A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  “Speaking down to me.”

  He nodded like he was pretending to listen, but actually thinking about whether he should kill me or have fun with me first. “Third?”

  “Falling in love with me.”

  He blinked, then laughed in disbelief. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Easy.” I smiled. “You’re about to fall to your knees and admit it.”

  His eyes grew suspicious, hesitant.

  “Now.”

  His face contorted in anger and confusion, while it seemed he was going through an internal struggle; but then, his knees hit the deck with a thud. It appeared as though acclamations of love were a little harder on him than kneeling at my feet because he gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t stop a few words of amazement at my ‘beauty’ and endearments from slipping past his lips. However, he could work on his expression and not spit the words at me.

  Now, this was what it looked like to take away a man’s manhood. Hopefully, Henry wasn’t watching . . .

  The other Titan’s gaze narrowed on the scene, taking a step in our direction. “Archer,” he barked, but Archer failed to respond; instead his eyes were on me, mesmerized—but truly hating every moment of it. I’d never known a man could look like he’d kiss your feet if you but let him and like he wanted to strangle you at the same time until I began cleaning these docks up and compelling slavers to quit their day job.

  I lifted my shoulder at the confused Titan watching his friend kneel at my feet. “What can I say? I guess I’m as ‘stunning as the sun,’” I mocked Archer—he really could work on his compliments—before adding, “Not the fairest in the land as my grandmother says, but surely close if I could make a Titan fall—”

  “Quiet!” he snapped.

  I frowned, wondering if Titans were ever taught manners. Surely that was involved in their years of training, and yet I couldn’t quite picture them sitting their big bodies at our cottage table with an etiquette book open.

  Archer’s gaze grew hazy, confused—the sign he was shaking off the persuasion. He gritted, “You are a foolish wench,” but his body hadn’t caught up with his mind just yet, and he wasn’t able to move.

  “But I’m your wench, aren’t I? Don’t you want to protect me? Your friend . . . he’s been looking at me wrong. I think he wants me. . .” I whispered, eyeing the other Titan who stood watching us with hesitant suspicion. “He wants your woman. Are you going to let him get away with it?”

  The Titan’s eyes glazed over for a moment before pure hatred burned that haze away. He stood up, before taking slow steps back, his determined stare locked onto mine with each step.

  His friend’s gaze narrowed. He was reaching for a blade strapped to his thigh, when Archer suddenly turned, without a pause, throwing his entire body weight into a punch that knocked the other Titan out flat. He hit the dock with a thud, and I thought it rocked the entire southern port.

  I whistled, impressed.

  Persuasion took time for me to get into someone’s head. I wasn’t so sure how well it’d work on a Titan because I knew they were taught to block their minds from magic. It’d been like trying to invade a brick wall, but with just a little searching, I found the tiniest crack, letting me in.

  It was different than compulsion, in the way that I could manipulate their thoughts and actions without having to tell them to do it in direct words. Though I could do both, sometimes it was a toss-up of which worked better on someone. Compulsion not working so well on those who were trained to block magic because they could feel it coming; persuasion was like a simple thought or emotion entering their mind, and before they knew it, they were mine.

  Before I knew what happened, I was lifted off the docks by an arm around my waist, a fist in my hair pulling my lips to his.

  Drat.

  I always forgot this part. You can’t drill possessive thoughts into a man’s head without him acting like a possessive lunatic in return. I thought I’d learned my lesson the last time, but apparently not. This was the downside of persuasion.

  His lips slanted over mine, and I pushed on his chest, trying to make him stop so that I could breathe. My lungs burned. Titans had no tact; although I couldn’t exactly say that because when Weston had kissed me, it’d hadn’t lacked any finesse.

  When he pulled back far enough, I rushed out, “Put me down.”

  I sucked in a breath when he put me on my feet. Once I was in someone’s head through persuasion, compulsion was easy sailing. “Don’t touch me again,” I said immediately. I hadn’t realized how fast he’d be. I didn’t really have experience with Titans. Well . . . you know what I mean.

