At least, I was pretty sure that my mind was a maze of musings, which I only knew how to venture. But with Weston quickly learning how to make sense of my jumble, generally called thoughts, I learned how to think quietly.
We traveled all day, getting farther away from Undaley, with only my quiet thoughts between us. It could be said, I was about to detonate, and I would take Weston with me.
When we reached a city, right before the sun went down, there were two things I wanted: a bath and a bed.
And freedom. But I’d cross that bridge when I was feeling particularly suicidal.
I was sitting on my bed trying to get the energy to take a bath when Weston barged in.
I grimaced. “You could knock.”
“You could leave your door open, so I wouldn’t need to inconvenience myself with having to open it.”
I scoffed. “Get over yourself.”
“Don’t leave your room tonight.”
“No. You can get out now,” I replied, ready to show him my claws. Tonight was not the night for his power plays. “Shut the door behind you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Stay in your room. I mean it.”
I was a dam about to burst, and he was pulling the screws out one by one.
“And I mean it when I say get out!”
He took a step towards me. “Do I have to tie you to your damn bed? You aren’t leaving this room.”
I wondered why he wouldn’t just compel me if he wanted me to stay in my room so bad, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. And I had no doubt that he would tie me to the bed, but there was no doubt that I was going to take a bath. So, I bit my tongue and waved the white flag. “Fine.”
“Why do I feel like your damn wet nurse?”
“Maybe because you think taking care of children means tying them up,” I said snidely.
He watched me for a moment with those eyes that could see through my skin and to the girl underneath. Good thing I didn’t even know who she was.
“Leave this room, and it will really piss me off.”
I rolled my eyes. “How would that be different than any other day? I told you I wouldn’t. Now get out.”
Cue screw hitting the ground.
He slammed the door behind him, and I heard his boots treading down the stairs. I waited a few minutes after he left before I crept out of the inn. I felt some guilt rush over me, but then I reminded myself: he isn’t my keeper, he’s my captor.
Some part of my brain wanted to latch onto the thought that he was a good thing; maybe it was confused because he had saved me multiple times. But that part of my brain didn’t understand it was all for some selfish motive of his. Money? I was sure he already had that. Power? It seemed to me he could have that without more magic. Sex? I only scoffed.
See, this was why I didn’t want to deal with a . . . non-human.
I took my time in the bathhouse, scrubbing my body more than once. On my way back, a church bell rang, and I looked up from my feet to take in the city.
The sound of metal on metal had me glancing over to a blacksmith, sharpening a blade. Sparks were flying when his eyes landed on mine. It was one of those stares that could be physically felt, and the feeling didn’t recede until I rounded the corner.
More than one gaze fell on me, and unease began to seep under my skin as I rushed back to the inn.
Vendors stopped shouting about their sales when I passed them, their eyes on me. One seller dropped a slab of meat when he saw me. And that was what I felt like—fresh meat.
Maybe I should have listened to Weston . . .
My heart thudded and my feet moved faster as I made the last turn. I was looking behind me when I slammed into a hard body in the doorway of the inn.
“I’m sorr—” I began to say, but tapered off when I looked into a man’s charcoal colored eyes. I was pulled deep into the murky depths and couldn’t look away if I wanted to. I didn’t. They resembled tar, and I was stuck in the darkness.
The desire to be further down, buried deep until nothing else existed, consumed me.
I wanted the darkness. I needed the dark.
I couldn’t remember my past or my present, all I knew was that I’d never wanted anything more.
The black of his eyes swirled inside my head as his hand slipped into mine. I followed him. I would follow him anywhere. The heat from his palm sent a languid warmth under my skin, throughout my body. There was a rush in my ears, and the only thing I was aware of was this man.
Not the hall we were walking down.
Not the empty room we were entering.
Nothing existed but him.
He ran his hand around the nape of my neck, and heat pooled low in my stomach.
I panted in a breathless haze as his lips grazed mine. When they pressed against mine entirely, my blood simmered in my veins. His tongue slipped in between my lips and the heat in my body pulsed with sparks of pleasure. It grew hotter with every touch of our tongues and every nip of our teeth.
The desire to soothe the heat in my body rose to an itchy crescendo I could hardly stand. A haze covered my mind, dark and heavy, as his lips and tongue played mine. Over and over.
I moaned when his lips traveled down my neck, and his hand slid under my shirt. It glided down my soft skin and under the waistband of my pants while I was sure I begged for something incoherently.
When I opened my hazy eyes, I saw two men before me. But there were only two living men in front of me for a second.
A glint of silver and a knife cut through the closest man’s neck, blood spraying onto my face and into my mouth. Icy water doused the heat in my body in a rush, leaving me breathless and shivering. The dead man slumped to the floor, while I sucked air into my lungs and focused my cloudy vision on Weston.
He was breathing hard, and he had his fist clenched around the hilt of his knife. For a moment, I thought he was going to kill me, too.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” he roared.
