A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria Book 1)

by Danielle Lori

  Her smile was wicked at what I asked her next.

  “What do you have that can knock someone out for a few hours?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  REFLECTION IN AMBER EYES

  When I heard Weston’s door shut across the hall, I poured the potion onto my hand. The woman had explained that all I needed to do was rub the liquid anywhere on his skin. It couldn’t be too difficult, considering he was always manhandling me. I would just have to turn the tables around.

  The woman had assured me that it wouldn’t affect me and only the target. But after dealing with the tricky Sylvian women, I waited while the pink liquid soaked into my hand. It dissolved as soon as I had poured it.

  After three minutes of anxiously pacing, I was still awake, so I assumed she was telling me the truth. My heart beat quicker the longer I waited, so without a plan, I jumped up and headed to his room. I flung open his door and walked in, my heartbeat thudding.

  His gaze found me, his lips pulling into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  He was shirtless. Perfect. For my plan. No other reason.

  I put my hand on my chest and took in big gulps of air. When I began to “faint,” he caught me.

  Thank Alyria he fell for it, or I would have hit the floor.

  I rested my hand on his chest and tried to slide it inconspicuously up and around his shoulder. But I was supposed to be passed out so, obviously that gave me away. I was in the air for a moment, before I landed on the bed, almost bouncing off it.

  His eyes glittered with amusement. “You think a mere potion has any effect on me?”

  My hair had fallen in my face, and I pushed it away with a frustrated shove. This was my life he was messing with, and he was amused? I felt my cheeks heat from my anger. I hopped off the bed and shoved him.

  “You can’t just throw me around!” I shouted. He didn’t even take a step back from my shove, and that made my blood grow hotter. I wasn’t satisfied, so I went to push him again, but he grabbed my wrist and jerked me away. I stumbled back while I thought definitely not a gentleman.

  He laughed. “Definitely not a lady. What potion did you think to use on me?” He asked it as if it were a normal conversation for him. Probably was. I couldn’t have been the first person he kidnapped; he was just too tranquil about it.

  I glared at him. “None of your business. If you would just let me go, I wouldn’t have had to use one on you!”

  “No.” That was his answer. No excuses. Just no.

  “Then watch your back, because I will find something that works on you,” I promised with heat.

  “I could find you anywhere you could go,” he said indifferently.

  “Not if you are dead,” I taunted.

  He laughed coldly.

  “Besides, I think you lie to intimidate me.”

  My heart leaped out of my chest when he lunged at me. I jumped back, but he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I couldn’t move my head without pulling strands out, so I only glared daggers at him.

  I hated how I could do nothing to fight him. How I felt trapped, weak, and useless.

  There was a small part of me that I disliked. For being so damn weak. But that wasn’t the part of me I hated the most; no, that was the part that relished being trapped. The part that wanted him to show me how much more strength he had than me. A part that wanted him to prove he could do anything to me and I couldn’t stop him. A primal part. And a sick part.

  I pushed it out of my head with a frustrated shove.

  I couldn’t control the shiver that ran down my spine when he pressed his face into my hair. I felt him inhale deeply and then I stumbled back as he pushed me away.

  “Just refreshing your scent. I can find it anywhere. Fucking try me.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I got up and walked into the woman’s shop. It was early, but I wasn’t surprised to find the woman standing behind the counter. There was something . . . strange about her. She must have noticed my defeated look because she frowned.

  “It did not work?”

  I shook my head. “How can I disguise my scent?”

  Her brows knitted. “Your scent?”

  “Yes. He said that he could find me anywhere by my scent.”

  “How . . . primitive.” She smiled mysteriously and went somewhere up in her head. After a moment of awkward silence, she walked around, searching for something on her shelves. She grabbed something small and white and slapped it in my hand.

  I groaned. “No more soap.”

  She grinned. “This won’t have men drooling or running; it was made for your very problem. Although I almost forgot I had it, because nobody has ever needed it before. I’ve never not had a potion work, so I can’t be sure this will work either.”

  I looked at the soap with a frown. “I don’t have any other options.”

  She looked me up and down. “Well, you don’t seem to be beaten. Is he really that bad to you?”

  “We aren’t together like that. I’m his prisoner.”

  “You look like a healthy prisoner.”

  I sighed. I wouldn’t be healthy-looking when he tortured me to make me open the seal.

  And then I came to a terrible conclusion: he didn’t need to torture me. He could compel me to do anything he wished.

  I was in so much more trouble than I’d ever thought.

  * * *

  I walked back to the inn and almost ran into Weston in the doorway. He examined me, as though he wondered what I was up to, and I quickly cleared my mind. But I couldn’t clear my mind and walk.

  For some reason, it felt like if I couldn’t think, then I couldn’t move either; so I stood awkwardly in front of him. I felt like an ant under his perusal, and he was deciding whether or not to squash me.

  His lips tipped up, saying, “Not an ant, just a small human,” before he brushed past me as if he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to figure out my plans.

  Ant? Human? I was sure those were close to the same things in his eyes.

