A Girl Named Calamity by Danielle Lori

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.