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Callum wasas good as dead.
It didn’t matter that he was technically already half dead. Royal vampire or not. Future sovereign or not. Flora was going to kill him and then find a way to bring him back just so she could kill him again. Poison seemed like a good option. Slow. Just like her death would feel as this airplane fell from thirty thousand feet.
Then again, his venom would probably counteract the toxin, so a wooden stake to the heart would be more ideal.
Flora chuckled to herself as she pictured Callum’s face as she stabbed him in the chest. Her amusement was cut short by a shriek as the jet jerked to the left then dipped, taking her stomach with it. Flora tightened her grip on the plush captain's chair, cursing under her breath. It didn’t matter that she was flying in a private jet, or that the pilot was likely hundreds of years old with thousands of flight hours. She hated flying. A fact she hadn’t known until she was thrust into the air at speeds no human was meant to travel.
Human.
The title taunted her as her hand dropped to the lap belt to check for the tenth time that it was firmly latched. It was, but even so it didn't ease her nerves. If she were already immortal, there would at least be some hope of surviving a crash. Provided she wasn’t decapitated, of course. A little blood and she’d be healed right up.
The overhead speaker dinged and the captain crackled over the intercom. “Sorry about that, Miss Valentine. We are about to start our descent into Moon Ridge valley. If you’ll remain seated we should be on the ground in thirty minutes.”
She should be jumping for joy, but in some ways the cylindrical tube of death was the lesser of two evils. When her feet hit the ground, she’d no longer be just Flora Valentine. She’d be Flora Valentine, member of the Scottish Vampire Delegation on a diplomatic mission to encourage—because vampires didn’t beg, according to Callum—the Moon Ridge Pack to extend their protection to Emery in New Orleans. Which shouldn’t be a problem, except that the wolves didn’t pick sides, and this would be a declaration of their intention to help Callum. Helping a vampire by protecting a witch wasn’t exactly neutral.
Still, Callum seemed convinced they’d agree after they read the letter he’d provided her. Flora wasn’t so sure. She was also reconsidering placing her fate in the hands of the mysterious heir to the Scottish court.
It was possible she could plead her case to August, and he would take her back. Then again, he was on her shit list too, so maybe she'd expand her options to other vampire courts. Possibly one located somewhere tropical. Flora closed her eyes and pictured a white sand beach lit by the moon. She’d never been anywhere tropical, but she’d seen pictures and movies and was convinced she’d have no problem ditching cold Chicago nights for warm moonlit swims.
The jet dipped again, more gently this time, but it still brought Flora back to the present, sans umbrella drink in her hand. As much as she wanted to dream about her future, at the moment, things seemed dismal at best.
Vampires were on the brink of war with the witches and those she loved were going to get caught in the crossfire. It was hard to believe it had only been three days since the ball. Three days since her two best friends were by her side with the promise of a bright future ahead of them. Three days since the only semblance of family she’d ever known had been ripped from her. First with Chelsea’s death, and then with Emery framed as the murderer. Flora’s chest tightened remembering just how alone she was in the world.
No. She shook her head, trying to free herself of the shame that threatened to consume her. She wouldn’t let herself fall back into that hole. Not when she had so much to live for.
It had been years since she’d allowed herself to dwell on the past and slip into her own personal pit of despair. Not that it wasn’t a constant battle to avoid its tug as she circled the edge of its depths, but Flora didn’t want to be that person. The kind of person she was when she arrived at the castle. The child who couldn’t find her voice.
She’d found her family. Found who she wanted to be, and she’d fight with everything she had to keep it.
I’m a badass bitch, and I deserve the world.
Flora repeated the mantra Emery had drilled into her for months. At least she no longer winced like she did when Emery first made her repeat it while staring in the mirror. It had become Flora’s battle cry when things got to be too much, or she felt herself slipping back into the shell of who she’d once been.
The last three days had tried to break her. She’d gone crazy being locked in her room, reliving the ghosts of her past while they investigated Chelsea’s death. Even the mantra couldn’t keep the darkness away. Her knuckles bled from banging on the doors, desperate to gain even an ounce of freedom. Information. Anything. It wasn’t until Callum showed up, wide-eyed and out of breath, that she could finally breathe again and get answers.
Well, as much as Callum could give answers. The vampire was notorious for speaking in half truths and riddles that only served to further his own agenda, and that moment wasn't any different. He yanked her from the room, shoved her in a fancy sports car, and drove her to a private airfield all the while admitting truths she wasn’t remotely prepared for.
Emery was a witch. And while she was beyond pissed at her best friend for keeping that tidbit from her, it wasn’t the biggest bomb dropped on her. It was the one that followed that shook Flora to her core. Emery was pregnant with August’s child.
A hybrid.
The ramifications of that last fact made her head spin. Flora didn’t know enough about hybrids to speculate what actions could be taken, but she did know the vampire royals would never recognize the child as a legitimate heir. Hybrids were an anomaly that shouldn’t exist but did. They were accepted by some and forced into the shadows by others.
And this wouldn’t just be any hybrid. Emery’s child would come from the blood of two factions with a centuries-old feud. It was a death sentence for Emery and the baby, and both Callum and Flora knew it.
Callum played on her emotions to convince her the only way to help Emery and save her child was for Flora to go on a diplomatic mission. It didn’t matter that she protested all the way to the airfield, pointing out the task would be better suited for literally anyone else. Callum’s mind had already been made up. He reminded her that until they could figure out who was on their side, no one could be trusted.
Not even August.
Not August,she reminded herself:Augustine.
The pretentious prince had fallen off the deep end. He’d publicly shamed Emery as a witch and named her the highest enemy in his court. So much for being mates, as Callum claimed, though he didn’t elaborate on what exactly that meant.
The witches may be August’s enemy, but Emery was not. Of that, Flora had no doubt.
That didn’t mean she didn’t feel some type of way about the fact her best friend lied to her about her heritage. She might not have meant it as a slap to the face, but it still stung that Emery didn’t trust her. Not that Flora had any room to talk. She hadn’t told Emery about the tragedies of her childhood, even though they continued to weigh her down. She didn’t tell her the real reason she wanted to be turned into a vampire, either.
A shiver tore through her, and Flora wrapped her arms around herself, shaking off the ghostly touch of her father’s nails digging into her skin.
