cocky and smug. “Yes, ma’am.” His biker moniker showed a stylized wolf’s head with fangs dripping blood that read, Rogue Wolf.
“That’s not subtle.”
“Glen found an extra large for me.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, mine wasn’t cool enough.”
Sam secured the door and smiled. “Buckle up. Camilla might decide to make up for lost time by ordering you to parachute out.”
“I don’t have a problem parachuting,” said Cricket. Might be the only way to cool her burning flush.
Slade sunk his bulk onto a good-sized armchair and dwarfed it. “Not on the itinerary.”
“Yet.” She so enjoyed teasing him, but if he wanted to, he might nip her while still in lycan territory. There were parts of his body she wanted to explore and nip.
Slade returned to reading his cell phone, and she forced her lust back in the den.
The captain spoke over the intercom. “Seatbelts on. Under no circumstances, no shifting.”
The engines roared down the runaway and in moments, they were airborne. Cricket opened her tablet, reading a travel book about Santa Cruz, ignoring the drop-dead gorgeous alpha. Impossible. The scent of fear-driven perspiration accosted her nose. His pulse raced. No powerful drugs on board could knock him out. If he went mad wolf, they were screwed. The cockpit was werewolf proof, but with his strength, he could rip open the emergency door. Was he reliving the moment when they forced tranquilizers on him or just afraid of flying? “Everything okay?”
He gripped the armchair. “Once the seatbelt sign goes off, I calm down.”
“We couldn’t be in better hands. Camilla has flown combat missions while being fired on.”
“So I’ve heard.” He sighed and stared out. “Don’t worry, I fly all the time.”
Not by the way your pulse is racing. Typical alpha. Hated being vulnerable. He wouldn’t be the only team member nervous to fly. Werewolves hated flight. The inner wolf preferred the soil beneath their paws. The no shifting rule while in flight had been established to resist the wolf’s primal instinct to remain grounded. She put away her tablet and took out a remote for the movie screen. “News or a movie?”
The seatbelt sign turned off.
“None.”
His pulse calmed. Okay, so he hates take-offs and landings. She, on the other hand, loved the rush of taking flight.
Slade stood. “I’m getting a beer. I give you permission—I mean—do you want one?”
At least he tried not being so alpha; although, with no humans around he had no reason to curtail his dominance. “Sure.” Maybe they would be a good platonic team. Soon, he’d treat her like one of the guys. A step above treating her like a kid sister. And a staircase from treating her like a helpless runt.
Slade handed her one. She smiled. “Thank you, sir.” Out of respect to the alpha, she waited for him to take the first gulp. He did and gave her a nod. Some lupine habits never changed.
Cricket took a swig, and then raised her bottle. “To your first Team Greywolf mission.”
“To my teacher.”
She would have preferred, team leader, but at least he didn’t call her Little Wolf.
They clicked their bottles together.
His gaze raked her breasts. “You plan on wearing a skirt and tight sweater on the bike?” He smiled. “Not that I mind.”
Dang. Her nipples eagerly peaked beneath her tight sweater as if invited to come out and play with the big bad wolf. “No. I have my own biker outfit.” She blushed. Damn stupid human trait. “I’ll change before we land.” She sat and stared out the window, hoping he didn’t notice her rapid pulse. Not from the fear of flying, but from his probing forest-green eyes and the scent of his obvious lust for her.
Slade sat across from her and removed his jacket. His tight black t-shirt, two sizes too small, advertised his strapping broad chest. He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back. “What do you think happened to them?”
Cricket stared at his muscular biceps. “Huh?” She blinked. He didn’t play fair.
“The missing werewolves.”
Good. I can talk business. “My gut tells me there’s something fishy about the disappearances.”
