A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  But before I could rush off, I felt it. His hand rested lightly on the back of my thigh, almost feather-light, but all my breath caught in my lungs, and I froze. My stomach tightened as the heat from his palm burned through my dress, so hot.

  The captain across from him took a swig of ale, flicking his inquisitive gaze between us while Weston said something to him, but I didn’t hear it, because his hand brushed a trail of fire across my backside and up to my hip, before he stood, guiding me through the tavern to the back.

  It felt like everyone was looking at me, and I realized exactly what this looked like: a quick tup with a whore. My heart beat like a drum when we passed Sunny in the kitchens whose eyes went wide as he pushed open the back door, his hand sliding off my hip to my back, guiding me out.

  My stomach tightened as the door shut, secluding me in this dark alley only lit by moonlight.

  “Weston, what—”

  But I never got to finish what I had to say because my back hit the door, and then his mouth was on me, his lips parting mine without hesitation, a sizzle igniting inside me as his tongue brushed my own.

  YES. I never needed air, I needed this.

  Sparks fired under my skin, a rush of warmth spreading throughout my blood, and I kissed him back like I’d been planning this for years, running my hands up his jerkin around his neck and into his hair.

  His lips played mine over and over, his tongue sweeping in and tangling with mine as if he were angry with me and himself, and the only way to get it out was through our mouths. He was furious. I could feel it in his movements, hear it in his breaths. And I loved it.

  Every warm, wet brush of his tongue sent a hot vibration of pressure on a lazy path between my legs.

  The heat of his hands slid down to my backside, squeezing as much as he could fit in his palms, before pulling me up against him, in a position aligning us so much better.

  I pressed against him, getting as close as I could; even the minutest touches sent pleasure flaring, burning hotter: the brush of his fingers on the sides of my bare thighs; the glide of my breasts against his chest every time we swayed into another open-mouthed kiss; the soft yet rough pressure of his lips against my own.

  I thought the heavy pressure inside me would combust when he pulled the hair at my nape so that he could trail his mouth down my throat. It built even hotter, a moan escaping in between two desperate breaths as he nipped my earlobe, following up with a gentle suck behind my ear.

  He lifted me, and then dropped me on a stack of crates, his hands sliding further and further up my thighs, pushing my dress up as he went. Every nerve ending was suddenly in that spot; each minuscule movement had me swaying, urging his hands to push up my skirts all the way.

  I was hot everywhere. So hot. The lazy pressure in the lowest part of my stomach had turned into a fiery burden that needed put out. He came up from my throat to kiss me hard, and I swayed into his mouth, pressing my hips against him.

  Sparks fired under my skin as he kissed me for so long I didn’t know where I ended and he began. Wherever his hands went, my nerve endings sizzled like rain on hot stone.

  And when my movements got desperate, my hands pulling at the buttons on his jerkin, my legs wrapping around his, urging him to press hard against me, with a rough, angry sound, he pulled back, though his hands still settled like two flames on the sides of my thighs.

  I sucked in some air, his heated gaze fixated on me. The sounds of our breaths filled the air for a few moments. My head light, my vision still clouded with a mindless haze.

  His words were quiet and rough. “Who are you?”

  A reminiscent smile bloomed inside me. I leaned in, brushing my lips against his. “Name’s Calamity,” I whispered, repeating the same thing I said to him close to a year ago. With our lips already touching, it was too hard to resist—he captured my top lip in between his own. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and groaned when he sucked on it gently.

  And then he pulled back, his hands leaving me completely. “Fuck. Fuck,” he hissed. He turned around, his back tense, resting his hands on the back of his neck as if he was walking something off.

  I sat there for a moment, feeling empty without his hands on me. Slipping off the crates, I took a step in his direction but stopped when, “Calamity, don’t,” was bit out at me.

  But then I only took another step, and another and another.

  He turned around abruptly. “Do you not understand English? Is that what it’s been all this time?” The words were supposed to be sharp, but they only came out sounding tired and rough.

