Weaving Fate - Nora Ash Page 0,35

ever cop to it.

When I looked to my right and caught Modi’s tense frown, pity rose in my gut. Poor guy had to have it even worse than Bjarni—this was his first brush with the crowded reality of modern life, after all.

I hesitated for a moment, not sure if the gesture would be appreciated, but in the end decided I was so used to his dismissive attitude that one more rejection wouldn’t hurt. So I reached out with my free hand and wound my fingers with his.

He jolted, blue eyes darting from our surroundings to our interlocked hands, then to my face. I was fully bracing for a scathing remark, but he just stared at me for a long moment before returning his focus to the people passing us, his hand closing tight around mine.

It was only when we boarded the plane to Chicago that I realized I’d made a mistake.

“You booked us in coach?” Bjarni said behind me as the three of us stood in the narrow hallway between the rows of seats, blocking the passengers who desperately wanted to pass, but didn’t have the guts to get pushy with two huge alphas.

Two huge alphas who were going to have an awful time trying to fit into the distinctly beta-sized seats we’d been assigned.

“Coach?" he repeated with a shake of his head. "What have I ever done to you?”

“Apart from kidnapping me?” I said, eyebrow raised in challenge. But my snarkiness died pretty instantly because despite his exasperation, he only looked mildly annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” I relented with a sigh. “I’m not used to being able to splurge on first-class, and I completely spaced. I’ll ask the stewardess if we can upgrade.”

We couldn’t. We were far from the only ones realizing this flight was probably the last one out of Norway for a while, and every first-class seat had been booked.

I’m not entirely sure how my alpha companions managed to squeeze themselves into their tiny-by-comparison seats, but if I hadn’t been smushed in between them, I’d have laughed at the spectacle they made.

Both men looked like overgrown toddlers, knees halfway up to their ears in an attempt at fitting in their long legs, and their displeasure was painted across their faces and emanated from their chests in aggravated snarls as the plane rolled toward takeoff.

However, I was smushed between them, leaving me exactly zero room to expand my lungs enough to laugh.

Takeoff wasn’t much better. Modi, who had the window seat, looked out at the engines in alarm when they powered up and yelped when the jet barreled down the runway and G-forces flung us back in our seats. I didn’t have time to reach for his hand this time—he grabbed for mine and squeezed it so tight my bones protested.

“It’s all right. It’s just getting up to speed so we can take off,” I murmured. “Doesn’t Thor have a flying carriage or something? Something about some rams? This can’t be that much worse than getting dragged through the skies by livestock.”

He shot me an ungrateful look. “Nothing about Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr is remotely comparable to this metal death trap. You do know that if we die, we’re all going to Hel? Valhalla’s ports are closed—not that there’d be anything honorable about plunging to our deaths encased in flaming wreckage.”

I wheezed a chuckle—the most my poor ribs could expand. It seemed Thor’s other son was quite dramatic when the mood struck.

“We won’t be doing any plunging—and generally, it’s considered good manners not to talk about hell and fiery death whilst aboard an airplane. Look, we’re already airborne. It’ll be fine. Just try to get some sleep, it’s a ten-hour flight.”

“Ten hours in this herring barrel?” Modi growled, though his focus shifted to the window once more. “We should have gotten on a damned boat.”

Five hours in, I was ready to agree with him.

Whatever Ragnarök had done at ground level, it also seemed to add an unpleasant amount of turbulence to the air streams. More than one person had had to make use of the provided puke bags, and the stench of vomit permeating the air made me think I might need my own very soon.

Bjarni had spent the last two hours leaned forward with his face buried in his hands, forehead resting against the seat in front of him, and to my right Modi leaned against the window, his skin an ungodly shade of green. No one was getting any sleep, and even though I was pretty hungry after my