I flinched at his tone. I couldn’t even answer him; the most pleasurable moment of my life being soused with cold water had left me speechless.
I was leaning against the wall, proud of myself for still standing while I leaned my head back and tried to catch my breath. That seemed to piss Weston off more because he punched the wall beside my head.
The motion had me at attention. Particles of the wall hit the floor as I looked down at the dead man, bitterness on my tongue. Another person dead. Would it ever stop?
“Why do you have to go around killing everyone?” I snapped at Weston as I wiped some blood off my face.
“You wanted me to let your rapist live?” he shouted at me.
“Stop yelling!” But then I processed what he’d said. I didn’t realize what the man was doing until now. Somehow, he’d made me feel that all-consuming passion. Wait, does that mean it won’t always feel like that? I thought it with a tinge of disappointment.
Apparently, Weston heard that because he punched the wall next to my head again. Pieces flew.
“Sto—”
“I told you to stay in your room,” he growled.
“Yea, well, I don’t like to listen to psychotic assassins.”
He toed the man on the ground. “This could have been avoided if you would have listened to me.”
I grimaced. “Can you not kick a dead man? What’s wrong with you?”
My stomach turned. I should’ve never left my room. My guilt ate at me while another person lay dead at my feet. The man might have been molesting me, but whatever he did with my mind made me feel willing. Or, maybe I was willing on my own? It was hard to feel violated when the pleasure was that great.
Weston let out a frustrated breath before throwing his knife across the room. It lodged itself into the wall, before he ran his hands through his hair.
“Killing is not the answer to everything, Weston.”
He pulled his angry gaze to me. “I should have just ignored it, huh? Just walked up to my room and pretended that I c
ouldn’t hear your moans down the hall, couldn’t smell a man all over you,” he said with buckets of scorn.
I grimaced. “That’s just creepy that you can—”
“Shut up.” He was seething, his eyes a dark storm as he put his hands on the wall above me, boxing me in. He was breathing hard, and he was so close his chest almost brushed mine. I met his gaze, refusing to feel intimidated.
“We aren’t here for you to have dalliances. I see another man touch you, and I will kill him and ask questions later. Do you understand me?”
It felt as though the blood had hit my face again when I realized the seriousness of his words, but I wouldn’t let him push me around. I didn’t ask for what happened.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t go out and look for another man like him.
That evil thing called tenacity made me think it just to piss Weston off a little more.
“He’ll be dead before he’s any use to you,” he growled.
It made my blood boil that he had made this about him when it had nothing to do with him. “Next time, ignore whatever the hell your nose can smell and go to h—”
“Shut your fucking mouth before—”
“You shut—”
“Shut up.” The compulsion physically stopped my mouth from opening, and I couldn’t stand the feeling. It was suffocating, and the thought that I could never talk again had my stomach knotting. I tried to shove him away from me, but he didn’t budge.
“Do you understand me?” he asked, and my mind traveled back to him threatening to kill men if they touched me.
No, I didn’t understand, because that was insane. I shook my head in defiance.
“Tell me you understand.”
I hated him.
I tried to bite my tongue, but I couldn’t stop the words from flowing out of my mouth. “I understand,” I growled.
He stepped back. “You can go to your room now and thank me for saving you again.”
“You did nothing but ruin a good evening—”
“Say thank you.”
There went two more screws . . .
“Thank you,” I spit out menacingly.
“You can go now,” he said and then added, “to your room.”
I glared at him. I was going to murder him. Stab him much more than one time. My heart was going to beat out of my chest with how fast the blood was rushing to my ears.
And that was when I said the worst word of my life.
“Fuck you.” Nothing could have explained it better. I was halfway out the door before I heard his response.
“Princess, you couldn’t handle me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AN ESCAPEE’S DREAMS
The next morning, we were up early and angry. I didn’t know what Weston had to be so angry about, but he was practically unapproachable. And I was a mixture of rage and frustration. Our moods equated harsh looks, sharp words, and a tense air.
It made for a harsh traveling environment . . . but probably a correct kidnapping one.
Throughout the day, I thought I did well with keeping my thoughts contained. But with the tiredness my body began to feel when the sun set, my mind felt it as well, and it was impossible to keep myself from going back to how good it felt . . .
“Think about it one more time, and I swear I will give you something else to focus on, and I assure you, you won’t like it,” Weston said darkly from across the fire.
A frown pulled at my lips, but I couldn’t help but ask, “But what did he do to me? And why?”
“He was a Latent. That’s what they do.”
My brows knitted. “Why?”
His gaze met mine. “Why do you talk nonstop?”
“Because I like to,” I said without hesitation.
“You have your answer.”
“He wasn’t going to kill me? Or sacrifice me or something afterward?”
“Depends.”
My eyes widened. “Depends on what?”
“How much he liked it,” he said flatly.
“Oh.” I let out an exaggerated breath of relief. “Well, I guess I would’ve lived then because he would have loved it.”