  “I’ve only neglected to learn some words,” I said, standing directly in front him. “Like ‘don’t.’ I’ve no idea what that means.”

  Amusement flitted across his face like he didn’t want to find it funny, but he did.

  As we stood there, the social divide growing between us, large and assuming, I didn’t want this to end, not yet. I just wanted a little more, so that once I found my blacksmith, I could be content with this, me and Weston, parting ways, forgetting each other. Finding closure.

  When Weston’s expression suddenly hardened, his eyes narrowing, I realized that sometime while he’d been kissing me, the walls in my mind came down. I forced them back up quickly.

  “A blacksmith, huh?” His indifferent tone didn’t match the dark way he was looking at me.

  I bit my lip, nodding as I stepped closer to him, running my finger across the brand on his arm. “You killed your father,” I said quietly, tracing the T.

  “Never really did like the bastard.”

  A laugh climbed up my throat. It wasn’t funny—it was seriously disturbing. But the way he said it, was like it’d been a simple decision to make.

  “I don’t think repenting will help in this situation,” I said thoughtfully, imagining him sitting beside Father Mathews and admitting all of his sins. They would be there for a year. No, two.

  “No?” he asked, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Don’t think there’s any hope left for me?”

  Shaking my head, I leaned fully against him, chest to stomach, my eyes on his. “I don’t believe so. But since I know you won’t, I shall repent for you.”

  My heart kicked up a notch as I shall repent for you . . . settled in the air around us like the filthiest phrase ever said. It morphed into a heaviness filled with expectation. My breaths turned shallow when his hands came up to my face, his thumb skimming across my cheek, before his lips caught mine, pushing me back with the force as he took a step with me.

  On a groan, his hands cupped my backside, pulling me off my feet and up against him. My back hit the wall, the heat of his body pressing tightly against me. Finally.

  It was more ragged, rougher, wilder than the kiss before. But it was the worst sort of kiss: the kind that you wonder if it never stopped, where it would have gone. How differently your day could have looked if you were given a chance to find out.

  Unfortunately, I never did.

  With a ragged breath, Weston pulled back, saying, “I heard congratulations are in order.”

  I blinked out of the haze, bemused about what he meant, but then the familiar chuckle behind Weston’s head, made me realize he wasn’t talking to me.

  Maxim.

  “I thought the only cause for celebration would be my head on a pike,” Maxim returned.

  Weston slid me down his body until my toes touched the ground. “Pledging is the same, is it not?”

  Maxim laughed.

  Ha. Ha. I rolled my eyes and then paused. “Wait. You’re pledging some unlucky lady?” I asked Maxim, aghast. What a poor girl, I thought, my eyes flicking to six of his men who stood a little ways down the dock.

  “The price to pay for one of the king’s vote,” Maxim said dryly. I frowned, but then realized he must have to make deals with some of these kings to get their vote to use the Mages they had in retainer to reverse the curse. That must be why it was taking so long to get what he wanted—he had to appease each one
of them.

  The Titan next to me let out a breath of amusement as he turned toward Maxim like he loved the idea—only because Maxim would hate it.

  “Why would any father want to pawn his daughter off to you?” I asked, blinking away the rest of the haze in my mind. My heartbeat was slowing down, my breaths evening out.

  “Believe it or not,” Maxim deadpanned, “I’m a catch.”

  Maybe as one of those male whores, but not for a husband. But I didn’t think he’d find that an insult, so I said nothing.

  “I meant to congratulate you on your father’s death, but you’ve been avoiding me since you’ve been in the city,” Maxim told Weston.

  I blinked. There was a lot wrong with that statement.

  “You expected something else?”

  Maxim shook his head, running his thumb across his lip, slightly amused. “I got your note earlier. Here I am.”

  A frown pulled on my lips, some uncertainty rushing through me. Why would Weston tell Maxim to meet him at some Southie tavern, on the docks no less? Princes didn’t come down here. Though, I knew these weren’t your average ones.

