Chapter 127

Grayson’s POV

Rickon leaned over, retrieving a miniature bottle of whiskey from a hidden compartment in the armrest. He held it aloft as if presenting a grand treasure. “The rules are simple,” he said, giving the bottle a slight shake. “We take turns asking each other questions. Nothing too personal—don’t worry, I’m not digging into your tragic backstory. But here’s the catch: for every question you refuse to answer, you take a drink.”

I gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “You dragged me into this just to play a childish drinking game?”

Rickon placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Childish? This isn’t just a game—it’s a sacred tradition! It’s called bonding, Grayson. You should try it sometime.”

I stared at him, my voice deadpan. “You think I want to bond with you?”

“Not particularly,” he said with an easy grin, unscrewing the cap with a flourish. “But you’re stuck with me for the next few hours, and unless you’d prefer I spend the entire flight testing your patience, I suggest you play along.”

I debated telling him to go to hell, but the thought of enduring his endless chatter was worse. With a resigned sigh, I leaned back. “Fine. Get on with it.”

Rickon’s face lit up. “That’s the spirit! I’ll start.” He leaned back, swirling the tiny bottle like a whiskey expert. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

I gave him a blank look. “Pass.”

“Really? Not even going to try?”

“I said pass,” I repeated, my tone brooking no argument.

Rickon laughed and handed me the bottle. I glared at him. “Can I at least get a glass?”

Without a word, he produced two small glasses from the compartment. I poured a little whiskey, taking a quick swig. The burn was preferable to his ridiculous question.

“Your turn,” I said. “Why do you talk so much?”

“Ah, a classic,” he said, rubbing his chin theatrically. “I talk because silence is boring, and life’s too short not to fill it with my sparkling personality.”

“That’s not an answer,” I muttered, though a faint twitch betrayed my amusement.

“Take it or leave it,” he shrugged.

The game continued, each question more absurd than the last. Rickon’s persistence was grating yet oddly disarming, and soon, the whiskey loosened my usual iron grip. Somewhere between Rickon asking if I’d ever smiled and my countering with how many people had tried to throttle him, I felt my shoulders relax.

“Ever thought about shutting up for five minutes?” I asked, refilling my glass.

Rickon smirked, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Never. My silence would deprive the world of my brilliance.”

Despite myself, a faint smile touched my lips.

10:40 Sat, Jan 4 G.

Chapter 127

“There it is!” Rickon crowed, pointing at me. “I knew you had one in you!”

I shook my head, the smile fading. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. I’m telling everyone back home that the Alpha King cracked a smile.”

I didn’t respond, but felt the whiskey’s warmth softening the ever-present weight I carried. For a moment, I forgot the expectations, the vigilance, the constant guard.

But then, the plane tilted sharply, sending the whiskey bottle rolling. My wolf growled, every muscle tensed. Rickon straightened, his playful grin gone, his instincts flaring.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his tone low and serious.

I didn’t answer, scanning the cabin. I’d flown with only the pilot and co-pilot; I preferred the quiet.

Another sharp lurch made the plane groan. I was halfway out of my seat before I stopped myself. The engine rumble faltered, followed by eerie silence from the left side.

“Grayson,” Rickon said, his voice tight, his bravado replaced by tension.

Before I could respond, the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom: “This is your captain speaking. We’ve experienced an engine issue and are preparing for an emergency landing. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. I will keep you updated.”

The captain’s voice was calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable. My wolf growled; unease crawled up my spine. I wasn’t fooled.

Rickon, already buckled, his smirk gone, focused on me, concern in his green eyes. “This doesn’t sound good, Grayson,” he said quietly, apprehension edging his voice.

My gaze locked on the cabin door. My mind raced, but nothing made sense. Why would my jet—one of the most advanced—be in trouble?

“Stay alert,” I ordered, keeping my voice steady.

Rickon nodded, his cocky demeanor gone. Even he couldn’t mask the tension. The atmosphere had shifted. Something was very wrong.

The plane tilted again, more sharply. I felt a distinct drop in pressure. The engine hum sputtered, sounding uneven. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white.

Another violent jolt rocked the plane; the overhead lights flickered. The engine noise grew louder, more erratic. My stomach flipped; my wolf’s agitation surged. My senses were on high alert.

10:40 Sat, Jan 4

Chapter 127

“Grayson…” Rickon started, but his words were cut off by the intercom.

“This is your captain,” the captain’s voice echoed, his tone sharp. “We’ve lost one engine. We’re gliding and attempting an emergency descent. We’re working to control the situation. Please remain calm.”

His words hit me like a punch. A gliding descent meant we weren’t under full power. We were falling—slowly, but falling.

Rickon cursed, gripping the armrest. His bravado was gone, replaced by raw tension. “What the hell does an emergency descent look like on a private jet?” he demanded.

“It means we’re not going to make it to the airport,” I said coldly, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Rickon grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

“Getting to the cockpit,” I growled, yanking my arm free.

But as I moved, the plane tilted violently. The nose dropped; my stomach lurched. I barely steadied myself.

“Grayson, sit down!” Rickon shouted, panic in his voice.

I ignored him, pushing toward the aisle, determined to reach the cockpit. The plane shuddered, the sputtering engines roaring. My wolf howled, urging me to act.

Then, the captain’s voice, frantic: “Mayday, mayday! This is flight A-017! We’ve lost altitude rapidly—attempting emergency descent, but we’re not going to make it! I repeat, we are not going to make it—”

The transmission cut off, replaced by static. The plane dipped sharply. A flash of light showed a dense forest—too close.

Rickon’s voice cracked: “Grayson, if you have any genius plan, now’s the time!”

But I didn’t have a plan. Only instinct, the primal drive of my wolf. As the ground rushed toward us, one thought burned: We are not dying here.

The impact came too fast. The world tilted violently, throwing me off my feet. The sound of tearing metal and shattering glass filled the air. Pain flared as my head hit something hard, and then—

Everything went black.