Forever in the Past and Forever in the Future

In the morning, I board the jet only to find an unfamiliar pilot performing preflight checks. Oh, Hell no.

I'm not going to fly with a pilot I don't know. First off, I have no idea what his experience is. Secondly, too many media outlets try to sneak around to get information about me and my company. I wouldn't put it past a network to plant a pilot to try to get intel on me. MasonCo is a multibillion dollar corporation. Because of the nature of our work, I usually decline interviews. I don't need any information about my clients to accidentally leak to anyone. Unfortunately, this tactic makes the media more desperate to find out how I am so successful. When I do go out in public in the human world, paparazzi always seem to find me and make up the most ridiculous shit about my business dealings and relationship status.

This guy looks familiar, but I can't put a finger on where I have seen him before. Definitely not on one of my private flights. My intuition suddenly tells me I need to be cautious.

"Where's Mitch?" I skip the pleasantries, as I take off my suit jacket and drape it over the seat next to me. Internally, I'm wary but I try not to let it show in my voice. Plus, I already feel annoyed by this change in personnel with no forewarning.

"Good morning, Alpha," the stranger says with a small salute, "Mitch is on paternity leave, his wife had her pup this week. Name's Joe Morris, substitute pilot for the weekend." I look him over for a minute, annoyed that he thinks he can speak to me so casually. He's on the younger side with close-cropped blond hair and clear gray eyes; over six feet tall but not as tall as me, with a slim build. He averts his eyes when he realizes I'm staring longer than socially acceptable.

I can smell that he's a werewolf, but I don't recognize his scent at all. Why does this guy look so familiar? Did he serve in the military with me? No way. He is not muscular enough to have ever been a warrior.

"Give me a minute before we take off? I just need to make a quick call," It's an order, not a question. He nods in confirmation and continues with his preflight checks.

"Of course, Alpha, we have plenty of time," his nerves come through in his tone. He nods in confirmation and continues with his preflight checks.

I make my way down the stairs of the plane and light a cigarette before calling Carly. She answers on the third ring, sounding groggy. "Carly, why didn't you tell me there was going to be a substitute pilot?" I snarl into the phone. When I dialed her number, I reminded myself to remember not to be too harsh with my tone but I'm angry she didn't tell me about this change in personnel. She instantly sounds more alert on hearing my voice. '

"I-I just got the call at one a.m, Alpha. This guy was the only one I could find on such short notice," she says with a touch of fear in her voice.

"Vaughn wasn't available?"

"No, Alpha. Vaughn is in Colombia with Beta Lenora," I hear pages flipping as she speaks.

"Dammit. Okay. Well, has this guy been vetted through security at least? I have no idea who h eis," I ask, impatiently, "You expect me to let my mate be flown across the Atlantic by some random pilot?"

"Alpha, please don't be upset. I found out that Mitch was going to be out at one a.m. I contacted the airport, they provided me with this guy's name at one fifteen and I submitted his background paperwork at one-thirty in the morning. It's only five a.m. now. It's going to be at least noon before it all clears. The earliest someone is in the office to process him is seven a.m."

There is a pause and more page flipping, "The other options are to change the flight time to later this afternoon or wait for another pilot who is already cleared. Which would be this two-thirty p.m. The airport doesn't have any open take-off slots until three p.m. If you choose not to take off in half an hour as planned, you won't be able to take off until three. You can always fly commercial but I know you don't like to draw that kind of attention. If you've changed your mind, the next commercial flight leaves at eleven a.m. and has a three-hour layover at Heathrow. You would get into France about the same time as the afternoon private flight. My hands are tied, sir."

I place my hand on my hip and pace fora minute. I can feel my patience fraying as Saint starts to stalk around in my mind. He wants to get to our mate just as badly as I do.

Shit.

"Alright, fine. Don't make any changes to the itinerary. I will take off in half an hour," I growl. I hang up the phone without saying goodbye.

I pace as I collect myself before getting back on the plane. Something is definitely off here. Mitch has been my pilot for four years. He never mentioned a pup on the way. Not thathe and I play golf on the weekends or anything, but I feel like I would have some idea if one of my staff had a pregnant mate.

"Saint, if we get on this plane right now, you need to be on high alert. Something isn't right here. You know that, right?"

"You need to be on high alert, Saint," he mocks me, "I'm always on high alert. Let's get Kas."

"Fine," I throw my cigarette into a puddle, rub my face with my hands, and take a deep breath before I get back on the plane.

Instinctively, I run through a dozen scenarios in my head in case anything goes wrong.

An hour and a half into the flight, I decide I'm just being paranoid. Everything is going smoothly. I'm engrossed in reading the New York Times when Freddie, my usual steward comes by with a cup of coffee.

"Thank you," I say without looking up.

"Of course, Alpha. I'm here if you need me. Just ring the bell if there's anything else you need," the man says. His tone is nervous. I dismiss it since I have that effect on a lot of people.

I flip the page of the newspaper and take a sip of the coffee. Blech!

"Freddie," I call out, "What the Hell is in this coffee?"

"It's your usual brand, Alpha. Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?" My outburst clearly made him more nervous.

"No, that's okay," typical crappy airline coffee, but at least it will keep me awake.

KK

"Bronx! Wake the fuck up!" Saint snarls.

I open my bleary eyes to a searing pain in my wrists, ankles, and across my chest. I'm hogtied on the floor of the jet in silver chains.

Freddie is hogtied unconscious next to me. He looks pale and has dried blood coming from his nose and mouth. I listen quietly. I can hear his heartbeat, so I know at least he isn't dead. "What the fuck? Saint, what happened?" I groan.

"T think the coffee was poisoned. Come on, get out of the chains. We need to get up."

I struggle against the chains, but all it does is make the searing pain worse.

"Abh, Alpha Bronx. So glad you're awake!" a man's gravelly voice says with a sneer. He pulls back the curtain from the galley. His eyes are bloodshot, he is gaunt and he hasn't had a haircut in months. From the smell of it, he hasn't had a shower either, but there is no mistaking who he is. °

"Connors! What the Hell is the meaning of this?" I snarl at him as I struggle against the painful silver restraints.

"This, Alpha Regent Bronx Mason, is a hostile takeover," he kicks me in the face and stuffs a pungent-smelling rag in my face. Concentrated wolfsbane. I fight for a minute, but it's no use, world goes black.