She fits against me perfectly. Like she was made to be held like this.
My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain she can hear it.
“I’m glad you came,” she murmurs against my chest, and the vibration of her voice travels through me.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” The words come out rougher than intended. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us—her hands splayed against my back, her cheek pressed to my sternum, the way her breath warms my skin through my shirt.
She pulls back slightly, tilting her head up to look at me, but doesn’t let go completely. Her hands remain on my sides, fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt.
“Fair warning,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I’m probably going to grab onto you a lot in there. I know intellectually that it’s all fake, but jump scares still get me every time.”
The image it conjures—Selene clinging to me, trusting me to keep her safe, seeking protection from me—sends a rush of warmth through my chest.
“I’ll protect you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Idiot. You’re not a warrior. You’re not capable of protecting anyone. You’re going to embarrass yourself and?—
But she’s smiling at me like I’ve said something wonderful instead of something ridiculous.
“My hero,” she says, and there’s gentle teasing in her tone, but also something warmer. Something that makes my chest feel too small to contain everything I’m feeling.
She finally releases me, though one hand trails down my arm until her fingers tangle with mine. The contact sends sparks up my skin.
“Ready?” she asks.
No. Absolutely not. I’m about to walk into a deliberately frightening environment, which goes against every instinct I possess, despite what my family tried to drill into me. A Volscian warrior would stride through without flinching. My brother would probably laugh at the cheap theatrics.
But Selene is looking at me with such trust, such openness, and her hand is warm in mine.
“Ready,” I lie, guiding us forward.
Cobwebs catch at our clothes as we push through the doorway. The lighting inside is dim and flickering, casting shadows that seem to move on their own. The air smells musty and slightly sweet.
Selene’s grip on my hand tightens immediately.
“Okay, so this is definitely creepier than I remembered from the setup,” she mutters.
I squeeze her hand back, trying to project a confidence I absolutely do not feel. My skin is already prickling with unease, my tail curled tight against my leg.
We move forward into what appears to be a decrepit hallway. The walls are draped in tattered fabric, and portraits hang at odd angles—their subjects’ eyes seeming to follow us as we pass. Alow, discordant soundtrack plays in the background, punctuated by distant screams and creaking sounds.
Something drops from the ceiling ahead—just a piece of rubber designed to look like an eight-legged creature, but I still flinch.
“Oh my god,” Selene whispers, pressing closer to my side. “I didn’t even see that spider. It’s just special effects.” She mutters to herself as a reminder that it’s all fake.
Right. Special effects. Not real threats. My rational mind knows this.
My instincts, however, are screaming at me to get out. To get her out.
We round a corner into a room decorated to look like an abandoned laboratory. Beakers filled with glowing liquid line the shelves, alongside jars containing what look disturbingly like preserved body parts. Selene makes a small sound of disgust.
“That’s actually gross,” she says. “Props to whoever designed this.”
A small explosion rattles the room. From one of the beakers, bright light flares.
Selene shrieks and practically climbs up my side, her arms wrapping around my neck, her legs scrambling for purchase against my hip. I catch her instinctively, one arm banding around her waist to support her weight.
“Sorry, sorry!” Selene gasps, but she doesn’t immediately let go. She’s trembling slightly, her breath coming fast against my neck. “I knew the explosion was coming and it still got me.”
