Must Be Magic (Spellbound) (17 page)

She tensed at the mention of his father, but forced a polite smile. “Have a good flight.” She made a move to go around him, dragging her busted suitcase after her.

“You could fly back with me.”

“Our truce is up,” she reminded him, and he felt like an even bigger asshole for saying that last night.

But that didn’t make him wrong about where they went from here. Even she had to know there could be no friendly conversation, no casual lunch dates or emails. None of that would ever be enough, not after this weekend.

“You’re going to sit next to a complete stranger tonight, so just get on the plane now and pretend you don’t know me.”

Her expression told him it wasn’t a good idea.

Nothing in the last forty-eight hours had been a good idea. He didn’t see why that should be a problem now. “If you’re needed back home…” He trailed off, wondering what the emergency was. If there even was one.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“I thought something came up at the office?”

Her attention drifted just long enough to confirm it was just an excuse. She wanted away from here as bad as he did. Away from him. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“Won’t be a problem. Unless you’re worried you won’t be able to keep from flirting with me during the flight.”

She arched a brow, then perfectly echoed, “Won’t be a problem.”

“The pilot will be relieved to hear that.”

Stiff-shouldered, she lifted her suitcase when Bryce gestured for her to precede him.

Less than a minute later he was regretting the impulsive offer. Five minutes after that, he was seriously annoyed with himself for committing to spend the duration of the flight within a few feet of her. Someone he’d just realized he didn’t even have the luxury of being friends with. In fifteen minutes they were on the tarmac, headed for the plane, and he was beyond mad at himself.

No doubt sensing his frustration, she stopped. “We don’t have to do this.”

“It was an invitation, not a marriage proposal.”

“Right.” She glanced back the way they’d come.

He blew out a breath. “I’m still mad, okay? But that doesn’t mean I can’t do this one thing to help you out. We’ll get on the plane and pretend to read or sleep, and when we land, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Okay.”

A man in airport coveralls stepped out from under the plane. His father always traveled with both his pilot and his maintenance guy, and the guy walking toward them, shoving his hands in his pockets, was neither of the two.

Bryce craned his neck, following the guy’s progress inside after they passed, then ushered Darby up the stairs ahead of him. Once he stepped into the plane himself, he immediately approached Miles, the pilot. “Any problems?”

“Nope. Gerald is planting his ass on a beach for an extra few days, lucky bastard. That guy was just doing a standard check before we take off.”

Bryce nodded. “Nice tan, by the way.”

Miles grinned. “Hope my wife thinks so.” He took a sip from his mug.

“Don’t tell me my dad converted you to his brand of coffee.” One that reminded Bryce of chocolate combined with laundry detergent. No one in the family understood how he could drink the stuff.

Miles laughed. “I figured I’d finally try it without him watching over my shoulder.”

“Good call.”

Picking one of the cabin’s six seats across the narrow aisle from Darby, he settled in.

“Want a coffee or juice or anything?” He motioned to the minifridge.

“No thanks.”

Having made the offer, Bryce decided on a nap. At least that way he wouldn’t feel compelled to sneak glances at her during the flight. He closed his eyes, glancing at her only as they took off.

They didn’t talk and somehow he managed to drift off, jolting awake to the sound of Darby screaming.

“Sorry. Just a little turbulence apparently,” she offered weakly, as the plane rocked again.

He glanced out the window, surprised that the earlier gray clouds were now dark and angry. The plane dipped momentarily as it struck another air pocket. Another sound of distress left her mouth before she sandwiched her lips so tight they were only a strip of white.

“Miles is a great pilot.”

“Well this would be a pretty crappy time to admit he was a horrible one.”

“I’m sure we’ll be clear of it soon.”

“I thought you didn’t have a crystal ball?” Regret flashed across her face.

He opened his mouth to respond, without a clue what to say, but when the plane dropped sharply, Bryce’s heart slammed into his ribs.

Something wasn’t right.

“Miles?”

“Hang on.” The pained response killed any confidence Bryce had that they were experiencing just a little turbulence. They were losing altitude too quickly.

“I need to put down on that island,” Miles choked out.

Through the rain slashing the windows, Bryce could just make out the narrow land mass in the distance. Something thumped up front and Bryce leaned to the side, saw Miles grab at something on his chest.

Christ. Was he having a heart attack?

The plane dipped again and was tugged upward, but moved as though it were fighting itself the whole way.

They were too far away. The island was at least another couple miles out and they were dropping too fast.

Between the jolts, Bryce could hear Miles panting for breath. “Can’t… Shit.”

The island grew closer, the turbulent colors of ocean, sand and trees blurring together through the rain. On instinct he reached for Darby’s hand.

Her fingers locked around his, squeezing tight. “I need to tell you something,” she blurted out. “I need to tell you about our baby.”

There was no time to process Darby’s words, the plane dipped left, and Bryce got his first glimpse of the beach Miles was aiming for. “We’re going in too fast. He needs help slowing down.” Their magic wasn’t enough to stop a plane in midair, but together maybe they could slow it down enough to give them a chance.

Darby jerked her head in a nod, her gaze falling to their linked hands as their voices joined.
“Subsisto.”

His chest burned under the heat from his amulet, but he didn’t break the connection until the plane slammed into something and everything went black.

Chapter Eight

Son of a bitch.

The hangover from hell pounded across the back of Bryce’s head. He knew he’d poured himself one too many drinks after leaving Darby at her bungalow, but not enough to do this.

And what the hell was dripping onto his face?