  He stood there, his eyes bright with the possessiveness of what I’d convinced him to feel. The “protect your woman” persuasion always seemed to work the fastest with men. Primal mentality, I thought.

  “Well, Archer, anyone else on this boat?”

  “It’s a ship,” he muttered, shaking his head at me for calling it a ‘boat.’ How was I supposed to know the difference? They both floated. “No,” he finally supplied.

  I tilted my head. “You know your prince well?”

  “Cousin.”

  I froze. “You’re jesting.”

  “If that is what you wish.”

  Lord. Of course this would be Weston’s relative. I laughed. It sounded a little maniacal, but it didn’t look like Archer minded with the way he eyed me like I walked on water. The persuasion was a little much sometimes, I’d admit . . . though, it did make me feel nice other times.

  And because he was starting to blink, looking a little less persuaded, I smiled, feeling the ridiculousness of my words. “I’m the only woman for you, aren’t I? I couldn’t bear it if you were with anyone else . . .”

  I could so be a performer. Must be hereditary . . .

  He nodded, a dazed look back in his eyes. “The only one.”

  I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for this man—because this was pathetic, really—but he was a cousin of the two Titans I hated, so by proxy, it was perfectly acceptable to treat him as if he were them.

  I told him to wait until I returned as I walked up the ramp. I didn’t know how long this particular persuasion would last, but I guessed I’d find out. I would just have to make this quick . . . whatever I was doing here.

  The boat rocked softly under my feet as I crossed the deck and climbed down the small staircase into the cabin, down a hall to where I knew the captain’s quarters usually were. The room was plainly decorated with a wooden desk, a large bed, and a couple trunks of which I headed straight for.

  Opening the lid, my eyes grew wide.

  So much silver. I groaned in my mind like I’d just eaten the best piece of chocolate on this side of the city. I itched to run my fingers over the silver pitcher.

  No. No. Let it go.

  I sighed, closing my eyes and the lid before my attention was stuck in the trunk until Roldan returned from the palace to try and kill me again.

  I hollered Archer’s name, and he came down a few seconds later, standing in the door.

  “Take that trunk to the orphanage, please,” I told him, giving him my back as I looked through the scrolls on the desk.

  “Of course,” he returned, but his voice was clear as a blue sky, no hint of dazed persuasion in it. My eyes narrowed on the shelf in front of me. I felt the air move before it did. I spun around, coming face to face with one disobedient Titan, the blade in my hand a quarter of the way in his stomach.

  “Don’t make another move.”

  He stood stalk still, the only thing alerting me that he’d been stabbed was a tightness to his expression.

  I shook my head reproachfully. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. Not many can get past my persuasion once I’m in.”

  It seemed that it didn’t work so well with him when I didn’t have my eyes on him. I frowned because that meant my persuasion would probably have no bearing on Roldan or Weston.

  Glancing down, I groaned. “N
ow look what you’ve done! I’ve got blood on my cloak,” I grumbled, then grimaced as I pulled the knife out. “That won’t kill you, will it?”

  “Flesh wound.”

  I nodded hesitantly because it felt like all Titans would say that even if their arm had been severed from their body.

  “Please, go take that trunk to the orphanage, and then go get your ‘flesh wound’ checked out.”

  I watched him out of the corner of my eye until he picked up the trunk like it weighed nothing and walked out of the room. Well, he didn’t look like he’d die, so I put it out of my mind.

  I walked to the bed, searching for what, I didn’t know. There was a familiar leather jerkin sitting at the bottom of the mattress, and my heart pattered as I looked at it. It was his. He was the only Titan I’d seen who wore western clothes. I ran a finger across the smooth leather.

  A shiver went through me, and I again got the feeling he was standing right behind me. I closed my eyes, pushing the feeling away.

  Giving the place one more look, I headed upstairs.

