She tried to get her heart to stop beating so crazily. She tried to find one thread of courage. She tried to catch a single thought.
She failed at all of these things in the face of this new, fearsome Callum.
When they leveled off in the air, again without saying a word to her, he unbuckled her, picked her up and carried her to the couch.
Sonia tensed as Callum all but tossed her on it then came down on top of her.
With most of his body pinning her between him and the back of the couch, he tucked her face in his neck and, within moments, the tightness left his body, his enormous weight settled into her and he fell fast asleep.
She was shocked at this, shocked silent and still for long minutes.
Then the shock wore off and she realized she was not comfortable nor was she tired, primarily because she was scared out of her mind. But anytime she tried to shift out from under him, his arm tightened reflexively, pulling her further underneath him.
So Sonia gave up and lay mostly under him, trying to get comfortable, sometimes dozing (as he slept for nine hours straight without moving a muscle) but most of the time deciding that she couldn’t live this life.
No matter how good they were, she couldn’t live for the times when Callum remembered she existed and at least attempted to be the mate he didn’t want to be but it was his duty to be as king. She couldn’t rail against the times when he forgot to do that and was just king.
She couldn’t bear this for a lifetime.
She knew she couldn’t leave but she also couldn’t live like this.
She’d been right all those weeks ago. Living like this would drive her mad.
Before she came to a single conclusion and thus before she made that first plan, Callum woke.
It was moments before the captain announced over the intercom that they would shortly be landing and they needed to take their seats and fasten their seatbelts.
Callum used the restroom at the back as did she, finding it wasn’t a restroom but a full on bathroom, four times the space as in a regular airplane’s. It even had a shower.
When she came out, his arm extended to her, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her, this time slowly, lingeringly, reminding her how good it could be and how much she missed it.
Her heart lurched as her belly tightened but her mind fought against the sweetness of it even as her body rebelled and relaxed into his.
Then he nuzzled her neck, flicking her ear with his nose and he whispered, “Buckle in, baby doll. We’re almost home.”
She did as she was told, the frightening Callum still fresh in her mind even though his voice was no longer harsh, his eyes were no longer hungry or enraged and his warm tone indicated an extreme sense of relief.
When they alighted from the plane, one, tall, dark-haired man was standing beside a hunter green Range Rover that Callum, holding her hand, guided her to immediately.
The man was looking at Sonia curiously but he did not drop to a knee.
He bowed his head deeply to her and to Callum before he lifted his head and, to Sonia, he murmured reverently, his Scottish burr evident even though he spoke two words, “My queen.” When she nodded and gave him a tremulous smile, he grinned at Callum and said, “She’s pretty, your grace.”
“Yes, she is, Drogan,” Callum answered as the man threw Callum a set of keys which Callum caught.
“Good to have you back,” Drogan called as Callum practically pushed Sonia into the left side passenger seat.
“It’s f**king good to be back,” Callum answered, slamming Sonia’s door without bothering to introduce her to Drogan.
“Hail victory, my king,” Drogan went on, his voice was soft but it was also filled with pride and relief.
“Hail victory,” Callum repeated, his voice was threaded with a vein of steel.
Callum drove them through the darkening afternoon of a wooded countryside just as swiftly as he drove them to the airfield hours before.
She wanted to ask him to slow down. She was too numb to speak.
He didn’t bother.