Chapter 3 - Welcome to Northumbria

IF THERE WAS anything Aubrey enjoyed less—aside from her descent into insanity—was flying. For as long as she could remember, she'd always hated heights. She didn't know how dragons could willingly take to the air and swoop back to the ground without breaking a sweat. Perhaps it was something they were born with, something that was ingrained into their DNA from the moment of conception, this ability to let go of reality and leap into the unknown.

No matter how she denied it, she envied her in-laws (and her siblings) in their ability to go about life without a care to the world.

Perhaps, she mused as she stood and followed the other passengers off the plane, if she could learn to let go and have faith in the outcome, it might—just might—help her control the voice.

A thought entered her mind, clung, and took root until the image became too vivid, to tangible that Aubrey was helpless to the laughter that burst from her gut. The passengers in front of her faltered in their stride and turned wide, narrowed eyes on her, viewing her as one might a two-headed drake, which only made her laugh more.

Giggling, the thought flitted through her head: Wouldn't it be funny if there were such a thing as a dragon afraid of flying? The thought alone brought another bought of chuckles from her lips, eliciting another round of wary stares from the passengers in front and back of her.

Murmurs of a madwoman in first-class passed through the plane all the way back to economy. Little did they know how right they were.

Once inside the terminal—the other passengers steering clear of her and casting final, wary glances—Aubrey followed the signs to baggage claim and collected her luggage. She didn't carry much; in her haste to get out the door and catch her plane, Aubrey had only packed a few day's worths of clothes, some toiletries, her purse, and a book. Considering she'd been pressing for time to pack, and the fact she would only be staying the week, she did reasonably well; the only thing she might have forgotten...

Instantly she unzipped her purse and fumbled through the contents. Wallet. Kindle. Phone...

"Shit!" Those close in earshot frowned before continuing on their way. Not that she cared. Reeling her luggage to an empty bench, she plopped down and looked again, her heart racing. When, on the third search, her purse came up empty, she turned to her suitcase. If it wasn't in her purse, surely it would be in her luggage. She checked, then double-checked both the top and bottom pockets; all she found were shampoo, her toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a few make-up items.

"Shit..."

God! She was an idiot! Of all things, how could she have forgotten her pills?

Movement stirred inside her head, almost like a flexing of claws or rippling of muscles. Far, far in the recesses of her mind, a sound echoed, minuscule and soft, but Aubrey had heard it nonetheless. It was a chuckle, a foreboding of what was to come. Aubrey could almost feel the voice "smile" in her mind, before settling back to "sleep".

What was she going to do? This wasn't the first time Aubrey had considered what she was going to do—how she was going to hide her affliction—around people. It's not like she could hide away during the festivities; as the sister of the bride, it was her duty—and her pleasure—to make an appearance to show her support. She would have proceeded as she would have done on any regular day, continue without letting on something deeper was occurring inside her. But that was if she'd brought her pills. Without them... It would have been challenging trying to act "normal" around her siblings, but even more so around the dragons. Now that she would be going in with nothing to aide her...

Perhaps, once she was settled in a cabin, she could swing by the clinic and speak to Dr. Ahlbrand.

Perhaps, if she could get the good doctor alone and swear to secrecy, she could tell her about her condition.

The voice stirred, sending pulsing waves thrumming through her temples. 'I've already told you,' it said, cold and unwavering. 'You can't get rid of me. We are part of each other.'

Her fingers curled, her nails biting into her palms.

'Watch me,' she snarled back.

The voice growled. Heat rushed through her head, a sensation not unlike burning. Aubrey gasped, immediately clamping down on her lips. Never had the voice done this! All at once, her brain felt as if it was frying and melting. Tears stung in her eyes. She tasted blood on her tongue. Sweat beaded along her brow as the new sensation while she tried desperately to not draw further attention to herself.

Maybe, if she drank some water...?

"Aubrey!"

She started, the pressure immediately dissipating, the voice retreating to the farther reaches of her mind. Panicked, she whipped around, angling her head and searched the many heads, yet nothing appeared out of the ordinary, no faceless person frantically trying to get her attention.

Had she heard correctly?

Someone had called out to her... right?

It had been a masculine voice. Surely a second voice hadn't joined the first. Or had it? Was she now hearing multiple voices? Was there more to come? If so, how many? Could she handle that many? One was hard enough.

'Don't panic,' the logical half of her commanded. 'The worst thing to do is panic. Now... Lila said something about Hugh picking you up and taking you to Blackstone. Maybe it's Hugh.'

She looked again. Problem was she couldn't put a face to the name. It could be any one of those passengers milling about the terminal. The only thing she knew about Hugh, aside from his name, was the fact he was one of Graham's younger cousins.

The question became: how young?

"'Oy, Aubrey!"

She turned her head and found a waving hand towering above the crowd, quickly coming closer until a body emerged. Dressed in a pair of slacks and tee, topped only with a jacket, the male-drake pushed his way through the crowd and half-jogged/half-ran toward her. Cropped sandy blond hair framed a boyish face, yet she knew, judging by the twinkle in his eyes and the impish grin he flashed her, he was anything but boyish.

He came to a stop a couple of feet beside her, his chest rising and falling heavily as if he'd sprinted to reach her. After a moment of catching his breath, he placed his hands to his hips and huffed, "Hi!"

She cocked a brow, her lips twisting. "Hi... Hugh?"

"Are you certain?" She nodded. He grinned. "I'm just messing with you. I'm Hugh." He held out his hand to her which she gladly accepted. "You probably don't remember me—we didn't get to spend much time together." Instantly, he sobered. "Shite! I'm sorry—you, see I forgot about... it'd been a while ago, and—"

"Hugh," she cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine. Really."

"I know but..."

"No," she snapped, unintentionally sharp. She sighed, emotionally and physically fatigued. "Look, the last thing I need is for people to walk on eggshells around me. I'm fine." Well, not fine, per se, but she wasn't broken. Not completely, anyway. "Treat me like you would have had we gotten to know each other."

He stared at her a moment, uncertain. Had he been a kid, she could easily have imagined him shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands. Then, as the words finally sank in, he smiled. Yet there was nothing innocent about his smile. It was absolutely wicked, full of twisted mirth. "You may regret that later."

Swinging her purse onto her shoulder and grabbing the handle of her suitcase, she stood. The young drake stood about five inches taller next to her five-eleven frame. How nice it was to actually look up to someone instead of down. "We'll see about that," she replied, then started for the exit.

Hugh quickly caught up to her, no sooner pushing himself in front of her as he made a path through the crowd. Aubrey hadn't realized it before, but it was raining outside; the not-so-distant clouds darker and promising storms.

A storm was coming. Aubrey could only hope she was prepared for it.