The Kings Luna Re-written

18

Bianca clutched her ticket, her hands quivering with anticipation. She scrutinized the seat number imprinted on the ticket, her gaze unwavering. Stepping onto the plane, she cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder at her sister, Emiline. The perplexity and residual guilt still clouded Emiline's eyes, tugging at Bianca's heartstrings.

Shifting her attention, Bianca's gaze settled upon the two figures standing behind Emiline. His eyes fixed on Emiline, Ashton bore an unmistakable weight of sorrow. Beside him stood Cane, his rugged form draped with a black leather backpack.

An ironic amusement danced in Bianca's eyes as she observed the reactions of passersby, their astonishment evident as they craned their necks to take in the towering presence of the two men. Bianca was the first to enter the plane, greeted by the flight attendants' warm smiles. She gracefully found her seat, a coveted window spot positioned just behind the cockpit, the airline's name elegantly stitched in red on the chair.

Settling in, she observed her sister Emiline take the neighboring seat. Bianca tugged at her shirt, her words a hushed admonition, "Sit with your mate." Her voice was barely audible, careful not to let their lycan companions overhear. Emiline's surprise at the suggestion was palpable, prompting Bianca's quirked eyebrow. "Why?" Emiline asked obliviously. "He looks like he's dying," Bianca almost hissed at her sister, her frustration thinly veiled. Despite Emiline's scholarly brilliance, her behavior bordered on foolishness. Yet, Emiline remained unmoved, merely averting her gaze and watching as other passengers streamed onto the plane.

Among the boarding travelers was a young woman, her mid-twenties countenance framed by short, brown hair. Her curvaceous figure was hard to miss; their enhanced werewolf senses quickly picked up on whispered comments from seated passengers who followed her every step, a cacophony of undertones accompanying her entrance. Her eyes, however, immediately fixated on Ashton, who had claimed the aisle seat. His bag nestled beneath the seat under him, leaving the overhead compartment open.

Seizing the opportunity, the woman struggled to hoist her seemingly weighty carry-on into the bin. Her eyes met Ashton's with feigned vulnerability, a request for assistance concealed within her gaze. Ever the gentleman, Ashton rose, deftly stowing her bag away. Her gratitude translated into an exuberant hug, purposefully pressuring him with her ample bosom. A stifled laugh escaped Cane, his composure teetering on the brink of collapse. Initially oblivious, Bianca's attention was directed by Emiline's smoldering ire. Her fists clenched an unspoken fury radiating from her.

A knowing smirk danced across Bianca's lips as she prodded, "Something bothering you?" Emiline retorted with a dismissive gesture, donning earbuds and furiously tapping the screen electronic screen in front of her. The flight attendant intervened and escorted the woman to her rightful seat, fortuitously behind Ashton. Bianca's gaze shifted toward Cane, engrossed in conversation with an increasingly embarrassed and flushed Ashton. As the plane progressively filled, the pilot's voice permeated the cabin, issuing the call to prepare for takeoff. The telltale clicks of seatbelts followed, intermingling with the sounds of the aircraft's ascent. The rumbling of the plane as it navigated the runway resonated in Bianca's ears. With a tight squeeze of her eyelids, she braced herself as the aircraft gained altitude.

Meanwhile, seats away, the same woman from earlier persisted in her antics. A tap on Ashton's shoulder segued into a commentary on his muscular physique. Ashton, ever polite, requested the woman to refrain from touching him, her justification an apparent fear of flying.

Emiline's ire surged, her voice dripping with venom, "Cane, switch seats with me, so I can be by my boyfriend." Her demand was met with Cane's mirthful laughter, though he muffled it behind his hands. Meeting Ashton's gaze, Emiline impatiently shifted her weight, tapping her foot rhythmically as her anticipation grew. Cane rose, chuckles escaping his lips, and slid past his still-flustered friend. Emiline's deliberate pace as she edged past Ashton left no doubt of her intentions. Each movement was choreographed, her pointed sway calculated to provoke a reaction from the observant woman.