Page 205 of The Mortal Trials

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.

12

Later that day, I sit on my bed in blissfully dry clothes and attempt to gently contort and somehow coax the knee joint of my damaged prosthesis back into the cautiously comfortable place Daedalus had it in before I came to this island. I force the hinge to fold, but the metal still grates and I can’t seem to work out the bend enough to…

Blowing out a defeated breath, I lower the limb to my lap. If I break this thing, I’m as good as dead.

There’s a knock at my door. I tense, wondering who would visit me here. Cillian promised he’d go straight to Abuela. Is someone here for my spear?

“Who is it?”

“An old friend,” a familiar, wizened voice replies.

The handle twists and in walks a man I didn’t expect, carrying a long, worn leather bag. The wind blows his gray beard sideways as he plants his wooden cane and steps inside my oikos.