5. Topple Off the Cliff #3
A palm slammed into my back, pinning me to the rock and gripping the fabric of my shift. My head swung around to meet a deep green gaze. Big Scary Man was perched right next to me. How did he even—?
“Breathe.”
I stared numbly into the face only inches from my own.
“Damn it, girl. Breathe!”
Gasping at the command, I forced a shallow breath. Then, did it again.
He sighed. “I’m going to assume that climbing the cliff isn’t working either.”
The air was still thick. As a portrait of competence and still unable to form words, a whimper escaped my lips.
“Climb onto my back.”
My eyes went wide.
He huffed. “I don’t have time to watch you flap around like a fledgling until you inevitably topple off the cliff.
” He pegged me with a stare as he snapped instructions, one after the other.
“Climb onto my back. Carefully. Don’t let your weight go back too far and pull me off balance. And don’t let go.”
He braced himself as I nodded. Just follow simple directions. I could do this.
My left arm wrapped around his neck to find some sort of leather strap extending over his shoulder just inside the lapel of his overcoat.
I shoved my fingers under it and swung my left leg around his waist. After a brief glance to the twin gods above—who were clearly having a fantastic time watching this disaster unfold—I released the ledge I’d been clinging to.
The man tensed his muscles with the sudden shift in weight.
The world tilted as my body dangled off his, my free hand grasping to locate something to hold onto.
I gasped and frantically scrambled. My hand made contact with his shoulder, my foot, the crease of his bent leg, propelling myself away from the danger below.
As the world settled on its axis, I found myself wrapped around his head, my knees pinned to his sides just below his armpits.
He cleared his throat. Loudly.
“Sorry,” I croaked, my face heating. I lowered myself down onto his broad back, trying, and ultimately failing, to keep my shift from riding up.
Something rigid down the length of his spine and multiple bulky lumps around his midsection under his coat posed a challenge, but I eventually locked my legs around his waist. I ignored whatever jabbed me in the thighs.
“Hold on.”
I clung to his back. Other than Sparrow, I had never been this close to another person before.
His fresh, tangy scent overpowered the briny air of the ocean below.
I couldn’t quite place it. He smelled of the wood they used to fuel the fireplaces around the Citadel, but better.
Whatever it was, it was fairly pleasant for someone so aggravating.
He scaled the side of the cliff as if it were no more than climbing a ladder. Pale golden waves bounced just above his collar with each shift of his weight. His long legs ate up the distance even with the recalculations every so often to find firmer footholds.
I closed my eyes, buried my face in the back of his neck, and held on for dear life. After what could only have been a few minutes, I felt him pause.
“Don’t let go.”
I gripped him tighter. He jolted. Then a moment passed with none of the usual jostling. The chilly wind whipped at the side of my face. Then suddenly, a jarring impact and a low grunt I could feel through his chest, more than I heard.
Did he just jump?
Looking up, I immediately regretted it. We were dangling from the lip of a stone wall. He threw his leg over the top, tilting us sideways. I gasped and clamped my legs around him. He pulled us up and over the wall, landing on the other side.
All movement stopped.
“Get down.”
I allowed my legs to slide from his waist. It was at that moment that I realized my shift was up around my waist and my underthings were out there for the world to see.
I scrambled off his back, attempting to yank down the fabric.
And then, because the universe has a sense of humor, my legs buckled as my feet hit the ground.
The impact of the pavement didn’t hurt nearly as much as the embarrassment of his turning to see me sprawled in the street.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t say a word,” I snapped, scrambling to my feet.
Then it dawned on me. The street. I was in the street—out in the city.
The cold of the cobblestones seeped into my damp slippers as I looked around at Trilatera.
Draped in patches of inky midnight, the yellow glow of an oil lamp in the distance did little to illuminate the street.
The jumble of buildings opposite us ascended an incline, appearing as if stacked on top of one another.
A couple of candles flickered in a few otherwise empty windows.
There were people sleeping in there. Lots of people. People who probably knew how to swim and climb cliffs and do all sorts of useful things I’d never been taught.
The man stared at me again with that blank, indecipherable expression. “You’ll get over the awe of it pretty quickly.”
He turned and walked down the road, his heavy boots barely making a sound.
“Your encouragement is truly inspiring,” I muttered, and followed him.