I take a moment, but it’s clear which option I need to choose. “I’ll wear the coat.”
“Good.” One big hand rises to the top of my forehead, where he tugs on the upper edge of the hood.
A gauzy material falls across my face, obscuring my view even further. He tugs again on the material, and a series of clicks tells me he’s secured the gauze to the neckline.
Without another word, he scoops me up, but instead of carrying me in his arms, he hoists me over his left shoulder.
I draw a quick breath as my midriff compresses and his arms clamp around me, one across my backside and the other around the back of my thighs.
Despite the weight and thickness of the coat, his touch is firm and confident, and…damn…as soon as he begins to walk, the sway of his body rubs his palm against my backside.
The impact of the sensation is so intense, I may as well not be wearing the coat at all.
A flush of heat burns my cheeks, but I fight it as hard as I can, squeezing my eyes closed, biting my lip, trying not to give in to the urge to wriggle against him.
Damn him for taking his time buttoning me into this suit.
Damn him for wrapping his big hand just soaround the back of my thigh so the tips of his fingers brush the very edge of my pelvis, and if I just moved a little closer…
Damn, damn him for continuing his path, seemingly oblivious.
How am I going to survive this man?
Chapter Seventeen
Thyra
Desperately, I seek to refocus myself away from the tantalizing rub of Antony’s hold.
Danger lies ahead of me, and I can’t allow myself to fall prey to the threats I may face, let alone the sensations heating my body.
We’ve reached the top of the stairs and, because I’m now facing backward, I can only see what we pass, not what’s ahead.
As I lift my head, intending to crane and see our path, an object glints sharply on my left.
Drawn back in that direction, I squint hard. The further we descend the staircase, the brighter our surroundings get until I finally make out a metallic object embedded in the armor covering the back of Antony’s right shoulder.
Whatever it is, it’s protruding nearly exactly where his shoulder blade must be.
I can’t tell if, or how far, it might have pierced his armor and the flesh beneath, but Antony certainly hasn’t behaved as if he’s badly wounded in that shoulder. Although it wouldexplain why he hoisted me over his left shoulder when he seems to be dominant on his right side.
As we reach the bottom of the stairwell and the distant firelight grows much stronger, I ask, “Are you hurt?”
His back stiffens. “Possibly. But I can’t feel it.”
I test how far I can lift my left arm to reach the object, although I certainly don’t intend to yank it out. “Do you need me to?—”
“No.” He stops still for a moment before he resumes our path. “Victor will take care of it. We’ll reach him soon.”
Louder clanging noises greet me when we emerge into a room whose walls flicker with reflections of bright flames.
I have a sense of a vast space and catch glimpses of metal tables along with thick, metal anvils, a multitude of fire pits, and workers all dressed in leather aprons.
What astonishes me is that their faces are bare as well as their necks and arms, although their hands are gloved and they’re wearing some sort of transparent contraption across their eyes.
When the nearest man looks up as we pass, raising his focus from the arrowhead he’s hammering, my heart sinks.
Scars crisscross his face, red welts that speak of iron burns, the same kind of scar resting across my right rib. More scars decorate his arms. His eyes are faded blue. So are those of the other men I can see.
