“My mother thought it was funny. A little bird who couldn’t fly.”
His gaze lingered. Something moved behind his eyes. Not pity, not amusement. Recognition, maybe. Like he’d heard something in those words I hadn’t meant to say.
“Then I suppose,” I said, “we should go.”
He stepped closer. I made myself hold still as he moved behind me, as his hands found the straps and began fitting them around my body. His fingers brushed my collarbone, adjusting a buckle, and I stopped breathing.
“This crosses here.” His voice was low, close to my ear. Professional. But his hands were warm through the leather, through my dress. Warm and large and careful. “And secures here.”
His palms pressed flat against my ribs, checking the fit. I felt each finger like a brand.
“Too tight?”
I couldn’t remember what words were.
“Wren.” My name again. “Too tight?”
“No.” It came out strangled. “Fine. It’s fine.”
His hands moved lower. My waist. The curve of my hips. Straps threading between my thighs, buckles clicking into place, and I stared at the darkening sky and thought about numbers. Thought about ledgers. Thought about anything except the heat of him against my back and the way my body was responding to it.
This was terror. That’s all. Terror felt like this sometimes. Like electricity under your skin. Like waiting for something to happen.
“Almost done.”
His arms came around me, checking the connections, and for a moment I was surrounded. His chest against my spine. His chin nearly touching my hair. The cage of him, inescapable.
And his heartbeat.
I felt it against my back. Fast. Faster than his calm voice and steady hands would suggest. Racing like something was chasing him.
I counted without meaning to. One hundred twelve beats per minute. One hundred fifteen. His pulse was pounding against my spine while his fingers moved with perfect control and his voice stayed level and calm.
He was afraid too.
Or something. Something that made his heart race while his hands stayed steady. Something he was fighting to hide.
“Hold here.” He guided my hands to the straps at my shoulders. His fingers brushed mine and I felt him tense. Just slightly. Just for a moment. “Do not let go.”
“What happens if I let go?”
“The harness will hold.” He leaned back. I felt the loss of his heat immediately, like walking out of a warm room into snow. “But your hands will want something to grip.”
He walked us to the edge of the cliff. I looked down and my stomach turned to water. Darkness. Endless darkness, and the distant sound of wind in a chasm I couldn’t see the bottom of.
“Close your eyes if you need to.”
“I don’t need to.” I did. I absolutely did. But I wasn’t going to give him that.
“Wren.” My name, softer now. “There is no weakness in closing your eyes.”
“And there’s no strength in lying to yourself. I’m going to watch. I want to know what’s happening to me.”
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, there was something different in his voice. Something that sounded almost like respect.
“Then watch.”
His arms came around me. One across my chest, pressing me back against him. One around my waist, anchoring me. I could feel the muscles of his chest shifting as the wings rose behind us.