  I was later disturbed that he didn’t acknowledge whether or not he was going to squash me.

  As we rode down a busy trail, I noticed that it felt a lot like Alger here. The temperature was the same—to the degree, I was sure. I had changed back into appropriate clothes, mostly because I didn’t want to ask Weston to help me tie the cloths back over my cuffs, and because the women wore more conservative clothes here.

  I’d gotten strange looks from a lot of them on the trail, even fully clothed. I had braided the side of my hair back to keep it out of my face, and it was the most feminine thing about me—that, and my form. But dressed in men’s clothes had many people spending much time perusing me.

  Caravan wheels squeaked and jostled as they went by. Horses whinnied, and people chatted to passing travelers about their destination. At one point, a large wooden cage rolled by, and my eyes met the large, amber ones of a tiger. It felt as though I were in slow-motion as we walked by the metal bars of the tiger’s cage, its gaze following me. Its hum involuntarily ran through me—it was soft, purring, warm, and I knew it had no desire to harm me. I watched it until it passed and felt the same way it did—caged.

  I was a prisoner surrounded by all kinds of travelers. I was frustrated. I was claustrophobic. I wanted to scream and beg anyone of these people to help me.

  “You’re not leaving,” Weston said dryly. “No matter how many humans you deign to tell.”

  I grimaced. I hated when he used that word: human.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  His gaze said, Why ask a question you already know the answer to?

  The seal. That disgusting thing that had already caused deaths and would cause much more if it were opened.

  I wondered how he knew where it was. Grandmother had told me I was the only one who could find it. If she was wrong, then how did Weston think I could even open it? I didn’t think I could locate the seal if I tried. I felt
no pull in any direction when I searched the land.

  I had no magic, not even a spark when I’d almost been raped. Maybe just maybe, I was only a farm girl from Alger. The one thing that had changed was hairy. And that would be back before I knew it.

  I was still weak. I was admitting that against my own wishes.

  I’d hoped I could get rid of the naive, but that was to be reviewed at a later date. And I still had that nasty word tacked on, the one that gave me a bad taste in my mouth: killer.

  I knew it was silly to feel guilty about something I didn’t do. But I was softer than I ever knew until this journey. Although I had a feeling that side of me wouldn’t last long. The deaths—they were because of me; there was no disputing that.

  Every step we took further from Undaley, the larger the cold sweat covering my skin spread. Maybe I wasn’t playing the damsel in distress the best.

  Her mind as strong as her body weak.

  I had a plan.

  One I wouldn’t think about with the ears in my head.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AN ASSASSIN’S AMUSEMENT

  “Why do we always have to go off the path?” We once again took a detour that nobody else seemed to be taking. “It never ends up being any good,” I told Weston as we stopped at the end of the forest to water the horses.

  “I think that’s mainly because of you.”

  I scoffed. “You’re the one forcing me on this sadistic trip of yours.”

  “Does it look like I’m forcing you?” he asked with some amusement and something else in his eyes that I wasn’t going to lie, frightened me.

  I raised a brow. “Oh, so I can leave then?”

  “The world is your oyster. Go ahead, Princess.”

  I watched him for a moment in a heavy silence.

  “I don’t like this,” I said uneasily.

  “What?” he asked with mischief lacing his voice.

  I shook my head. “I’m not playing whatever game this is.”

  “No game. Go on.” He gestured towards the field in front of us.

  “Weston . . .” I growled. I was going to kill him for dangling the fruit in front of my face, just to pull it away.

  “You couldn’t make it out here alone, admit it, Princess.”

  “Stop calling me Princess!” He made me so angry that I could scream, but not from that stupid nickname he called me; that was just an annoyance. I was angry that he was right. And because I might have had anger issues—which I was sure ran in the family—which I would be chastising Grandmother about if I ever saw her again. Because those pesky issues might have made me make some decisions that didn’t have self-preservation anywhere near them.

  “Your thoughts give me a severe headache,” he said with a sigh.

  “Yea, well, you give me a severe headache.”

  Real mature, Calamity.

  He crossed his arms. “I’ll tell you what. If you can make it across this field, then I will escort you to Undaley myself.”

  I blinked, not believing it. “What?”

  My heart was beating faster, and if he was lying, I was going to stab him.

  Get real, Cal. You’ll try.

  “You heard me,” he drawled.

  I looked at the field in unsettlement and then back at him. He could see the uncertainty on my face and apparently thought it was funny enough that he laughed.

  I frowned. “This is stupid.”

  He laughed again. “Well, I’ve never had a hostage who didn’t want to get away.”

  “Shut up,” I retorted. “You’re bored, and you’re playing some kind of sad game on me. And I don’t want to play.” I crossed my arms.

  A grin pulled on his lips. “Admit it, Princess. You’re scared.”

  “Call me princess one more time . . .” I growled.

  Again, not the thing I was pissed about.

  I told myself I would get through this without playing his game, but then, what he said next had my pesky issues coming out full force.

