Page 8 of Nash's Fake Mate
The human sat in what appeared to be a jump seat, which made Nash panic a little for reasons he didn’t understand.
Nash gripped the chair arms when the plane moved. His stomach churned. Nausea rose in his throat, but he did his best to quell the urge to vomit.
He dug in his pocket for a mint. That should help some, right?
He held out an unopened mint to the human because the guy hadn’t taken his eyes off Nash the entire time he’d sat down. To be fair, his seat faced Nash, and there wasn’t much else for him to look at.
“The pilot is very competent.”
“Good for him.”
“Do you need a sick bag?”
“No, thanks.” But maybe. Not that Nash wanted to admit it.
It turned out he really didn’t need a sick bag, and he had nothing to worry about, except for the turbulence. He wanted to kiss the ground when they landed thirty minutes later. It might have been a brief ride via private jet, but it was terrifying.
“We don’t normally take on that much turbulence,” the flight attendant said as Nash was disembarking. The guy looked apologetic as if the plane shaking and dipping were his fault.
Nash smiled, letting the guy know he didn’t blame him. “I have shitty luck with that type of thing.”
The guy gestured to the black car waiting on the tarmac. “Stuart will take you to your final destination.”
Nash nodded and headed for the car. He’d never had anyone drive him anywhere before, and he liked it even less than the plane ride. Was he supposed to trust this guy’s driving because he very much didn’t trust anyone’s but his own?
There was a reason Nash preferred working alone. His trust issues were only part of the reason.
Chapter Five
Abi’s head hurt, and his stomach churned. Nausea was alive and well. Voth shoved a cup of black coffee under Abi’s nose, along with a wrapped fast-food hamburger from the greasiest place in the city.
He sometimes really hated life, especially when he was hungover.
“Eat. It will make you feel better.”
Abi groaned when Voth’s deep voice sent knives through his skull. He was still in his pajamas, which was about all the enticement he needed to go back to bed.
“I’m pretty sure a greasy burger first thing in the morning won’t make me ‘feel better’.” Time was the only thing that would save him now. Well, that and the sweet emptiness of death. Not that he would ever choose that route. For one thing, he wouldn’t give Colin or any of the rest of his false mates the satisfaction. And for another, where was the fun in dying? The fun happened when he killed other people, which he might get to do if he played it right with Peter and begged to go on the next mission. He needed to drown himself in work so he wouldn’t have to think about Colin and his stupid fucking face anymore.
“I’m very sure it will.” Voth unwrapped it for Abi and shoved it closer. “Eat. Now.”
No one told Voth no. The entire family always did what he said. He was the resident dad in the family. He took care of everyone, including Peter, who resisted him more than anyone else did. Not even he succeeded entirely in avoiding Voth’s aggressive love language.
Abi’s stomach rolled when the greasy burger smell hit him. “I’m going to puke, Voth.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Abi scowled and took a small bite, taking his time chewing. It did nothing to help the nausea. Abi flipped Voth off just to make a point. What point he didn’t know. But watching Voth huff was just about the only thing that made Abi feel better, so yeah. At least he had that.
“I’m not the one who got drunk in the library last night.”
“Well, I started at Randy’s Bar, so technically I got drunk in a bar. Not the library.” Abi had done both, to be fair. Not that he would admit it. He wouldn’t want Voth going around thinking he was right or anything, even though he was.
Voth was also the resident cook. The kitchen belonged to him, according to him. He made sure everyone in the house knew it. He had even taken over what would have been the servants’ quarters if they were the type of people to have hired help. They had too many secrets to keep, including a demon locked in their basement. To be fair, the guy was feral at the very least and probably certifiable, which is why they had locked him away. The family motto:we love that you love to kill, but we never kill each other. The demon needed a doctor at the very least, but so far, Peter hadn’t been able to trust anyone.
Abi avoided the basement at all costs. Demons scared him. And yeah, maybe that was rich coming from him. He was a skinwalker, after all. According to an internet search, he knew skinwalkers were demon-adjacent. He’d come across a couple of demons before. They lived in Sinner’s Landing, a neighborhood on the east side of the city.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke.“It turns out Colin was just like all the rest of them.”
