I can’t risk an injury. Not when the alternative only endangers my pride.
“I need help turning around,” I grind out.
I catch his increasingly sly smile a moment before he lifts my backside off the bird,raising me high enough that he can easily slide his free hand across my left butt cheek and beneath my thigh, gripping the underside firmly before he lifts my leg and slips it to the other side of the bird.
It’s a slow maneuver, and not technically necessary before he rises to stand, pulling me up with him and turning me.
The plates of his armor flex as he moves, but nothing pinches me, and before I know it, I’m facing him.
Moving swiftly now, he supports my back as he bends, scoops my legs around his hips, and orders me, “Hold on.”
The moment I wrap my arms around his steel-clad chest, he leaps from the bird’s back.
He lands lightly, and I sense, rather than see, the way he bends his legs to absorb the impact, the landing not jolting me at all, before he straightens without even a wobble.
It demonstrates to me that I’ve only seen a fraction of his physical strength so far.
I’m not sure what to expect now. Or even what to do.
I’ve handed myself over to him. I’m currently wrapped around him while his armor is a constant barrier between us, and I’ve promised compliance.
But at what point do I start to exert some sense of independence? Where is that line? And to what extent, andwhen, should I risk a war of wills with him?
All I know for certain is that my self-reliance and determination will reveal themselves at some point. I can’t bottle them up for so long that they explode at a dangerous moment like a pent-up rage.
I can’t keep the frustration from my voice, a frustration born of uncertainty, as I follow his rules and say, “I need you to put me back on the ground now.”
He moves slowly again, taking his time.
I’m aware of the way his lips have turned toward my cheek, the press of his bristles against my jaw, the way heinhales and murmurs, “salty sea” before he lowers me to the ground.
A moment later, his arms slide away from me, and I’m released from his hold for the first time since we left the village.
I feel oddly off-balance.
I tell myself it’s the after-effects of being so high in the air.
My movements are uncertain as I take a step back, testing how far he’ll let me go while the muscles in my legs scream at me, and even my stomach muscles struggle to ease after I held them tight for so long. Maintaining my balance on an eagle’s back is far harder than it looks.
Keeping Antony within my sights, I start to turn. Slowly. Continuing to test how far he’ll let me go as I take a step toward the building ahead of us.
No sooner has my lifted foot landed on the ground than both of his arms snake around me from behind, and his voice sounds in my ear.
“At all times, you will stay in front of me where I can see you. You will never leave my sight. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” My head was half-turned in his direction, allowing me to look up into his eyes. “Always within your sight.” Then I reconsider, unable to keep the awkwardness from my voice. “What about when I need to attend to my bodily needs?”
His hands splay against my hips. “Hmm.” He purses his lips. “You will bathe in front of me, Thyra. But, as cruel as I am, I’m not an animal. For your other personal needs, I’m sure I can find a way to keep you close while allowing you to maintain your dignity.”
It’s probably the best I can expect in the circumstances.
With that, his arms fall away from me, and now it feels like he’sgiving me a different sort of test.
“Where should I go?” I ask, although the building I’m facing seems like the only option.
In every other direction, the platform simply drops away. Dangerously, there isn’t any sort of balustrade or railing. It looks like I could simply walk right off the edge.
“The stairs are contained within the building directly ahead,” he replies. “Go through the door, and then we will descend into hell itself.”
