Page 105 of The Tenth Muse

“No, I suppose not. Especially not the Foloi Forest. It is deceptively not a place many are warned about, but my kind are carnivorous. We mostly consume smaller beasts like boar and foxes, but there are those who crave human flesh.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Thank you for the warning, but I must go.”

I make an attempt to climb up the wall to get a better view, and quickly realize how high up we are. The workshop is perched on the tall branch of an oak tree, likely towering over thirty meters.

Fear grips my chest like a vise, bile threatening to exit my stomach as I look around. This view of the forest would be breathtaking if I could see and hear over the feeling of my heartbeat raging in my chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Warm, soft feathers wrap around me, enveloping me in comfort and darkness. “It is not safe for you to go by yourself. Let me take you to my home. When the storm clears, I promise to return you to your people,” Amalthea says, her voice mellow.

“Okay,” I return and allow her to scoop me into her arms. I’m not sure why I trust this woman so much, but she just feels honest. My intuition is telling me that she won’t harm me.

Her feet, which are more like claws, push off the edge of the nest as her wings help us soar into the air. She dodges through a series of trees, carefully angling us, and I nuzzle my face into her chest, wafting in the smell of icy air, lemon balm, and thyme.

I can’t look down. My body is shaking, my heart beating at an uncomfortable speed. Fear is the only sensation I know, and it has its jaws locked onto me.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Amalthea asks. There’s no judgement in her tone, only genuine curiosity.

“Terrified,” I get out, my voice as unstable as I am.

I try to clear my mind of negativity and anxiety, forcing me to envision myself in a better situation. I wish I were back at Amalthea’s workshop, asking her questions about her people while she sews me a beautiful gown. I’d try it on for her and let her slip it off of me, her fingers carefully brushing against my most sensitive areas.

That’s where I’d like to be instead of here, maybe a thousand feet off the ground, flying through weather that only worsens as the minutes tick on. The rain hasn’t begun, but the sky had grayed the last time I peeked.

A finger combs through my hair, gently massaging my scalp. “Could I ease some of your fear … and bring you pleasure?”

What?I don’t know if she’s asking what I think she’s asking, or if I’m being presumptuous. “Sure,” I say.

A slender hand makes its way up my thigh, climbing towards the entrance to my leggings. I think she meantexactlywhat I was hoping she meant.

Instead of the teasing I’m used to receiving, Amalthea goes straight for my clit, pressing into it and swirling her fingers in perfect, languid strokes. My leg shudders, but she adjusts her grip on me in her other arm, ensuring I stay in place.

Dripping with arousal, the apex of my thigh becomes slick. Amalthea must notice, because she moves to my opening, outlining it with her fingers before slipping two inside.

“So soft,” she whispers into my ear. “So soft and wet and made for this. For me.”

Any thoughts of flying or heights or fear dies with the sound of her praise as she finger fucks me into oblivion. I moan out, my body rolling with the waves of my pleasure, but she doesn’t stop.

She places her thumb on my clit and circles it while her other fingers remain curved inside, stroking my inner walls. I writhe in pleasure, allowing my body to fully melt into hers, and everything clicks in place.

This force—this drive that felt like fate intended me to travel east—it was her. She was the thing I was searching for. I’m not sure if she magically conjured me to arrive or if the universe is pushing us together.

Maybe we’re mates like in all those fanfictions I’ve read on AO3.

Either way, it is so obviously clear in this moment of complete and utter ecstasy that she is the thing I need. The adventure I’ve desperately been seeking from the mundaneness of everyday life.

I cry out, breathing into her neck, as I come down hard with the rapid, delicious movements of her fingers.

“The sound of your pleasure is music to my ears, little bird,” she whispers and removes her fingers.

We land with a soft thud, and she places me on the floor of the nest. This one is much larger, and the roof is covered. There’s a small, door-like opening at the front that leads to a wooden landing for her to take off from.

Everything is made of panels of wood and large branches. Beautifully carved, ornate furniture decorates the space. It reminds me of the wooden birdhouse my dayda used to hang outside her house in Ardiya.

It is simple. More cottage than home. A nest. I am thirsty and tired, but I walk around, investigating all the details of this place.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks, standing at a stove.

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