Flight School: Predator - Chapter 15: Chapter 15

His stance was weary; sharp—on the verge of turning aggressive if the raven were to advance. Luka had made his decision the moment he turned on the girl, who he considered a rival in simple terms. She was his opponent. The other contestant. And he would not let her have what was his.
"A mild one, aren't you?" She tested with the most provoking smile. "And they say eagles take pride."
"We do."
The raven laughed. "Really," her gaze turned carnal in a blink and she crouched to shift—but before she could come at Luka with a burst of aggression, a wave of heat blasted in the faces of both predators; the ground beneath their feet singed the air in mere fractions of a second, distorting their visions of another.
Their senses, cranked high in the heat of the moment, held still at her presence. Luka was never one to give in; not to needs that were impulsive and temporary, if he ever had any at all. As far as he understood, a quiet mind was free of consequences—as long as it remained so. This therefore, allowed him to feel rightfully wronged. There was no need for fear.
"What is this," the phoenix stood in the doorway of the room, not quite asking for an explanation. He could not see her eyes.
"Phoenix."
The raven stood down after a nervous swallow, gaze returning to a state of control. She looked from left to right. "Nothing. We were just playing."
"Playing?" Jing repeated with a contrasting indifference. The intensity of her flames—unseen by the naked eye—remained. "Where is Iolani."
She posed this to the eagle who stood behind the girl, eyes slightly ablaze. "Where is Iolani."
He frowned, then turned. Io was not in his bed.
*
Abigail had been the first to hear of the news, having passed the corridors of the staff quarters after breakfast. There was nothing to do but to explore, now that Reyes had announced their first lesson cancelled and an insistent curiosity probed for the cause.
Jane had reported the sparrow missing, and worse—in heat. Viktor took this all within his stride and sent her to the facility's infirmary for help while he gathered a private search team. Without a doubt, no one else was to be informed.
"The raven?" Was her effort to remind Viktor of others seeking to exploit Iolani's time of weakness. There were variables beyond their control. Kirill's team being one of the many.
"Leave her," he turned to excuse himself. "I've already sent someone to search for the sparrow."
This was all very new and attractive for Abigail, who had always been rather inclined towards a fruit that was ripe and ready to be consumed. She considered the prospect of sharing such a delicacy, and found—for the first time—it to be most enjoyable. It didn't take her very long to find out why.
"Tori's in heat?" Dmitri's eyes were very wide. "Is Sullivan rejoicing yet?"
"This isn't a good time," Jeremiah had his fingers steepled in thought.
"As though they had a choice," Lucienne pointed out correctly, folding her arms as she did so.
"I was referring to the fact that we don't have the...necessary means to deal with that kind of heat here." Jeremiah did not seem very keen on going further in his explanation. "And what about the raven?"
Dmitri was quick to tackle a question he knew not the answer to.
"Probably went around spilling everything. I mean, look at them last night. Shitty brats—"
It was at this moment that Luka entered the common room, effectively silencing Dmitri from his daily dose of nonsense. The air fell still with bated breath, sensing a quiet creature that had roused within his cage. Luka's eyes were not yet tamed by Io's distance. For some odd reason, the sparrow's scent filled his heart and clouded his mind, refusing to leave desire that was, by now, in flames.
"Oh hey," Dmitri was about to begin when Luka walked right past him. "Hey, what happened to Tori?"
Aaqil had a hand over his face, refusing to watch the chaos that he was sure was about to unfold before his eyes. Slayne waited for the eagle's reply but nothing came. Only silence.
The view of Luka's back grew increasingly small until it disappeared round the corner—alone.
*
Jeremiah was the first to speak.
"My prey had her heat once. It was terrible."
"We all know how they're like when it comes," Dmitri pointed out with a sigh. "Hell, they extracted a whole lot of my blood just for a week's medication. I can't imagine what it's like to have more than one," he directed this at the kite. Lucienne, too, had three but it was not unusual for Dmitri to close one eye.
They ventured further.
"It doesn't have to be blood," Jeremiah shrugged, referring, therefore, to something else. Suggestively, it didn't need to be said. His gaze had rested on the snowy owl leaning against the doorframe, and it was no secret to the rest that Slayne sated his nightingale during his heat—the traditional way.
"Yes, we know what you're referring to," Odette was quick to draw the line. There was no need to go further. "As long as the prey comes into contact with a predator's hormones, their heat should subside."
"It's just less effective when they are unclaimed," Odile finished for his sister. "Like Tori."
"Listen," Shri left her seat to stand facing the conversers. "If we're all going to continue treating the boy like prey, then we're getting nowhere."
