He immediately shifted.
In one smooth movement, he slid off the boulder and opened his arms.
“Come here.”
I grinned — not bothering to be graceful — and jumped into his embrace.
His hands caught me under my thighs without hesitation.
Strong.
Secure.
Before I fully settled, I twisted playfully and climbed onto his back instead, locking my legs around his waist and wrapping my arms around his neck.
He staggered dramatically.
“Ouch!”
I tightened my hold.
“Careful. You’re fragile.”
He laughed.
“Fragile? I survived prison and assassination attempts — and you think piggybacking you is what breaks me?”
His hands hooked securely under my knees to keep me steady.
“You’re trying to test my strength before I leave.”
“Maybe,” I whispered near his ear.
I pressed my lips to the side of his neck.
“Just making sure you remember what — and who — you’re coming home to.”
He exhaled sharply at the contact.
His laugh vibrated through his shoulders and into my chest.
“As if I could ever forget.”
He began walking toward the mansion, carrying me effortlessly through the moonlit garden.
His stride was steady.
Controlled.
Even with the faint limp that surfaced when he was tired, he refused to let it show weakness.
Every few steps he intentionally shifted his weight and jostled me slightly — making me squeal and tighten my grip.
“Ruslan!” I protested between laughter.
“You started it.”
“I did not.”