  Standing on the docks, the wind blowing my hood, I stared at the ship before me. I picked the lantern off the hook, holding it the night air.

  The T on the sail mocked me, the jerkin on the mattress disturbed me, and the air around me grew thinner the more that nostalgia tightened its noose around my throat.

  There was only one solution.

  One lazy toss of the lantern in my hand.

  I burned it down.

  I’d admit that I grew overconfident.

  Besting two Titans had gone straight to my head.

  I’d slept like a baby that night even though the bright light from the fiery Titan ship lit my entire room.

  At the moment the glow had danced on my wall, I thought I was invincible. And all throughout the next day, even though during training I struggled with my magic. There were a few other things I could do besides compulsion and persuasion: fast-traveling and manipulating certain elements.

  The former skills I could do on command, but the latter were a toss-up; especially when I was under pressure—say, seven pairs of witches’ eyes on my back.

  The arson of the Titan ship had already been heralded to be the work of one ‘Girl in Black,’ and was the talk of the day. I never set out to draw attention to myself that way, but I needed something to occupy my time, to keep my mind off the things I couldn’t control.

  Each time I couldn’t fast-travel or manipulate a tiny flame, frustration shot through me. But there was also something else in the back of my head—that I wasn’t far off from a normal girl, a normal life, if I couldn’t do it. But what a lie I was living.

  The ache in my head, the soft swaying of a ship, and my arms falling asleep chained behind me told me I wasn’t as invincible as I believed.

  It had all started with a tasteless tight dress with a slit up the thigh, dark charcoaled eyes, and a lazy expression.

  A whore I did make.

  It was an act I often played to fool slavers into letting their guard down, and something I should have seen caution in before, but I wasn’t exactly wizened in this game yet. And one lesson I’d learned that night was: trust your gut, always.

  That night, I threw caution to the wind.

  He’d look like any normal man: blond shoulder-length hair, slightly weathered face from the ocean wind, deeply tanned skin. But I knew he was anything but, when I saw him corral some goods off his ship the other day.

  Six girls in a row.

  I wasn’t a mind reader, I was a little high on winning, and when he called me a familiar name, my thoughts got convoluted in the past.

  “Bad day, angel?” the captain had said to me as I leaned against the tavern wall; ironically enough, right beside a poster of one Titan prince.

  I’d glanced lazily at Weston’s likeness, a cold gaze looking back at me.

  Angel.

  “There’s a reason two men have called you an angel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you look like an innocent.”

  I couldn’t stop the shiver from running through me.

  Moments like this happened often—his words repeated themselves in my mind as if I still wasn’t even strong enough to push his memory away. He had no relevance in my life, but he still had a hold on me.

  I’d laughed too loudly when the captain said something minimally amusing, using that practiced laugh that was supposed to sound sensual but only sounded fake to my ears. I thought he bought it.

  But the truth was, I was the one being deceived.

  I knew he planned to hit me over the head when he didn’t haggle a price but only agreed on my twenty shillings for an hour. They always haggled.

  I’d been prepared for him to try and capture me to sell as a slave. But I hadn’t been prepared for the real reason I’d be chained up in the hull of a ship with a heavy stare on my skin.

  The captain was in his late thirties, probably. He had the experience I did not. He was good enough at what he did that the only thing I had warning me was my gut, but sadly I’d abandoned the feeling.

  Walking up the ramp of his ship, apprehension danced in my stomach, but I’d convinced myself I wasn’t weak anymore and forced my feet to continue all the way to his quarters.

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  I took off my cloak, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Sylvia.” It was my go-to whenever anyone asked me about my background. Alger was so small that I wasn’t sure if most people knew about it, and if they did, then I didn’t want them to associate me with any tales.

  “Ah. It’s bloody hot there, too,” he replied, pouring a cup of wine.

  “It is,” I said, looking around the spacious quarters. He’d obviously seen the world with all the different artifacts on the built-in shelves behind his desk.

