Page 10 of Racing the Storm

I shrugged and leaned against one of the chairs. “They’ll get over it, and with any luck, I’ll be back before shit hits the fan.”

Kor looked about as convinced as I felt, but it was all we had.

Chapter

Four

DANYAL

Ihated flying, but the last thing in the world I was going to do was show weakness to these humans. I had braced myself for pain and torture from the moment I woke in that dark room, but it became obvious that’s what they wanted—not to hurt me, but for me to fear they would. I had a peripheral understanding of what they were capable of. I’d seen the lingering evidence on Kor, and I had felt small bursts from my brother over the weeks he was missing.

I’d felt it in fits and bursts as they kept me unconscious for weeks.

But I refused to let the fear control me. The only thing I wanted was for them to believe I would do anything they asked in order to avoid mutilation—or worse. In reality, I was happy to accept whatever they wanted so long as they didn’t get anything useful from me.

It was obvious Zivko Kasher had reached a plateau in his abilities as a geneticist. I didn’t know much about him—only what the public did and what little private information Misha had shared with me after he reached the resistance. He was a megalomaniac, obsessive and narcissistic, and he was ruthless. His sons’ only worth was based on their usefulness, and though Misha had never really mentioned his mother, I had a feeling she was either just as bad or willingly ignorant of the man she’d married.

Or, perhaps, she was just as much a victim as Misha had been.

Either way, I was being kept alive because it was likely I was the only being in existence with the knowledge to help Kasher finish his work. And that wasn’t going to happen. I just needed to find out how much the man knew about me and what I had accomplished so far.

If he knew about Orion, the situation would be even more precarious.

Still, they didn’t drug me that night. I was sent to an actual bedroom after dinner, and woke to a breakfast of actual food before I was allowed a second shower and another change of clothes. I wasn’t rested, but I was strong enough that I could walk onto the plane without assistance. I was cuffed in front, shoved into a surprisingly comfortable window seat, and I was startled when Kasher’s second son took the place across from me.

I recognized him from clips I’d seen on TV. Ivan Kasher was a cultural ambassador working for the US government, and he’d spent most of his time trying to convince governments around the world to enact stricter anti-Wolf policies. But in the few moments I’d seen him, I could tell there was something different about him—something unlike his brother, Alexei.

He looked a lot less like Misha than Alexei did—his face softer, rounder, his hair lighter. He had a thin mouth turned down in a frown, but there was something in his eyes that made my senses twitch. There was more to this man, but I didn’t know what—and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I said nothing—I knew better than to give anything away that could potentially give them even more power over me. Right now, I was slowly regaining my ability to shift now that the drugs were leaving my system. I wasn’t at full strength yet, but it was likely I could rip any of their throats out before they got the chance to fire the weapons they all carried on them. They knew it—and I knew it.

“How are you, Dr. Bereket?” he asked.

I raised a brow at him, surprised that he was using my title without the same level of sardonic amusement Kasher had. I didn’t answer him though. There was no point because it didn’t matter how I was.

“I didn’t mean that in a cruel way. We have a long flight,” Ivan said. His voice sounded far more like Misha’s than Alexei’s did. It was that same soft lilt of a scholar, unlike his brother who was every bit the politician. And there was something in his tone, something that matched his scent. Fear, maybe? Or hesitation. I watched him lick his lips with his nerves, then blow out a puff of air. “You should probably try to get some sleep. I have a feeling last night was rough for you.”

I almost laughed at the thought. The stone room with no cushion had been my only sanctuary until Kasher let me eat and drink like a person. But the shower and fresh clothes and fitted shoes were a pathetic show of hospitality considering how I’d been kept over the last two weeks. The plane chair was almost more comfortable than the bed they’d given me the night before, and there was no telling what it would be like after we landed.

I probably could have slept—if I wasn’t in a den of starving vipers.

“I’m good, but thanks,” I told him, knowing how cold my voice was.

He stared back at me, almost like a challenge, but he said nothing else as the lights dimmed, and the plane began to taxi. Closing my eyes, I gripped my hands together and muttered every prayer I could ever think to every single one of our gods. I rarely flew—mostly because Wolves had been banned from it for so long and then from never being able to afford the absurd cost to get the permit for international travel that was required for Wolves when the treaty had been signed.

In spite of this posh private jet, the fear gripped me by the throat. My back hit the seat hard as we picked up speed, and my breathing began to hitch in my chest as we bumped along for a second. And then we lost the ground. The plane rocketed skyward, but my stomach remained firmly at my feet, rolling.

I was petrified for a long moment that I was going to be sick and further humiliate myself in front of these monsters. I was certain I looked green, and I startled hard when a hand brushed my knee. My eyes snapped open, and I saw Ivan staring at me, his hands curled together between his spread knees.

“Can I help?”

I damn near laughed this time. “Help me?”

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped and looked around. Kasher traveled with an entourage of humans bigger than most Alphas, but they had taken seats as far from us as they could manage. Part of me wondered if Ivan had requested to be on my guard, or if this was some sort of punishment his father cooked up. “I know this sucks, okay?”

“You know this sucks?” My brows rose, but I quickly schooled my face to neutral, refusing to give anything away. I desperately wanted to listen to his heart, but it was too difficult over the roar of the engine as we hurtled toward cruising altitude. He had to be lying, but something about him—about his scent, about his energy—that told me there was more to this man.

He offered me a sheepish smile. “I uh…I didn’t mean this thing with my father. I meant the plane.”

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