Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I guided Satin up the stairs to the waiting plane as quickly as I could—I wouldn’t feel safe with her until we were in the sky.

She spoke with the captains again quickly, then walked calmly halfway down the plane, opening a berth, to pull out a metal case that was locked to her fingerprint—and inside it was another set of eyes.

“I don’t want you to see,” she said, turning away from me to put them in.

But when she turned back around, they were there, inside her eyesockets, all silver and gleaming.

“Well?” she asked archly.

I spread my open hands in front of me. “What? Nothing’s changed.”

The plane taxied down the runway, and lurched into the air, and both of us managed the transition—her still in her spike heels, and me with my horns managing not to scuff the ceiling.

“Hmm,” she said. “I…suppose you are into body modifications.”

And my dick, which had managed to take everything post-kidnapping so far seriously, couldn’t stay quiet when it was referenced.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pressing down on my kilt like an alternate universe version of Marilyn Monroe over that air grate. “I can’t really hide him anymore.”

Satin softly snorted. “You weren’t doing a good job of hiding him before.”

If she really did have heat-vision, without her phone—“Wait—you knew I was into you! All this time!”

“Of course I did,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s why I picked you at the MSA. Who better to protect me?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned and looked down. “Santa?”

“He wasn’t available, apparently,” she said sharply—and then snickered.

I dared to glance up, and found her smiling, seemingly against her will and better judgement. “Can I actually suture you? This time? I don’t want you ruining another one of my blouses.”

The pilot announced that we’d reached cruising altitude, so it was safe to use a needle—and we probably had a few good safe hours.

“Sure. Yeah.”