“Remember those toys I mentioned before?” Miles gestures for me to approach the plane. To approachBessie.“This is the first of those toys.”
Now Noah jumps in to tell me all about their best girl. “It’s the larger of our two aircraft, and it seats nine, which means we all can fit. We take clients up too. And over there is our Super Cub, Mabel.” He points toward a much smaller plane on the other side of the hangar.
Archer appears at my side and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me tight. “Mabes only fits two at a time, so when you’re ready for a more intimate encounter, you just let me know.”
My skin lights up at my alpha’s touch, bringing me right back to where we were before embarking on this trip. This time the others are watching us from the outset, and I can see the jagged seeds of jealousy taking root.
“Bessie, Mabel… Are all your toys named after milk cows?” I ask, tracing a path around the larger aircraft to get a better look—and to escape Archer’s imposing presence. I don’t want to introduce problems in this pack, especially since I’m not planning to stay long-term.
“I’ll get Bessie ready for flight. Then you’re going to help me fly her,” Noah declares proudly.
“What? Me? No, no, no. That can’t be a good idea.”
“Think of it as a fun hazing ritual to welcome you to Pack Muldoon,” Miles provides, the two of them teaming up against me. “You’ll have a great time, and we’ll make sure you stay safe.”
“Although our next welcome ritual will be much more enjoyable,” Archer adds, sending a burst of heat straight to that hidden part of me that is already throbbing for him.
Noah’s face contorts into an unhappy expression, but he catches himself quickly, shakes his head, and climbs into the cabin. Miles follows him, leaving me with Ben and Archer.
“C’mon, V.” This from Ben. “While they get Old Bess ready for lift off, I’ll show you around Maby Baby.”
Surprisingly Archer doesn’t follow as Ben guides me to their Super Cub. As strange as it is to think of these planes as either pets or toys, I must admit that Mabel is pretty damn cute. I had no idea they made aircraft this tiny, but the bright yellow two-seater standing before me looks almost like a child’s plaything.
Ben helps me into the aircraft, then leans in close—bringing his spicy tang of cinnamon and tangerine with him—as I pore over all the buttons, switches, and dials, and he remains standing just outside.
“The people that wish for flying cars and complain thatthe futurethat we live in doesn’t have them obviously have never gotten up close and personal with a Cessna or a Super Cub.”
“Is this another of that writer guy’s speeches?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Ben smiles, nods, continues. “When you’re used to flying in jumbo jets and the like, the smaller personal planes feel more like toys than anything else. With a sleek and simple frame of steel and aluminum covered in a sturdy fabric, you’ll likely spend the first few minutes around one wondering how safe they are or if they even fly.
“In the cramped cabins, headphones over your ears to block out the noise, or at least part of it, you begin to feel almost a connection to the earlier pioneers of flight. Not Orville and Wilbur. But Lindbergh, Earhart, hell, even the Red Baron… And then you take off.”
Ben’s eyes go wide as his hand cuts a path through the air. I watch in silence, entranced by the scene he’s setting.
“Anyone that’s ridden in a luxury vehicle and then jumped behind the wheel of a forty-year-old car held together by duct tape and hope knows what it’s like to go from a jumbo jet to a small plane.
“Every bump in the runway. Every errant piece of gravel you feel before the entire thing lifts off the ground. You expect it to slam back down to earth, like it was just a running jump and it’s gotta try again, but instead, the air holds you up and it’s into the sky you go.
“It’s disconcerting at first. Commercial planes have limits to how fast they can climb, what degree of climb and bank you can do, and even the types of g-force. There’s none of that in a single prop plane. Well, there kind of is, but it’s up to the pilot. If you’ve got someone that plays fast and loose with the controls, you could quickly find yourselfselling Buicksas some pilots put it. Colorful vernacular for air sickness aside, the feeling of being buffeted by winds and seeing the land a lot closer than in a 747, it almost makes it feel like you rather than the plane itself are flying.”
“Are you subjecting this poor sweet girl to more of your purple prose, Benji?” Archer says, suddenly appearing as if from nowhere. “I know the tourists eat that shit up, but Violet only just got here. Give it a rest, eh?”
Ben’s face falls, causing his long hair to form a curtain over part of it. My chest aches for him. Why does Archer have to be so tough on the other guys? Why all this alpha posturing, when they’ve already formed a pack? And as far as I can tell, they’ve already accepted him as lead?
“You… you wrote that?” I ask Ben, choosing to ignore Archer when Ben says nothing to defend himself. “And those speeches you gave me in the truck?”
His eyes light with fresh hope. “All me,” he admits as his lips tip upward once more.
“Ben, it’s—” I start.
“Ridiculous,” Archer cuts in. “Violet needs to get to know us. Not the shit we say on the job.”
“Shut it, Archer,” I say, surprising even myself. Omegas aren’t supposed to give commands, but we are supposed to nurture our packs. And right now, Ben needs me in his corner. If it’s a beatdown Archer wants, he’ll have to take on both of us.
“Just because you’re an alpha doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole. Besides, I think Ben’s writing is beautiful. Can you share more with me?” I ask.
Archer scoffs but doesn’t say anything in response. He simply leaves, taking his heady mix of pine and patchouli with him.