"It's clear that he's not."
"Not what?" Lucienne added a little skeptically.
"Normal," Shri squared her shoulders as though there was no other word that could describe the boy. "He's not normal. If he's prey, he's not any ordinary kind. Look at him last night, he wasn't one bit afraid of Kirill."
Abigail considered this lightly. After all, she had (in private) been through this process multiple times. "Yeah but it doesn't necessarily mean he's a predator just because he isn't prey. And heat's not exclusive to prey. Predators have them too."
"Alright, what's your point?"
"What's yours, dear?"
They stared.
Such arguments, however petty, were not uncommon before Io had joined them as a Heart. Simply put, they had become accustomed to the clash of opinions, whoever they belonged to.
"Well. Someone could give him some blood."
The suggestion remained unentertained, soon losing its colour and turning pale. It didn't take long for them to feel as though it hadn't been said in the first place—a mere hallucination.
"Look, why do you care?" Dmitri called out all of a sudden, turning to Shri with a frown. "It's none of our business. We've talked about this and the conclusion's clear: it's getting to us. Honestly, we don't even have to care about that sparrow."
"And who the hell gives a damn about Sullivan not giving us a fuck," Dmitri went on in an exasperated manner. "He never gives a fuck."
Odette registered the need to correct his underlying assumption. "No one said anything about giving a damn in the first place, Dmitri."
"Well your words sure implied it," Abigail shrugged, a bald eagle who adored chaos and delighted in the fall of others.
What she hoped to see was an escalation of banter into a full-blown confrontation that had absolutely nothing to do with herself.
Slayne on the other hand, was simply not in the mood for any minor participation.
"Except it is our business because his scent will have an effect on us, dumbass. Enough about Sullivan, it's Tori that needs some attention."
"Yeah well," Dmitri sighed, raising his hands in defeat—frustrated that he couldn't seem to come up with something better. "Then Viktor will do something about it. Lock him up, I guess."
None of them were looking at each other. The absence of a response pressuring a raw discomfort to greater heights.
The silence was getting to the falcon and his desire to escape grew stronger at every lack of sound.
"I'm out," he rose from his seat, throwing in the towel unexpectedly fast. "Just going to mind my business while this solves itself...no point being sittin' ducks."
They watched as he upped and left without another word, leaving the door as it was—unclosed; as though sure that he wouldn't be the only one leaving.
He was, unfortunately, correct. Abigail tailed him with a sigh, shrugging off the kite's attempt to reason with her decision. "I really don't care."
"I don't see why you should," Lucienne squared her shoulders in a similar manner, appearing to take her leave as well. "This is a waste of my time."
"Why yes, everything would be a waste of your precious time, wouldn't it Harpy?" Shri snapped on impulse, having sharpened her words into knives. Lucienne met the osprey's gaze with one of her own—narrowed.
Not a word was exchanged.
The predators remained silent until Jeremiah laid out that they should leave if they want to, receiving in return a fearsome glare from the only other girl on his side. The kite understood that he and the osprey were alone in what they wished to do, what they believed was right; and therefore saw no point in decisive persuasion.
One by one, the Hearts began to leave. It was no surprise that the remaining few had little words to say since they were, essentially, keeping their thoughts to themselves in the first place.
"Why stay?" Shri directed at the cassowary. "Cowards."
Meryl raised her gaze and squared her shoulders. "I don't have much to do. It's observers, by the way."
"Yeah well, observers don't do anything because they're afraid of attention."
"I'm sure doing nothing has offended you severely," the cassowary wore a wry smile on her lips. "Then I suppose I'll continue to do the same."
Meryl stood up with the intention of leaving but Jeremiah was quick to smooth things over.
"She didn't mean that. We all say unintentional things when we're upset, especially at times like this."
"What are you upset about?" Slayne scoffed, turning to the pair. "You don't need to care about him. You've got no attachments. No reason to help unless you're doing this to gain his favour."
"Some people have a conscience," Jeremiah said stiffly.
"In which you listen to so as to avoid guilt, no?" The snowy owl pointed out easily. "Human nature, I'm sure. You can say whatever you want, it's still a means to an end; that being saving yourself from guilt."
Slayne knew perfectly well what the kite would say next. He would have to agree that the rest were being equally selfish—in the end, maximising one's own happiness and satisfaction was the key priority that prevailed. Fundamentally, they were all the same in their intentions, simply differing in terms of their means.
"That said, I'll help with Tori."
They stared at the owl.
"Prey's heat are the worst. I doubt he's having a good time...it hurts like hell," Slayne turned away, avoiding the rest.
