His pace slowed.
“What did they say?” he asked.
“That Atlas needed me,” I replied, pouting. “That he was here.”
His jaw tightened, and his body shifted immediately, a predator recalling a threat.
“That was unkind,” he said. No bullshit or fake pity. Just a statement that sounded sincere.
I nodded, my chin pressing into his chest.
“Very.”
He adjusted his grip on me, one arm bracing me more securely, protective in a way that made my chest ache. Because I didn’t understand why he was capable of softness at all.
“You’ll see him again, soon, I am sure,” he said after a moment.
I lifted my head, eyes wide and hopeful, and the moonlight caught on the faint shimmer beneath his skin, turning him almost mythic, like the statues I had seen brought to life.
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” he replied.
The certainty in his voice settled something deep inside me, and I sighed, content. My fingers idly traced the strong lines of his shoulder, and then, because the universe hated me, the thought of Atlas came barreling in behind that contentment like a blade.
“You’re not that scary,” I told him, as if I were handing him a compliment he hadn’t earned.
He huffed. “Did you forget what you just witnessed?”
“No,” I said with a huge grin. “That was totally badass.”
He actually laughed at that, the sound rich and genuine, and I beamed up at him. Pleased with myself, pleased with the fact that I had apparently unlocked a hidden feature in the Gorgon King.
Then the laughter faded, and he carried on, steady as stone, as if nothing in this world could shake him. Not even a mortal girl saying the word badass at him like she was giving him a medal.
We walked on like that, the moon guiding us, my thoughts drifting lazily between guilt and warmth. Oh, and an ever-growing appreciation for how unfairly attractive he was. That was until the glow of firelight began to flicker through the trees ahead.
Camp.
“Oh,” I said, squinting. “There are more people.”
“Yes,” he replied. “And no doubt you are about to cause chaos among them.”
I smiled, snuggling closer.
“Probably, handsome.”
He scoffed a laugh, and it was a nice sound.
We weren’t quite there yet, not properly, not close enough for the soldiers’ silhouettes to break into details. But close enough that I could smell smoke in the air, and the faint metallic tang of sharpened weapons. Oh, and something savory that made my stomach rumble like I hadn’t eaten in days. I shifted in his arms, then realized shifting was a mistake because the world swayed again, and my body decided to cling to him like he was the only stable thing in existence.
“This is a very romantic carry,” I informed him, because my mouth was apparently a loose cannon.
“It isn’t romantic,” he replied.
“It is,” I insisted, then sighed dramatically. “Do you always carry women through haunted forests after murdering their kidnappers?”
His step didn’t falter, but I felt the faintest pause in his breathing, as if he was deciding whether to answer me or pretend I hadn’t spoken.