  “You got a thing for me, Princess? I’ve had less clingy maids, who hadn’t seen another man in a year.”

  I had to bite my tongue. Hard. And tell my mouth I’m the one in charge here.

  “You’ll escort me to Undaley?” I growled, not being able to be near him for another second without stabbing him.

  “I’ve never been around someone who thinks so much about stabbing another person until you, and you think I’m the lunatic?”

  “I swear—”

  “You get across that field. I’ll escort you to Undaley.”

  “And I get to stab you,” I said. That was definitely going to be part of this stupid deal, or no deal at all.

  He smiled, like that was a standard term in an agreement. “And you can stab me,” he repeated.

  I didn’t know if I could stab someone while they just held still, but that was a moot point because if I did this, he’d take me to Undaley.

  “How do I know you aren’t lying?” I asked.

  “You don’t.”

  Well, at least he was honest about that.

  That had to count for something, right?

  I turned to the field and watched the long grass swaying in the breeze. Nothing abnormal about it stuck out to me. I had no idea what this was all about, but, maybe the magic that I was supposed to have would get me through this. Because there was no doubt, there was something odd about this. Or maybe Weston was insane, and I would make it across the field just fine. Yea, I’d latch onto that thought.

  I stared at the swaying grass and bit my lip in reflection while a thought gnawed at me until I spit it out. “I’d rather go the way we came from,” I tried.

  He smiled. “Nah, the field is fine.”

  And, there it is.

  Definitely something wrong with it. Nervousness settled in my stomach and grew by the minute. How could I not try? If not for Alyria, then for myself. I needed to be the brave farm girl from Alger.

  The stupid fortune teller’s omen swirled around in my stomach unwanted. But I couldn’t let her ramblings take over my life. I looked at Weston; he was sitting down, leaning against a tree with his forearm resting on his knee. The sight of him, being at ease, made my blood hot enough that I mounted Gallant and walked him towards the field. Weston was so relaxed, and yet I was in a constant state of turmoil. Talk about frustrating.

  The grass was tall enough it reached my feet on Gallant; a couple of strands got underneath my pants and tickled my legs. I jumped when I felt it, already antsy. I gritted my teeth when I heard Weston’s chuckle behind me, and pushed forward. The only noises were the swish of grass, the crisp breeze, and the occasional chirp of a cricket. I glanced behind me, and Weston was still in his relaxed position. As we got farther and farther away, I started to assume Weston really was insane.

  And that was when the clouds descended on me.

  I watched with wide eyes as they circled above my head, and I hopped off Gallant when they were undoubtedly coming straight towards me. My heart raced as they chased me. Sounds of laughter came from the clouds as one knocked me off my feet and I fell, down, and into a dark hole.

  It was only wide enough to crawl through, and my chest tightened with fear as it seemed to get smaller and smaller. The air supply was diminishing, and I crawled faster until I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I shoved myself out of the hole before I realized I was in the sky.

  I was screaming as I fell from a tunnel in the sky. I fell and fell for so long that I was sure I had fallen asleep. My eyes popped open, and I screamed as I noticed where I was going to land.

  The sharp point of a mountain.

  I threw my hands out to stop me before I hit the ground with a thunk, and everything went black.

  * * *

  When I woke, the first thing I noticed was that every muscle in my body was sore. The sky was dark, and the heat of a fire warmed my skin. I looked up and met the eyes of an assassin.

  Who knew assassins had a sense of humor? Maybe he shoul
d have been a jester.

  Okay, definitely not.

  Half of the spectators would probably end up dead.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” I croaked, my throat sore from screaming.

  “Quite. Although I didn’t expect you to scream so much. That really put a damper on the entertainment.”

  I bet, bastard.

  A sense of foreboding hit me. It was easy to fall into conversation with Weston lately.

  Somehow, I couldn’t help but feel that was a game in itself.

  Disgust washed over me. For some reason, I was the one who was entrusted with the future of Alyria. And here I was, chatting with the enemy. I stood up, with nothing but leaving on my mind.

  “Sit down,” Weston ordered, having heard my plan.

  “No,” I retorted, “I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.”

  I asked myself if I really wanted to throw this tantrum, and I did. Because I needed some reassurance that I wasn’t willingly following my captor around and that I really was a prisoner.

  “Oh, trust me. You really are,” Weston said.

  I glared at him. “Why don’t you stay out of my head? And go hang yourself while you’re at it?”

  “Sit down.”

  “I told you, no! Get it through your thick skull! No—” One leg swept out and knocked me off my feet, and down onto my pallet. Definitely not human. I hadn’t even seen him move before the side-sweep. I went to stand up again.

  “Stand up and I will physically tie you down,” he said, his voice harsh.

  I watched him, trying to decide if it was a bluff.

  “I assure you, it’s not,” he said.

  “And I assure you, if you don’t get out of my head, I will cause you bodily harm!”

  He ignored me and somehow we got back on the right track. I no longer felt like a voluntary prisoner. And he was back to being the self-absorbed assassin he had always been.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MAGICAL PASSION