A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

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.