  “You’re not into playing games like those Sylvian women, are you now?”

  I smiled. “No.”

  I hadn’t even escaped their games.

  “Now that I think about it, your accent doesn’t sound Sylvian,” he said, leaning against the wall, and watching me with a gaze I wanted to shake off.

  I faltered for just a second, and I was sure he noticed. I had wondered why I was so jumpy at the time. Well, because I knew everything was wrong. If only I’d listened to myself, I wouldn’t be back in a position I’d been in once before. I ran my finger over a smooth horn on his shelf, finally replying, “My grandmother and I traveled a lot. Sylvia is the place I remember most.”

  He took a drink, but that gaze still remained on me.

  I could bloody feel it, and a slight tremor started in my hand.

  This is ridiculous.

  I chastised myself to get it together. I was in control here. I spun around, meeting his gaze.

  My heart beat uneasily in my chest, but I walked toward him. He kept my gaze the entire time, and I let out a small breath of relief—this was going to be easy as pie. I was in; I knew I was in. I could feel the slight give in the air around me. It lightened. The thing I’d always been taught to look for.

  “Dress,” he said, nodding to mine.

  That meant take it off. I didn’t know why men had to grunt their one-word demands and just assume it made any sense, but a lot of them did. At least, most of the men with the hobby of buying sex anyway. Sounded depressing to me, if I was honest.

  “You don’t want me to take it off,” I said.

  He crossed his arms. “Yes, I do.”

  I faltered, unable to keep my expression from him. What was happening? I pushed the apprehension dancing in my stomach aside, walking a couple of feet closer. It had to be the distance. Everyone was different, some easier to persuade than others.

  “No, you don’t.

  His eyes were blank for a moment, before filling with the understanding of the persuasion. “No, I don’t.”

  All my tense muscles relaxed on cue. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

  He nodded, eyeing my body in a new, releva
nt light.

  And that was when I put my guard down. I was in, why shouldn’t I have? I turned to pour a cup of wine; these conversations and long-term compulsions to drop the slaver business always made me thirsty.

  I felt the movement in the air, my stomach jumped as blood flew through my veins. I knew it was all wrong. Why hadn’t I trusted my judgment? Before I could stop anything, his arm wrapped around my waist keeping my arms pinned at my sides, while the cold of a knife grazed my throat.

  I went frozen, holding my neck back so that the blade didn’t cut my skin. My pulse fluttered in my throat. The adrenaline that coursed through my veins took a different path from fear to anger. How could I have let this happen?

  “What do you want?” I hissed.

  “To get paid,” he said simply.

  I cursed myself over and over. I closed my eyes, trying to feel that burning in my palms—the feeling that I got before I fast-traveled. But it wouldn’t come. My heart was beating too hard, my concentration jumbled, and it wouldn’t come.

  “Next time, girl, know who you’re takin’ to bed.”

  “Who are you?” I breathed.

  “Just a man doing a job.”

  “How’d you get past the persuasion?”

  “Brand on my arm.”

  I’d never even known they existed. He must have done this for a living to know how to appear persuaded like he had.

  “This wasn’t the first time I’ve been asked to find the girl ruining trade on the docks. Don’t like slavery much myself, but I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. There’s a lot of men after you, you know. The compulsion you’re doing in their heads—makes them crazed. A few have hanged themselves. It’s making a lot of people angry, the trouble you’re causing.”

  “You aren’t a slave trader?” I asked.

  “Nah. I play the part I need to play. That’s all.”

  I swallowed.

  “Sorry about this.”

  I blinked, but then pain exploded inside of my head, and everything went black.

  And that was how I got here.

  There was a groan, and it took a moment to realize it was my own. An ache pulsed in the side of my head and the clink of chains sounded as I pushed myself into a sitting position. I peered through the bars of the cell while trying to ignore the heavy heartbeat ringing in my ears.