"Those new guys," Jeremiah didn't like leaving out details. "They're probably going to be involved."
"The nest of fledglings that Kirill brought along? They're shit."
"They have a shrike," Meryl added all of a sudden, participating for once. "He collects them."
The osprey raised a brow.
"Collects what?"
"Prey."
Slayne laughed. "Like shrikes do with dead bodies on barbed wire?" The cassowary appreciated a dark sense of humour.
"Maybe."
Shri however, wasn't feeling too celebratory about Slayne's apparent interest in something that she had assumed was none of his business. "So why are you doing this all of a sudden? It's not like you have any favour to curry."
The snowy owl looked away, fingers brushing the patch over his left eye on instinct. "I have my reasons."
______________________
His flight was blind. That much, he understood.
Io did not know where he was going, weaving amongst a blur of green and earth. He found that sparrows, although unable to scale as much as height as the eagles or hawks above, was swift and wieldy in their flight.
He fell constantly, forgetting that he must beat once more to lift the tiny frame of Lyra's. The journey was uncertain and far from professional. He dropped in altitude multiple times, noting the exhaustion that came over him in mere minutes of flight. He was going—going nowhere; the wind in his face, travelling far behind to what he thought he could escape. Upon stopping to turn however, perhaps to congratulate himself on his progress, Io realized that the distance he so painfully covered barely made the cut.
With the weight of his wings starting to become too much to hold, the poor boy landed on a nearby branch, folding his wings a little too naturally while his feet scraped the bark in his clumsy landing.
Io paused to catch his breath, hearing the tiny heart of his beat wildly—mad in its heat and exhaustion. His breathing was uneven and abnormally thick, as though clouded by the things he so feared.
Frightened by himself, Io hopped off the branch and landed onto the ground below, attempting to cushion his fall as much as possible by flapping his wings. It did not work entirely.
When he opened his eyes, the world he witnessed was shrouded in darkness. The air was stale to him, and the dull drone of an insect rang in his ears. Sensitive.
He breathed hard.
He could not.
Urgent, his Avian sought to break the bond.
Io was in pain and splitting this between one another would serve to aid the boy in his attempt to cope with the unknown source.
They fell apart—the human resuming his form while the sharp pain in his chest reduced itself to a dull throbbing that he felt to his very fingers. He collapsed onto the forest floor, the fresh scent of earth—disturbed—hitting him square in the face.
The boy gasped, choking on the air that filtered through his lungs; feeling quite as though he did not belong in the world.
It was shrinking.
The world was.
"Lyra."
Her reply was faint. It sounded from the back of his mind.
"Lyra, it's getting worse."
Io lay on his side, knees pulled close to his chest—the earthen scent of the forest floor choking his senses. He was in the middle of nowhere; under the shade of canopies. Feverish.
"It's very, very uncomfortable," he whispered between short, distant breaths. Talking to himself was the only way to hold fast onto his mind. "It's wet."
The human ability to feel embarrassment was what confirmed the presence of his rationality, still within reach but barely in his control. His mouth was dry.
A vivid memory surfaced; without a doubt, untimely. Months before the arrival of his letter of invitation from the school, Iolani Tori did not know what the boys in his class meant by 'getting off'—the closest phrase he assumed relevance to being 'getting off one's high horse'. What he had in mind was miles apart from that of his friends' and even when he did think he finally understood the meaning of the phrase, he didn't.
It was the day he woke with a surprise. Under his covers. In his pants. He attributed the following procedures to instinct, guiding reason that was, at the time, comparably clueless to the other.
He thought of nothing—the difference between 'getting off' and, well, 'getting rid'—when the touching began. The action existed in itself. It meant nothing. Strange then, that the boy did not see how this was an unravelling of innocence or a sinful pleasure. Even when he stroked himself to a high, it was to him, a lowly pleasure.
Io had felt little to no change in his level of maturity, since it had already been established by himself (ages ago) that maturity was not at all dependent on the physical growth of the human body.
The human body.
Every fortunate soul had one that was complete; and how to set them apart?
Inside—surely. It was all about the heart and the mind but what now?
What now when he was being robbed of both and left
with something so raw, so physical; fragile and easily broken.
So destructive.
Io clutched at his chest and shrunk further into himself; suppressed the need to touch where it burned only to hear the whispers of a roused creature within, preaching the pleasures of release and the comfort that he might seek. But reason roared the dangers of addiction, of giving in and never being able to return; lost and never to be found—he was struggling.
He breathed hard.
"Help me."
The sparrow felt utterly ashamed by his plea. A plea that—although unheard and therefore, had no reason for embarrassment—allowed the darkness of the world to witness what he had been reduced to. Help him? Well if no one was here to do so, should he not help himself?
