A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

“It’s not your tree. And it’s the best cover, so I’ll be sleeping here,” he said as he lay down, taking up too much space with his unnaturally large body.

I didn’t want to sleep so close to Weston because I might have stabbed him in his sleep and I didn’t want that on my conscience.

Something landed beside me, and I looked down. A knife? I raised a brow at Weston.

His eyes gleamed. “Go ahead, Princess. Stab me. Get it out of your system.”

I hesitated, glancing at the knife and back up to his face. He knew I couldn’t do it and was amused.

He laughed. “Come on. I’ve been listening to you think about stabbing me for long enough now. It’s getting tedious. So, let’s get this over with.”

“You’re just going to lie there and let me stab you? You said you wouldn’t let me stab you again.”

“Yea, well, I didn’t know your thoughts about stabbing me would annoy me to madness.”

“You’re already mad—Ow!” I said as I felt a sharp pain in my calf.

I pulled up my pants leg and wasn’t surprised to find a small black spider on my leg. I brushed it off. It had been a common thing when sleeping on the floor of a cottage in the woods. Besides this spider was small, but that bite had really hurt. “It’s just a spider bite,” I said and grimaced as I rubbed the red spot. Weston sat up and leaned over me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked as he was too close for comfort. He cursed as he looked at the ground.

“Well, I’ll be taking this,” he said while he grabbed the knife next to me.

“I thought you were going to let me stab you.” My tone was disappointed. Truthfully, I was relieved.

“Once. Not seventy times.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“How much do you hate me, Princess?” he drawled as he leaned back and watched me with amused eyes.

Weston, amused?

I don’t like where this is going . . .

“Are we talking a number scale here, or if I would pull you up or step on your fingers if you were hanging off a cliff?” I asked.

He smiled. “Considering you couldn’t pull me up if you wanted to, let’s go with the number scale.”

I mulled it around and decided to answer truthfully. “Probably around a seven.”

He nodded as if he was in thought. “Not as bad as I expected.”

A wave of anger overtook me and I narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t you take yourself over to your own tree?” I snapped.

I blinked in confusion. What the hell was wrong with me?

Weston tipped his head back and laughed.

How dare he laugh at me? I’m going to kill him.

“Stop laughing,” I growled. He didn’t stop, and I imagined clawing his face. My blood heated, and I wanted to draw his blood. I paused in confusion trying to figure out my severely raging thoughts. But then, Weston’s smug face was in view, and the rage bottled up inside me exploded. I couldn’t stop myself from lunging at him.

“It’s good to know you really do hate me,” he laughed as he grabbed my wrists before I could scratch him. Red consumed my vision and I straddled him trying to do any damage I could. Rage swept through me. He was going to pay. With blood.

“Of course I hate you! I loathe you!” I shouted at him while I put my knee forcefully right where it would hurt the most.

“Shit,” he coughed and let go of my hands to move my knee. I took advantage of his distraction to rake my nails down his bicep. Blood dripped. It satisfied the red haze.