11 #3
I place a hand over my heart to thank him. He returns the gesture, then continues to his Master. He waves again before taking the tunnel out of the colosseum.
My next hurdle: the staircase to the portal. Koda was right about this being ridiculous. Why can’t they just conjure a portal where we stand? Or one that takes us right to the shore? What’s with all the bloody steps?
Pushing down, I try to bend the joint, but it’s stuck in a straight position.
Just then, August crouches to inspect my knee. He stands up, grinning down at me like an idea just struck him. He points at the stairs. “When I step down, climb onto my back.”
My head ticks back in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Get on my back,” he repeats. “I’ll carry you.”
My face heats. “That’s not necessary.”
“Looking at your knee, I think it is. Come on. It’ll be fun. Remember piggyback rides when you were a kid?” he prods.
I guffaw. Of course I remember, but I never had a piggyback ride from August Aymes. “You’re not carrying me like a child.”
His brow rises. “You’d rather spend the afternoon creeping down the thousand steps to your house, risking further damage and an ambush while you’re most vulnerable, when I can just give you a quick ride?” He puffs out his chest. “It’s what a hero would do.”
“What do you know of heroism?” I grumble.
He fakes offense, then throws out his arms. “I’m here, aren’t I? Someone thinks I’m hero material. Tell you what. Let’s make a deal.” He outstretches his hand, fingers curled to clutch my wrist.
I narrow my eyes at it. It might as well be a serpent, fangs exposed and ready to strike.
He raises his hands in surrender and takes a few steps down toward the portal. “If you can walk down this staircase, I’ll leave you alone. If you struggle, you climb on my back without causing any more of a fuss.”
Fuss? I don’t cause fusses. I don’t fuss at all.
My pride swells. I can do this. I’ll use the spear to help. I don’t want a piggyback ride. I don’t need one. I’ve bent my joint worse than this before. This is nothing but a temporary, annoying inconvenience. Just like him.
I plant the spear on the first stair and step down with my bare foot. All is well until I try to swing my prosthesis down onto it. My heel strikes the edge and… I lose my footing.
August catches me before I bowl him over and with a satisfied grin, turns his broad back to me. “Up you go.”
Displeased, but not fussy at all, I glance down at my bodysuit, then at his back. With the help of the sun and wind, his linen shirt is nearly dry. It doesn’t feel like my clothes have dried at all. “I’m wet.”
A cheeky smile curves his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Callalie,” he purrs.
I almost die. Right there. No divine intervention.
He throws his head back, laughing. “You’re blushing!”
I am not blushing. I don’t blush.
I put the tip of my spear under his chin and push upward. He stops chuckling but doesn’t erase his smile. “Turn around.”
I do my best to climb onto his back.
“You’re too big,” I grumble.
His back jerks with silent laughter. And worsens when I groan. Loudly.
He grabs my calf and prosthesis to keep me from sliding back down after three attempts, then makes a dramatic choking noise, teasing me about how tight my arms are around his neck. At least, I think he’s teasing… I loosen my grip a little, still clutching my spear.
With a victorious grin, August Aymes carries me down the stairs, through the portal. If the gods weren’t trying to kill us all, this might be fun. The little quips might feel a little like flirting.
At the island temple, Niall and Koda are waiting for us at the landing. Niall brings a hand up to smother his smile when I cast a withering glare his way as we pass. “Not a word.”
Koda’s soft chuckle trails behind us.
August takes his time, his gait long and lazy. Unhurried. Unbothered. Just out for a lovely midday stroll. Enjoying the weather. The scenery. The flora and fauna. Meanwhile, I feel like a tick on his back. A muscled back that ripples with every easy step.
“Can’t you go faster?” I gripe.
He throws a smartass grin over his shoulder. “I can go as fast or slow as you like.”
I slap his chest. “Stop that!”
He grins. “Stop what?”
“Stop being you.”
He laughs. “I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Most women don’t complain,” he tosses over his shoulder.
After sliding down a bit with each step, I pull myself back up. “I’m not most women.”
He grabs my arms and tugs me up, draping me over him. “You know, you’re terribly bossy for someone who’s clearly enjoying her piggyback ride.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
When he chuckles darkly, I realize that everything I say, especially in this position, can be used against me. Because I’m literally on top of him. I don’t speak again. Every time I do, he twists it into a perversion.
The worst part is that I don’t mind his innuendos. Just like I don’t really hate riding on his back.
His playfulness ebbs. “I don’t know, Callalie. Maybe it’s the high of knowing we just survived when we could’ve fallen, or been crushed, or eaten, or left behind.”
When I hug his neck tighter, it’s not because I’m slipping.