Does that mean he wants to? Is it an opening?
Pell, get a grip.
“What kind of questions are the ‘right’ kind?” I ask.
Mischief dances in his beautiful eyes.
I hold up a hand. “I know, I have to figure that one out for myself, too.” What else is new?
My brain ruminates on what the right questions might be as we fly on until Harpoc takes an abrupt right turn, and I grab his collar.
“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear, sending a chill down my back as I open my mouth to complain. He nods to the left.
The sound of honking that had been nothing but background noise until now, reaches me and I survey the area he indicates. A whole flock of geese from the looks of things, fly not far from us. Mottled, barred gray-and-white plumage with orange beaks and pink legs, these birds are good size.
“Greylag, they’re one of the most aggressive types of geese.”
“A regular ornithologist are you? And you would know about their dispositions, how?” I ask, not letting go of his collar.
“I’ve heard. I don’t have to experience something to know to avoid it.”
I bob my head.
Maybe you could learn a thing or two, Pell.
I harrumph.
Their honking fades as he gives them a wide berth.
Concern about what I’ll face with Zephyr bites me as the endless blue sea stretches on and on below us; there isn’t an island, birds, or anything of interest for miles to distract me.
Time to create my own distraction. I reach over and run a finger along the leather strap of one of the buckles on his duster. Mister Sexy Guy. My heart picks up pace.
What will he do if I undo it?
Whoa, Pell.
My brain doesn’t stop undressing him, and I stifle a snicker. Bad brain. Bad brain. As if I’ll ever get up that much nerve.
I glance up. His attention is focused ahead.
Don’t do it, Pell.
Will he notice?
Pell… the tone rises.
I abandon caution to the wind. I have a harpy to deal with, and I need distraction. This is certainly it.
Pell, no.
My heart races full out as I ease the end of the leather strap back toward its metal buckle, getting it to rise a little. I bite my lip and look up. He still studies the horizon ahead.
Abort, Pell, abort.
A little more… The leather arches inside the rectangular buckle.
I sneak another look up. He’s still occupied.
Pell, stop, listen to yourself.
I slowly and carefully pull on the arch of the bunched strap, guiding it free, then grin as I exhale quietly.
Pell, work with me.
This next part will be the hardest, pulling the end free and him not feeling it as I clear the buckle’s prong.
My inner voice growls in frustration.
I draw my other hand over to assist and have braced it against his chest when… he laughs.
I jerk my head up. Busted.
He meets my eyes. “Undressing me with more than your eyes? You don’t mess around.”
My face burns in an instant.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Pell.
Shut up, I growl at myself, then cover, “Um… I was just, uh… keeping myself distracted.”
A small, sly, oh my, seductive smile rises on his lips, and my lady bits respond.
Whoo, is it suddenly hot?
“We’ll pick this up later…” It isn’t a question, and I inhale sharply. “… because we’re here.”
A stretch of land’s not far off. I’ve done such a good job distracting myself I haven’t noticed.
Zephyr.
We’re here.
The thought stops my hormones in their tracks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harpoc glides over the mountainous topography way too fast for my liking, and I clutch my coat. Too soon, we’ll be face-to-face with the bird woman, and I doubt I’ll ever be ready.
He sets down before a towering, gaping-mawed cave, then stands me up and his wings vanish in a swirl of shadows.
I hate his secrecy, but I can’t deny those shadows add a bit of intrigue to his mystery. I’ve skirted a few rules in my time, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to be a “bad girl.” I have to be honest; I find his badass-ness seductive.
My attention returns as all the leather straps down the front of Harpoc’s duster undo themselves, and he winks.
I’d have blushed fiercely as I unzip mine, but I’m distracted by the abundant “Do Not Cross” yellow tape suspended from waist-high orange rubber posts blocking the paved walkway before us.
“Good to see they closed it to tourists,” Harpoc says.
Tourists. Shit. I haven’t given one thought to the fact they’d be here; this is a major attraction. I hold my breath as I glance about praying I spot none. I don’t.
A scream for help ricochets from within the depths of the darkness, and my legs nearly buckle as my heart crawls into my throat.
“You don’t suppose someone crossed the line?” My voice quivers. I fear to even think what a harpy might do to a tourist.
“That’s not someone calling for help, that’s Zephyr. Looks like we found her. That screech is as damn awful as a peacock’s if you ask me.”
How would he know what she sounds like? I open my mouth to question, but “Zephyr” if that is indeed who it is, lets go of another screech, and my inquiry evaporates as my limbs start to shake. I have to deal with that thing.
Harpoc stares into the dark entrance, whether he’s summoning his courage like me, I can’t tell.
“You’d never dealt with an angry sphinx. Any chance you have hellion harpy experience?” A girl can hope.
He shakes his head. “No, and I’ve no doubt Zephyr will be… unhappy.”
I give the “king of understatement” a