When was the time to seek the external and when, what was within?
He wondered if he spoke loud enough in his mind that Jing should be able to gain access to his Link. Either that or perhaps Luka had already caught on to his scent and was out searching for—
He found that the heat did not allow for human-related thoughts. The memory of a person roused his features, voice, scent, assets—
"Sit up."
The cloud in his face vanished with shock, parting to reveal the arrival of a friend. Vaughn clicked his tongue at the sight of his face. Had the boy believed in the existence of invisible objects, he would have assumed there was a clothes peg sitting atop the vulture's nose, just so he wouldn't be affected by his 'disgusting' scent.
"Hopeless." He tossed a foil packaging in Io's general direction, turning away as he held out a bottle of mineral water. "Drink and take two of those."
The sparrow couldn't sit. As a matter of fact, he couldn't afford to move. A single brush of his clothing against skin was enough to send a heated chill running along his spine, jolting from his lower back to spread throughout the rest of his frame.
"Don't you look pathetic," Vaughn scoffed as his gaze rested on the curled-up figure lying on the forest floor. "Embarrassed? Upset with what you've become? Good."
He bit his lip, bent on disagreement. "Only confused. Nothing else."
"Ha, liar."
The vulture kicked the blister pack within Io's reach, once again dangling the bottle of mineral water over his face. "These are Viktor's. Made from his hormones, so it should serve its purpose for about an hour."
The cure was unbearably short. "All ten pills for an hour?"
"Yes that was exactly what I just said," Vaughn snapped sharply. "Be grateful. Weaker ones produce weaker cures."
He pointed to the blister pack on the ground. "These cost a ton on the market."
Io crawled into a sitting position, struggling with the lower half of his body which trembled at absolutely nothing. "I'm sorry for the trouble. And thanks. I am grateful. So thank you."
A click of the vulture's tongue expressed further distaste.
"Don't waste my time. You reek, by the way. The entire forest smells of...bed."
Io laughed shortly. "Beds reek?"
Vaughn turned away, disgruntled. He was not keen on participating in any sort of test the sparrow put him to. Io on the other hand, was not in the mood for tests at all. In fact, he was trying to keep his boat afloat by distracting himself with ordinary amusement that came from their banter; for fear that silence would only serve to drag him into the depths of his heart. It was a matter of time.
A matter of time before he sunk.
Hastily, the sparrow popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down his throat with water. He found that every gulp soothed his throat that was—unbeknownst to him—dry and parched, unattended due to circumstances that forced himself to direct his thoughts elsewhere.
"It will take a minute or two before your pheromones start to mute themselves. Then you'll be able to control your hopeless heat."
Io nodded in understanding. "Should I follow you back?"
"Technically yes but that would be an awful experience on my account, sparrow." Vaughn's sarcasm, to Io, was a great source of amusement. He was on edge and sought to be distracted for the time being. A minute was an hour.
"Oh. So why did you come?"
The vulture scoffed. "I came to prove my point that you're awful at hiding."
"Do you need a certificate?" Io said as he resumed his former position, laying on his side. "I think that's an amazing point to prove."
"Very funny. Well I'll have you know that your scent gives you away," Vaughn mocked without sparing the other a single glance. "You can fly wherever you wish and still be found by them."
Io blinked. "Who?"
The vulture snorted.
"Predators."
"At least those who bother," He added with purpose.
The sparrow felt a pang of discomfort upon the later statement. As far as he understood, Vaughn's answer had implied—pointed out, rather—an apparent loneliness that belonged within the sparrow. It was no surprise that a prey like himself would feel displaced amongst a bunch of predators but as a human? A human like the rest of them; a friend or an acquaintance; one who had shared a heart, owned a mind?
Was he, too, alone within?
How else could he explain Luka's absence, replaced by someone who had come out of obligation to hand him a cure—when there seemed as though no one really cared for his time of darkness. Blinded by a cloud, his mind had come to such a narrow conclusion.
"I'm coming with you," he said to the vulture. "Oh, but do you mind waiting till the effects of the pills set in? I'm...not too comfortable with walking any time soon."
"No," Vaughn returned promptly. "Goodbye."
Not a single muscle in Io's body attempted to stop the other from leaving, his upper-half remaining unsurprisingly limp unlike his lower-half which...had its reasons. "Bye bye...crème brulee..."
Vaughn turned instantly in utter shock and indignance. Incoherent splutters escaped in his confusion. "How dare you—"
"What?" Io laughed softly, in the mood for some play. "The entire forest reeks of crème brulee."