  As I looked at them now—Maxim wearing white, Weston in black, they looked like good versus evil. But both were on the villain side of the scale. This dark alley was a nice atmosphere for . . . earlier, but now, surrounded by Titan and Untouchables alike, I decided I needed a bit of light. Three lanterns near the edge of the dock suddenly flamed, filling the area with an orange glow.

  They both shot their gazes to me, but I only looked at my nails, bored.

  “How long have you known about this?” Weston asked Maxim, tilting his head toward me. What, did Maxim just write him a note that said, ‘Dead girl you kidnapped walking in Symbia?’ He gave him no details?

  I suddenly felt like an outsider, uninvited, so I thought: why not let these two gentlemen duke it out themselves?

  “I’m just gonna . . .” I began, taking a step to the side to leave, but Weston grabbed my arm without even a glance in my direction. “Or not,” I muttered.

  “Long enough,” Maxim drawled.

  I frowned at him disapprovingly. He was a liar. He’d known for two days, max. But I wasn’t getting involved in this, that much was for sure.

  Weston let out an amused breath that wasn’t entirely amused at all as he rubbed his jaw—probably to keep his hands busy so that he didn’t throw his knives somewhere in Maxim’s vicinity.

  “Doesn’t feel so good to be on the other side, does it?” Maxim asked.

  “Quite lethal,” Weston bit out seriously. After a moment of silence surrounding us, he said, “You can have your vote.”

  I blinked. “I thought you weren’t King?”

  Weston glanced at me. “I’m an intermediary until the tourneys.”

  Huh. Was that another way of saying I was just kissing a temporary king? Bloody hell . . . Wait until I tell Grandmother about this. She’d never believe me.

  I wondered how Maxim felt about having to work with Weston to get his vote on the council. I bet he didn’t like it very much. I found it amusing, though.

  “Just like that?” Maxim asked, disbelieving. “What’s it going to cost me? That,” he nodded to me, “was my leverage. But it seems she isn’t so good a leverage anymore when she doesn’t even know the meaning of monogamy.”

  My eyes widened. “Monogamy? What—”

  Maxim glanced at me meaningfully, and I realized with that look, this was the favor he decided on. Technically, that was void now that he hadn’t upheld my conditions and told Weston I was here. But with a glance at the Untouchables standing down the dock, I realized that I wasn’t really in a position to make demands as it was. He controlled two-thousand men who were alerted the Royal Affair wasn’t a normal brothel. I sighed, acquiescing to his game. “Like you know the meaning of the word, Prince a la harem.”

  “You’re obsessed with my harem, aren’t you?”

  I mean, I hadn’t thought about it all the time . . . but, I guessed there was something gravitating and suggestive about the idea. How did he choose? Did he prefer one over the other? Did he bring one back to his room, or two . . .? My cheeks warmed. “Maybe—wait, no.”

  Maxim laughed softly, while I felt Weston’s gaze burn my cheek.

  I crossed my arms, Weston’s hand still attached to one and leveled a gaze on Maxim. “I do not like your harem. I feel sorry for your bride; you’ll have to dig through all the other women to find her.”

  I was sure the smile he gave me was the exact one he used to entrap women with that ‘protector’ bit. “I’ll just have to go one at a time, then, won’t I?”

  “Ugh, poor gir—”

  “Stop.” Weston’s word cut through the air. He looked at me questionably, differently, darkly, like he believed I’d actually been a volunteer in Maxim’s bed.

  The thing was, I imagined I could bed Maxim if I had to. I was sure he knew what he was doing with all that experience; but therein lay the problem that I didn’t think about Maxim in that sense.

  He was beyond attractive, but that was all there was to me: a handsome face . . . and if he wanted to go shirtless around me, I wouldn’t complain. But just like William, there wasn’t the familiar breathlessness I felt whenever I was around a certain unnamed Titan. I’d surmised that I just had to find someone I hated equally as much as him and I could feel this way again. There was just a little malfunction in my brain is all.

  But if Weston believed I wasn’t a virgin, that I’d bedded Maxim and however many others, then that’s what he could think. The farm girl was a virgin. The Sister was experienced, even if she had to lie about it.

