A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

When he pulled back far enough, I rushed out, “Put me down.”

I sucked in a breath when he put me on my feet. Once I was in someone’s head through persuasion, compulsion was easy sailing. “Don’t touch me again,” I said immediately. I hadn’t realized how fast he’d be. I didn’t really have experience with Titans. Well . . . you know what I mean.

He stood there, his eyes bright with the possessiveness of what I’d convinced him to feel. The “protect your woman” persuasion always seemed to work the fastest with men. Primal mentality, I thought.

“Well, Archer, anyone else on this boat?”

“It’s a ship,” he muttered, shaking his head at me for calling it a ‘boat.’ How was I supposed to know the difference? They both floated. “No,” he finally supplied.

I tilted my head. “You know your prince well?”

“Cousin.”

I froze. “You’re jesting.”

“If that is what you wish.”

Lord. Of course this would be Weston’s relative. I laughed. It sounded a little maniacal, but it didn’t look like Archer minded with the way he eyed me like I walked on water. The persuasion was a little much sometimes, I’d admit . . . though, it did make me feel nice other times.

And because he was starting to blink, looking a little less persuaded, I smiled, feeling the ridiculousness of my words. “I’m the only woman for you, aren’t I? I couldn’t bear it if you were with anyone else . . .”

I could so be a performer. Must be hereditary . . .

He nodded, a dazed look back in his eyes. “The only one.”

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for this man—because this was pathetic, really—but he was a cousin of the two Titans I hated, so by proxy, it was perfectly acceptable to treat him as if he were them.

I told him to wait until I returned as I walked up the ramp. I didn’t know how long this particular persuasion would last, but I guessed I’d find out. I would just have to make this quick . . . whatever I was doing here.

The boat rocked softly under my feet as I crossed the deck and climbed down the small staircase into the cabin, down a hall to where I knew the captain’s quarters usually were. The room was plainly decorated with a wooden desk, a large bed, and a couple trunks of which I headed straight for.

Opening the lid, my eyes grew wide.

So much silver. I groaned in my mind like I’d just eaten the best piece of chocolate on this side of the city. I itched to run my fingers over the silver pitcher.

No. No. Let it go.

I sighed, closing my eyes and the lid before my attention was stuck in the trunk until Roldan returned from the palace to try and kill me again.

I hollered Archer’s name, and he came down a few seconds later, standing in the door.

“Take that trunk to the orphanage, please,” I told him, giving him my back as I looked through the scrolls on the desk.

“Of course,” he returned, but his voice was clear as a blue sky, no hint of dazed persuasion in it. My eyes narrowed on the shelf in front of me. I felt the air move before it did. I spun around, coming face to face with one disobedient Titan, the blade in my hand a quarter of the way in his stomach.

“Don’t make another move.”

He stood stalk still, the only thing alerting me that he’d been stabbed was a tightness to his expression.

I shook my head reproachfully. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. Not many can get past my persuasion once I’m in.”

It seemed that it didn’t work so well with him when I didn’t have my eyes on him. I frowned because that meant my persuasion would probably have no bearing on Roldan or Weston.

Glancing down, I groaned. “N

ow look what you’ve done! I’ve got blood on my cloak,” I grumbled, then grimaced as I pulled the knife out. “That won’t kill you, will it?”

“Flesh wound.”