*
Jokes aside, the pair set out to return on foot after a moment's pause. The sparrow had, in many senses, been anticipating the recovery of his mind—the clearing of the clouds that lurked within it. And his mood therefore, did not bear a jarring difference from his ordinary state, remaining perfectly curious and to Vaughn, perfectly annoying.
"Why aren't you affected by my scent?"
"Does this have anything to do with how you perceive me?"
"As in, you know that I am...um, who I am." He paused at that. "You've seen Luna."
Vaughn froze at that, unable to respond appropriately. He was therefore driven further to the brink of conversational death. Could conversation be a cause of death? If it wasn't officially, it might as well be. He should bring Io to court. See what happens.
Within minutes, they passed the main gate without an issue (with the exception of curious stares from the guards) and found their way to the main building of the facility. There, they were greeted by a familiar face pacing at the bottom of the front steps.
"Io," Jing came forth with an urgent gaze, searching his eyes for a cloud—signs of heat. "You...you're alright." She breathed, surprised by her own relief. She had ensured the necessary preparations from the infirmary, only to find the most important thing lacking. Cures.
Then her gaze rested on the blister pack in his hands.
"Where did you get that?" She frowned, drawing closer to take it from him.
"The pills?" Io looked towards Vaughn. "He gave them to me."
Instantly, Jing knew something was amiss. Her composure slightly disturbed at its surface, the phoenix turned on the vulture. "If this is part of her plan—"
"This has nothing to do with her."
Vaughn appeared strangely unfazed by the rare emotion that the girl was displaying, returning her gaze with one that burned. Her lips drew thin and she breathed deeply, collecting herself before the next question.
"Then why must you lie to him?"
The sparrow blinked in confusion. "You lied?"
Vaughn avoided his eye, turning away. He looked to Jing, waiting for her to explain.
"Viktor has never had a prey. Predators who do not have a prey are not allowed to extract and produce cures." She looked the vulture in the eye. "He, however—has had many."
It was a matter of seconds before Io caught her drift, understanding what she had been suggesting all along. The effects of the cure must be wearing off as well, since he felt—once again—clouded by an insistent and burning desire.
"Are they really yours?" He posed, staring up intently.
"It doesn't matter."
"I'll take that as a yes," Io sighed, holding fast onto his mind. He wondered if it would have a different effect; whether the pills were used to condition one to become another's prey, and if so, what would happen if he took some more. It was wearing off—fast.
"It hasn't been scientifically proven," Jing answered the queries in his mind aloud. "But we must be wary."
Io looked to Vaughn, wondering if it was disappointment he felt in his chest now that he had the truth unveiled. Was 'help' help when the person helping didn't mean to help? Right...he was confusing himself again.
"I have no intention to make him mine," Vaughn snapped irritably. "I don't see how anyone would, really. Save that foolish eagle."
"Should I take another?" Io pointed to the blister pack that Jing was holding on to, feeling a little giddy by this point. "I think...I might need some rest."
"Come with me," the phoenix held his arm, afraid that he might collapse without warning. "They're waiting for you."
He nodded vaguely, glancing over his shoulder to wave goodbye. "Bye Vaughn. Thanks for just now...and stop lying. I know you're being nice and all, not wanting anyone to hear the truth that hurts but that's not the point. There's nothing wrong with being hurt."
Io left behind a very pissed and very confused Vaughn (who the hell would say that there was nothing wrong with being hurt? And what would he understand about Vaughn himself? Being nice? Th-that wasn't what he was doing at all! It wasn't. It wasn't), his mind beginning to slip as soon as he entered the main building with the phoenix.
"I'm sorry I made you worry," he said quietly. "But you know, maybe I'm not really sorry after all."
She paused, slightly taken aback by his words.
"Is it wrong to feel happy when someone's worried about me? And it's you, to be exact. It must have been hard." He was referring to her difficulty with emotions—her own that came in fires so huge that they crashed and burned the forest within. After all, Io had never seen that look of concern in her eyes; far too fragile to be the sun. Too weak for the world.
"I believe my concern cannot be compared to someone else," was all she came up with in response. And all of a sudden, Io felt as though joy had invaded his cage and caressed the creature within.
I hope it's Luka.
_______________________________
The moment he returned to his room Luka Sullivan 's first thought was to undress and let be but out of desire's control and within his own, he didn't. Incense drove the eagle to slam his fist into the door he had closed moments before, feeling the side of his fist throb immensely slow—resembling the flow of blood elsewhere. He knew perfectly where.
Furious with himself and yet weakened, once more, by the bouts of lust that lingered upon the sleeve of his shirt, Luka decided he needed a bath.