“You’re awfully cocky for a virgin, little girl.” His voice was coated with sardonic amusement.
It didn’t disturb me that he knew I was a virgin. But the fact that I wasn’t bothered and was used to him being in my head . . . yea, that kind of disturbed me.
“I’m sure you knew you were going to be a good killer before you actually killed someone . . . some things you just know.” I had no idea what I was talking about. And he probably knew that. But my mouth had a mind of its own around him. “What was wrong with the city? Everyone stared at me the same way.”
“Latent City.”
My mouth fell open. “Why would you take me to a city full of people like that?”
His gaze hardened. “If I remember correctly, I told you to stay in your room. Not run across the city and tempt everyone within the area,” he bit out. “But I should’ve known, you bring trouble wherever you go.”
He had no right to be frustrated with me. And I had every right to hate him. Somehow it was easy to say I hated him, but it was hard to feel, and that confused me. “Then let me go if I’m so much trouble!”
He didn’t respond.
“How did he do what he did?” Magic, I was sure, but I wanted to know more about what had happened to me. Mainly so I could talk about the new experience I had.
“You want to make me angry?” If he hadn’t said it in that calm voice with menace underneath, I probably would have said yes. I hated to admit it, but that voice got under my skin and truly made me itch to put some distance between us.
“I don’t think so . . .”
“Then stop talking.”
It looked like I wouldn’t be getting any information from the assassin, but I needed to know one thing. “Was he really going to kill me afterward?”
“I’m sure you’d eventually die months later after he tied you up in that sexual torture chamber you are fond of thinking of and fed off the energy in your body over and over.”
I gulped. It was safe to say I didn’t need to feel guilty about the Latent’s death. I could get rid of one of the murders on my conscience. I needed all the space I could get because soon it would overflow.
Weston scoffed.
I scowled. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my head?”
“Princesses sure like to give orders, don’t they?” That name he called me had shivers running down my spine. Did he know about the prophecy? Or did he know a lot more about me than he had ever let on?
“Why do you call me that?” I asked. His green eyes met my brown ones in a mesmerizing stare. It was exciting, holding his gaze like I was knocking on death’s door. The adrenaline had my blood warming.
“Because I can see you in a palace ordering everyone around.”
He could put any mask he wanted in place. But for whatever reason, I could always see through it. He was lying, and it made me nervous that he had to lie at all. It felt like this man might know me better than I knew myself, and for some reason didn’t want me to know he did.
I thought it was time to cut ties with the assassin before he knew everything about me and my plan. If he didn’t already know every step I was going to take before I did . . .
* * *
I was dirty and tired as I walked to the city’s bathhouse. The entire day had been an uneventful one, taking me further away from Undaley. My stomach was in a perpetual state of knots as I scrubbed my body with the soap I had bought. It had no smell and neither did I . . . or so I thought. When every crevice of my body was washed, I slipped on some new clothes that didn’t have any of my scent on them.
Weston’s confidence that he could find me anywhere either made him really good, or really stupid. And I was about to find out.
With my old clothes in the bathhouse and the hope that he would assume I was still there, I headed on foot over to t
he gates of the city. I patted Gallant’s nose before I had gone to the bathhouse and told him goodbye. He understood the fate of Alyria was in my hands and forgave me for leaving him. At least, that’s what I told myself.
I wished I could take him with, but he was probably covered in my scent, and I needed a better disguise.
When I saw a fair-haired man who was alone, loading up a wagon, I knew he was the one. I watched him for a moment while he worked.
When I had the courage, I went over to talk to him. He had a kind smile and dimples. No one with dimples and fair hair could possibly be a bad person. That was my logic, and I was settling with it because I had no other choice but to trust my blurred rationale. The man agreed to give me a ride out of the city. He was heading to Tolerant City, which was a two-day trip, and then I could hopefully afford a cheap horse and head to Undaley.
I was looking over my shoulder the entire time he finished loading up, while itching to leave the city. I was a sitting duck out in the middle of the courtyard. I had my cloak over my hair because I was sure the blond strands were shining in the remaining sun, as though an arrow pointed at my head.
My hands were clammy while I climbed into his wagon. He never asked me why I needed a ride. But I was sure I acted like a frightened wife trying to get away from her husband. He looked at me with some sympathy, and it only made me clench my teeth. It was a good cover, so I didn’t correct him. My genuine story was just too complicated to share.
The cart rumbled down the dirt path and out of the darkening city. I took a deep breath when we got past the gates.
So far so good.
To anyone else, I would look like a woman traveling with her husband, except for the fact that I kept looking behind me every few seconds. As we got further away from the city, the nervous pit in my stomach seemed to grow instead of dissipate. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and it suddenly felt like I was prey being hunted.
The man talked about things I could barely hear over the anxiety swirling inside me. When we stopped to set up camp for the night, I was in a state of shock that I had made it so far. A state of shock that lasted only seconds.
A Girl Named Calamity Page 14