  “So, what’s it going to be?” Maxim raised a brow.

  My stomach twisted at the fleeting look Weston gave me; it resembled dirty betrayal, and my heart unwillingly sank in my chest.

  I let out a breath as Weston pushed me in front of him like I was a criminal in front of the magistrate. But that look still penetrated my mind, regret burning my stomach, and I couldn’t find the annoyance I should have. “This, whatever the fuck this is,” he said bitterly, “it’s done.”

  Maxim’s jaw ticked at the harsh demand. Crossing his arms, he regarded me, and then with the tiniest flicker of disappointment, responded, “Done.”

  Maxim rivaled my mother as an actor, but I was only glad this—whatever this was—was going smoother than I expected. Everyone just might get out alive. Now, if only I could part ways with Weston amicably, I could feel content with the situation. This was the closure I needed . . . wasn’t it?

  But, alas, I was a girl playing a man’s game, and it turned around to bite me in the ass.

  “You can have your vote as soon as your guards escort her out of the city.”

  Weston’s words took a moment to fully register. Time stopped in my mind until with a couple of shallow breaths, it clicked back on, and the severity, the meaning became clear. He stood close behind me, the voice that had given me shivers just a moment ago, now only a cold sentence as if he really were the magistrate, and I a lowly commoner. My crime: being in the wrong tavern in the wrong city at the wrong time. His sentence: banishment.

  I stood real still, my executor behind my back.

  Turmoil twisted and bent inside me. The question most prevalent in my mind: why? Why did he care what I did? Where I did it? Why did he believe he had a say in the matter?

  For whatever reason, he had planned this before he’d even kissed me tonight. Sending Maxim that note made that much clear.

  “Far from the south. North, west, I don’t care. But I don’t want to see her here again. Make it happen, then you get your vote.”

  I watched Maxim, my mind numb, my body stunned still at Weston’s demand.

  “Done.”

  Some dark hilarity rushed through me.

  I’d just gotten played, and man did it burn.

  With a thick throat, I swallowed, glancing up at the starry sky.

  There was one thing I knew with a certaint
y: I couldn’t leave the city just yet. I could transfer to another Sister house with little problems, but the Sisterhood wasn’t what kept me here. The only possibility of being able to rid myself of a Fate that I knew about was that well. There was an actual documentation of a Fate being reversed in the books from the well, unlike other mystic entities like Lake Clare. It was my best chance.

  I couldn’t compel myself out of this one, though, and anticipation ran up and down my arms, leaving a cold sweat at the decision I had to make. Even if the burn in my palms chose to make an appearance in the next few minutes and I fast-traveled, Weston could find me in seconds. Running from him wasn’t a possibility, and that left only one option for me. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve business here, and I’ll be staying until I finish it.”

  “What kind of business?” they both asked at the same time.

  I smiled at Maxim, ignoring Weston who still stood behind me. “It’s called my business, none of yours.”

  It was quiet for a moment, and I noticed Maxim exchanging a look with Weston above my head. Plans. They were making them. Well, if anything, I could say I brought them together. This wasn’t a time for jests, though; my skin was tingling cold in nervousness, but still, “Really? How many princes does it take to catch one girl?” slipped from my lips.

  The next few days were going to be rocky, but the only other option was leaving the city, escorted by six Untouchables.

  Pulling my wrists behind me, Weston took my silver cuff off and threw it to Maxim, who caught it like they were the best of friends. Why was he taking my cuff?

  Weston held my wrists with one hand, and leaning down, he spoke softly in my ear, “Go north, to a sleepy town where you belong. Live your life. Marry your blacksmith.”

  Why did the idea make my stomach churn in revulsion when he said it? I stared blankly at the Untouchables making their way toward us. “I plan to do all that,” I said indifferently, “but not yet.”

  “I thought we could coexist here for a short while, Calamity, but it’s obviously not going to happen. If you don’t leave this city, you leave me no choice. Don’t make me force your way.”