His hand tingled as he lifted it to touch his face. His fingers came away wet. Through blurred vision he glimpsed red.

Forcing his eyes open, he winced at the hammering pressure across the back of his skull and found his view of the plane’s interior cream walls shredded with gray and gaps that allowed the drenching breeze to hit him in the face.

The plane.

“Darby?”

He fumbled for the seat belt and freed himself, almost sliding out of his seat because of the sharp slanting of the floor to the left. Across the aisle Darby remained buckled in, her eyes closed. Blood stained her white T-shirt and her arm…

Gripping the sides of his chair, he pushed himself up on shaking arms, collapsing back when the world spun around like a carousel on crack. His stomach twisted, nausea burning the back of his throat.

He sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth. “Darby.”

She didn’t move.

“Miles?”

No answer came from up front—if there was still a front of the plane left. All Bryce could make out were trees, broken like matchsticks, beyond the ripped-open plane.

Needing to check on Darby, he tried again to stand, making it to his feet this time before the dizziness hit. He didn’t close his eyes, afraid he might pass out if he did. Pain radiated up his leg, but he didn’t let himself look down yet. The warm trickle of blood running down the inside of his leg told him he was bleeding.

“Darby.”

She made a sound caught somewhere between a murmur and a whimper.

He half inched, half slid toward her, each wave of dizziness passing a little faster as the pain in his leg worsened. Keeping as much weight off it as he could, he reached Darby, relieved that the superficial cut on her forehead had caused most of the blood on her shirt. Her left arm, however, hung at the wrong angle.

Dislocated.
Shit.

“Darby?”

She groaned again but didn’t open her eyes. Maybe it was better that way.

Leaving her for a moment, he limped forward to check on Miles. He didn’t even reach the cockpit before spying the shattered windshield. Shards of glass and debris littered the area. The left half of the cockpit looked as though it had been hammered in then sliced open.

The vacant look in the pilot’s eyes confirmed he was dead. Had the impact killed him or had his heart given out?

Leaving the speculation for later, he returned to Darby. Her shoulder would need to be reset and he wouldn’t be able to do that inside.

Getting the door open would have been impossible if the impact hadn’t half wrenched it off the hinges. Even then, it took him a while to force it open. Frequent stops as the world continued to spiral dragged the process out far too long.

Once he was satisfied the door was open enough, he set about looking for a first aid kit. The throbbing in his leg pulsed with every step, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it for much longer. Once he had Darby outside, he’d take a look.

Half hoping she would remain unconscious, he undid her belt. As carefully as he could, he slid one arm around her back and his other under her knees.

She stirred in his arms, crying out when he lifted her up, the sound almost as loud as his own curse as his injured leg screamed in protest from the added weight.

“Shhhhh.
Quiesco.
” Sleep.

Usually only more weak-minded individuals could be swayed so easily by magic, but her injuries left her susceptible. Or they would have if his own magic weren’t compromised for the same reason. Damn.

He was sweating even before he made it to the door, leaning against the warped frame to catch his breath. The hard part would be getting her over the threshold and down the short distance to the ground. As hard as it was to maneuver with the plane so slanted, it saved them from having to jump. Far.

Teeth gritted, he made the small drop, but his injured leg crumpled beneath him. He kept her close to his chest, but she cried out as they pitched forward. He managed to twist, landing them on his good side, but Darby yelled again, her eyes fluttering.

He released her long enough to roll away, positive he wasn’t keeping anything down for a moment longer. The muddy earth sucked at his fingers as he stared down at the ground.

“Bryce?” Darby’s panicked tone punched through his nausea.

“Right here.”

Her eyes opened, disorientation giving way to confusion as her gaze darted around before returning to his face.

“Our plane went down.”

She swallowed. “What’s wrong with my arm?”

“I think it’s dislocated.” He glanced at the broken plane and knew they were lucky to be alive.

Darby licked her lips, a tear leaking from the corner of her eye. “Tell me you’re going to be sure of that before you fix it.”

“Unfortunately I left my x-ray machine in my other pants.”

Her pained murmur would never have passed for a laugh. “You’re going to have to pop it back in, aren’t you?”

That was the plan. “Yeah.”

She pressed her lips together to silence another cry. “And you’ve done if before. Right?”

Once. Sort of. “You remember Danny Boyd? The guy who kept telling you how nice your ass was on spring break?”

“That douche bag?” She panted her next few breaths. “Tell me you don’t keep in touch with him.”

He smiled despite their circumstances. “No.” He kneeled on the ground next to her as best he could. “He dislocated his shoulder the day before you and I met.”

“And you popped it back in?”

Not exactly. “Things like that you never forget.”

She let her head fall back to the ground. “I’ll take that as a no.”

He wished he could tell her yes, but all he’d done was hold his drunk friend while their med student buddy did the work, but he hadn’t been joking about remembering every detail. “We don’t have any other options.”

“They’ll know something is wrong. Someone will come.”

Blinking through the light drizzle of rain, he glanced up at the gray sky. “If they knew where we were, someone would have come by now.” Although there was no hint of the sun, it was getting darker out, meaning they’d been unconscious for a while.

“Alex—” Darby began.

“Couldn’t reach us even if he wanted to.” Alex’s broken leg would prevent him from teleporting directly to them.

Tate, Darby’s cousin, had only recently taken over Libby’s position on the Tribunal, the governing witch council, and was still struggling to teleport to places she hadn’t been. That left only Bryce’s own cousin, the third member of the Tribunal, to come for them, and so far he was a no-show.