Free Revenant by Patti Larsen Page B

yourselves warned.”
    I shrug casually, smiling up at him with my best sultry eyes. “Yes, sir,” I say. I take Sage’s hand and lead him back to our seats. He sinks into his by the window, face pale, but body hot. The act is no longer necessary. I drop it and lean in. “Are you okay?”
    Sage nods, swallows hard. “I’m losing me,” he whispers.
    “You’ll be fine,” I say. “It was the smell of food. If you eat, you’ll be okay.”
    Sage doesn’t look hopeful and I wish I wasn’t lying to him. Getting him something to eat will help, yes. But his wolf will only become stronger and stronger until I lose him completely.
    If he’s a revenant. And if he’s some new kind, what then? What happens to Sage? If he turns out like Caine, I’ll kill him myself.
    I lean out into the aisle to attract the flight attendant’s attention. At least I can stave this off and go one step at a time. She looks irritated, but heads my way. I turn back, reaching for the menu card, to ask Sage what he’d like—more meat, the better—when I catch a face looking back at me from first class.
    My stomach clenches, hands knotting around the menu the instant Jean Marc Dumont’s smiling face registers.
     
    ***
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    Sage feels my concern just as the attendant reaches me.
    “Can I help you?” She’s trying to be polite, but it’s obvious she’d rather kick me off the plane. I look up at her, still in shock, and hold out the card.
    “He’s starving,” I say, my American accent slipping a moment. “Whatever you have with meat in it.”
    She frowns, about to argue.
    “I know we’re supposed to wait for the cart,” I say. “But please. If you could?”
    She sighs heavily, but nods and walks away. Sage leans in to me, scowling as I lower my head and breathe slowly through my mouth to calm myself.
    “What?” His tension mirrors mine.
    “We’re not alone.” I know if I look back up the aisle, through the partially open curtain, I’ll see Jean Marc again. And likely Kristophe. And those two don’t travel alone. Which means…
    Andre is on the plane with me.
    I’m trapped.
    —in a cage, crouched in filth, my body aching from beatings and other things, my mouth dry and hot with illness I’m just recovering from. I don’t know how much more I can take, but my wolf demands we survive, so I let her take over. Let her be the one who paces the inside of the tiny enclosure, shoulders hunched forward, long, blonde hair hanging in scraggly strings to brush the dirty straw on the stone floor. Waiting for him to come back—
    Someone stirs up front, breaking the memory in half, allowing me to return to myself. I raise my eyes in total dread, my wolf knowing, me, the girl inside me, all of us well aware of what’s coming, of who is coming. My heart beats rapidly, a tiny bird in panic, the whole world narrowing to a tunnel of black, the center of it inhabited by the tall, angular form of the man I’ve known most of my life.
    —he’s come back, back to hurt me some more. Back to add to my torment, to teach me, offer me an education, he calls it. But my soul only hardens against him with every visit. And I grow stronger for the abuse—
    Strong, yes. But terrified none the less. Of Andre Dumont.
    He stands from his first class seat, adjusting his suit coat as though such things matter, decorum and appearances. It gives me a moment to draw air into my lungs through my gaping mouth, gone dry from memory, hands clenching in my lap. He lazily turns and walks down the aisle, through the curtain, Jean Marc and Kristophe grinning at me around the backs of their seats. I ignore them, doing everything I can to hold myself together, as Andre’s shiny shoes stop next to me. The scent of him washes over me, choking the little air I’m able to draw.
    —he smells of sandalwood and vanilla. I will never be able to bear that smell again—
    And to the empty seat beside me.
    He settles into it, crossing his legs, a soft smile