Free The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) by Heather Killough-Walden

reaching out on unseen arms like antennae.
    The plane bucked again, this time dropping a dozen feet before it caught itself once more. The sudden dip sent Minerva sprawling across the bed, where she gripped the headboard. Fortunately, it was attached to the wall. Caliban automatically steadied himself, his magic wrapping itself around him as it always did, and easing him gently off the ground until the jet had once more righted itself.
    “Take my hand,” he said, striding across the room to the bed and offering Minerva his outstretched hand. Something was terribly wrong. The pilot was dead; he could sense this. The plane only flew now because Cal was controlling it with his own power.
    Whatever had taken the pilot’s life was laced with familiar energy; Cal recognized it because it was so similar to his own. It was dark. That was enough. That dark energy permeated the cockpit, and was growing. There was no telling how strong it would become.
    Caliban was the most powerful man in the Unseelie Realm, but he was neither so arrogant nor naïve as to believe there might not be a magic out there stronger than his own. There was Minerva, after all. As his queen, she was almost certain to become more powerful than he was.
    It was entirely possible the energy in the cockpit would overpower his own strength any moment now. Then Caliban would not be able to protect himself or his mate. His only option was to transport out of the plane and then destroy it himself before it could hit the ground and harm anyone else.
    Minerva looked down at his hand, and showing a good deal more intelligence and instinct than fear, she reached out to take it. But as she did, the engines in the plane began to roar, the nose dove downward, and Minerva’s body slammed up against the bedroom wall.
    Though he couldn’t hear it, Cal could tell she cried out as the metal headboard of the bed no doubt bruised her ribs, and her grip on the upper bar slipped. She lost control as the plane then began to tailspin, and loose objects in the room went flying, including the Hollow Box.
    Cake splattered against the ceiling, and containers of tea and wine spun, sending their wet contents sailing in a painter’s montage across the room. The sound of glass plates and mugs shattering was drowned out by the monstrous whine of the plane’s twin engines, as was Minerva’s scream as her body floated upward.
    Cal now acted entirely on instinct, making the only choices he could in a desperate situation. He transported from where he was standing to the back of the bed, popping back into existence directly behind Minerva. His arm slid around her waist, he pulled her tightly against him, and transported once more, instantly taking them both out of the jet plane.
    A moment later, they both reappeared standing on the hard baked sand of a desert ground. Caliban was accustomed to such fast transportations; his shiny black dress shoes were planted firmly on the earth, and his narrowed gaze glared upward at the falling jet plane that was merely more than blinking lights and a shining surface in the reflection of a quickly setting sun.
    But Minerva had a few thousand more transports to go before she would be used to it. The scream she had begun in the jet plane now continued, but much more audibly. She was still grasped firmly in the steel coil of Caliban’s right arm, and he could feel the air leave her lungs beneath his tightly gripping fingertips. Little by little, the scream faded away, and she began to tremble. The sensation of this beneath his touch did odd things to Cal, and he found himself looking down, away from the jet.
    With a wide, bewildered gaze, he watched the top of her head as she slowly looked up, following his former gaze. A popping sound, far enough away to be muted, but loud enough to be felt, forced him to look up once more. He found the plane just as its real tail spin began. One of the craft’s engines had exploded, and the other was going to follow closely