A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

That meant the human men, the Saccar, the Mages . . . and everyone else who Weston probably cheerfully murdered before I’d even noticed, had intercepted that one magic signal directed to the Shadows.

My mind spun, and I had the urge to run, from him, from my problems, but I knew I wouldn’t get far from either. My heart beat, while trepidation filled my stomach, climbing up my throat. “I still don’t see why it matters. The Shadows is a dark place, it’s not a surprise they would put some kind of signal on me.”

“It wasn’t a normal signal, Calamity.”

I shivered at his use of my name. “Then what was it, if not a ‘normal’ signal, Weston?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A call to home.”

I pushed him away then, and he let me. It felt as if the air were being sucked out of my lungs, as anger pulsed in my stomach. Not necessarily at him, but at the truth. I’d known it for a while, and I realized it was stupid and childish of me for denying what was right in front of my face, but it was so repulsive of my nature to accept that what I was—wasn’t who I’d always known. That the dark part was real, swimming below the surface, a constant pressure under my skin. That human was no longer a word I could use to describe myself.

It made sense, though—all of what he said. The cuffs? If I’d worn them since before I was Fated, that meant they were to hide me from something else . . . or someone else.

“I’d suggest you read up on your people,” he said to my back as I stared down the dirt street. He said it like an insult, and it raised my hackles. Because what he was—whatever it was—was so much better?

Something about where I came from had to do with my death and climbing my way out of it, and instead of denying it, I should have been studying the reasons why. I felt ridiculous now that I had to face it, and my blood heated with anger that Weston had to be the one to make me feel this way. “That isn’t who I am. The Shadows has been closed off for hundreds of years. No one can leave. It isn’t possible.”

“Don’t lie to yourself. The only thing it’s going to do is get you killed for good.”

I spun around. “What do you care! You’ve only saved me again and again for your own gain. Is that the plan, then? Try and get me to open the seal again?”

He licked his lips, flicking his gaze away from me. “I’m done with that.”

He was done with me. I heard the innuendo in his voice.

How convenient that he could just ‘be done with me’ when he wanted, and when I wasn’t done with him, I didn’t get a say in the matter? When I realized what I’d just thought, I let out a frustrated breath. I was one misguided soul. “Moved onto some other nefarious plan to take over the world?” I asked, pushing away my fanciful—scratch that, suicidal—thoughts about Weston.

“Something like that.”

The pit spread and bent in my stomach, and I crossed my arms—somehow feeling as vulnerable around him as before when I couldn’t save myself. “Then what are you doing here? Wanted to see the spectacle in front of your eyes? Maybe I should travel with the menagerie so everyone can see the girl who died.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze running down my body, a burn traveling with it. “I can imagine a few people who would pay to follow you across the country.”

My heart stilled, a warmth spreading beneath my skin. Why did he have to say things like that?

And just like that, the breeze carried out the uncertainty, bringing with it something more enticing. A palpable current flowed between us; it was hot, intoxicating, and I just wanted to step into it. All in the name of closure. I would only have to take one step, and I’d be caught up in it.

I teetered, the possibility pulling on my body as if I’d imbibed too much wine.

Glancing up from the imaginary line of no return in the dirt, my eyes met a pair of indifferent ones. I wanted to shake him up. I wanted to see some of the passion he used to show me. Anger . . . anything I could get. I wanted to play with him.

I took one step forward, crossing the line, and blinking the rain off my eyelashes as warm drops ran over my lips.

It suddenly felt as if the roles were reversed. My captor’s indifference, and the scaling interest inside me. But there were always two sides to every story, and I was beginning to learn that maybe in his, the corruptor had never been him, but me.

I glanced up under my eyelashes when I stood in front of him, so close that his jerkin brushed my bare arms.

He looked down at me, nothing but slight suspicion in his gaze—that’s what he wanted me to see anyway.

But just like so many times before, he blinked, and not fast enough to correct himself, there was a heated flicker I’d seen before. He still wanted me. And that idea gave me a dark rush.

I thought back to this morning, how mundanely I’d gone through the routines, and to now, how life was vivid, cast under orange lantern light and the taste of temptation.

The game seemed to cross lines and slip into reality when his rough voice rushed over me.

“Trust me,” he said so softly, his gaze intensifying, “if you went there, you wouldn’t get out alive.”

“Thanks to you, I’m used to that.”