Page 32 of The Unlikely Pair
I swallow. That thought has flittered into my mind today as well.
How had Harry and I ended up with a pilot trying to take us to a different destination than where we were supposed to go?
“Do you have any suspicions about who it might be?” I ask.
“No.”
The word is sharp, providing an unexpected sting.
Well, I guess that shut down any conversation between us.
I don’t say anything. I shuffle in my blanket, trying to wrap it around me better to keep the bitter cold out.
“It’s not something I want to dwell on,” Harry speaks suddenly, startling me. “It’s unpleasant to cast suspicion on people you know and trust, especially when there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say softly.
I hear the crinkling noise of his survival blanket as he rearranges his position.
Harry’s watch glows for a second, and I can see his face peering down at it. “It’s still early, but we should try to sleep. Although I think one of us should keep guard.”
He’s right. But what the hell we’ll do if Kade and his friends decide to show up in the middle of the night is not quite clear.
I feel stupid for not suggesting it myself. Why am I letting Harry come up with the ideas right now?
I’m tired. It must be that.
“All right,” I say.
“You can sleep for the first stint if you want,” he says.
“No, I’m fine. You sleep first.”
Harry lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Toby, I went to a boarding school where one of the traditions was to assign students to night watch duty. I daresay I’ve had more experience than you at staying awake when I’m tired.”
Fuck. It appears the only thing I hate more than Harry Matheson being a git is Harry Matheson attempting to be nice. It’s upsetting the natural order of the universe. Harry and I don’t play nice together. Ever.
“If you think I don’t have the ability to pull an all-nighter, then you obviously haven’t heard about my Oxford days,” I reply.
“Can you turn off the must-always-argue-with-Harry side of your personality for once and just go to sleep?” he asks.
“I don’t know if it’s a setting that has a control. I think the dial is permanently set to on,” I say.
It’s most definitely an amused snort that comes from the other side of our unlit fire. There’s a good chance it’s been caused by Harry’s extreme exhaustion and proximity to hypothermia, but I’m taking it.
After having that win, I’m prepared to nestle into the pine needles and try to curl myself in a position where I can try to get some shut-eye.
But it’s impossible. Having so much of my body against the ground makes me even colder. It’s a cold I’ve never felt before, penetrating through to my bones. Every muscle in my body aches with a combination of overuse and cold, and my chestchimes in with the added complaint about bruising from the seatbelt.
I’m so cold that I’m pretty sure my blood has turned into a slushie. If a vampire tried to take a sip right now, they’d get brain freeze.
I shuffle and squirm, pulling my body into the tightest ball possible. My mind races through everything I know about hypothermia, which comes solely from having binge-watched episodes ofAlone.
There’s an easy way to get warm. The pile of wood is temptingly stacked only a few feet away.
But I’m worried Harry is right. Lighting a fire will let the people hunting us know exactly where to find us.
“Are you cold?” Harry asks.
