The Beta's Soldier

The Beta's Soldier- Chapter 2- Lemonade and Death

-In the plane, an hour or two in the flight

                -I am not a nice person. My life made me that way. I hate and I despise. I don’t love. Nobody ever loved me before, so why should I love anybody then? Hate got me this far, and I fear that love could only bring me back.

 

If there was one thing Brock hated above anything else, it was flying. Even though the plane was big enough and spacious enough to hold him and his eight men, along with the stewardess and the three wolves, plus the pilot in the cockpit, he hated flying. It wasn’t the problem of space, nor the problem of height as being an ex-special ops soldier demanded of him he not have any fears, he didn’t fear heights.

It was the goddamn feeling of dread that always crept inside of him when he went airborne. The feel of the plane gliding through the air was something that gave him the chills. He was a man who liked to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Being in an enforced metal box somewhere in the air was what gave him the chills.

Brock lived for control. He ate it for breakfast and basically breathed it. But when he was in a situation like this, he had about as much control over his surroundings as an ant had over an elephant. His nerves were fragile as it is, but having to listen to his men exchange banter with the wolves made him want to open the airlock and just jump out of the fucking jet.

His stomach was doing flip flops and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep himself from vomiting or brining the whole plane crashing to the ground. He felt like he couldn’t breathe in the beige and brown tones of the private airplane.

His blunt nails dug into the skin of his palm as his fist tightened and tightened with every passing moment. He wondered if he would be able to hold on until Germany where they would stop and take another plane to Moscow. From there they would go by car to a smaller town where the pack of the three wolves was.

It would be God knows how long before Brock could finally put his feet on the ground and calm his nerves. That knowledge seemed to edge him even closer to the cliff. He could feel the leather of the comfortable seat ripple from under his body and he had to open his eyes and focus. What he focused on wasn’t what he expected.

The black eyes pinned him to his seat and he had to cough to cover up the pitiful scream that threatened to leave his throat. His cough also gave him enough time to listen carefully and hear that his men were still busy talking and arguing with the two wolves and amongst each other.

When he was done being a fool, Brock trained his eyes back on Alaric. Right in that moment, the plane shook a little, without him having anything to do with it, and he had to grab the seat tightly to keep himself from sliding on the floor.

He was a warrior for fucks sake. He maimed and killed for a living. So for him, this was something quite embarrassing. He hated that he had these kinds of weaknesses. If he, for one, feared werewolves or vampires or hell, even trolls, he wouldn’t say anything. He would think it fairly reasonable, as he saw what those creatures were capable of doing.

But him being afraid of flying and the wolf noticing was something that was going to forever haunt him. He hated things that weren’t perfect as he wanted them to be. And fear wasn’t perfect. Nor was panic.

The speaker above the door to the cockpit crackled and the men on the plane stilled, waiting to see what was going on. Brock didn’t move his eyes from Alaric’s as he waited to hear what the pilot had to say.

“Hello boys, this is your pilot speaking. We’ll be landing in a couple of hours, but not in Germany. That’s because we’ll be landing in Spain. I just got orders from the head honchos in the Hellhole. After that, we’ll be continuing our trip.” The pilot changed, was the first thing that Brock noticed.