A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria 1)

“I’m going to kill you!” I snarled, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip around my thighs, not even when I pounded on his back with my fists.

I was in the air for a moment, before I landed in a pool of water. I came up sputtering, wiping the hair off my face. He tossed a bar of soap into the water while I made to get out of the baths.

“You get out, I will throw you in again. I will do it all fucking night if I have to,” he barked.

I growled at his back while he walked out of the room. I needed a bed, not be thrown into the baths over and over. If I found that sneaky old woman . . .

The room was dark, only lit by the moon through the small window. My movements were choppy and tired as I took off my soaked clothes. They hit the stone floor with a splat, and I searched the dark waters for the soap.

I ran the soap up and down my arms, wanting nothing but to be in bed. I didn’t know what I would wear, considering my clothes were soaked. But clothes seemed a moot point while this far in my cups.

“I’m done!” I shouted. Weston walked back into the room, and I was sure he sniffed the air again.

Weird.

“Do it again. And do it right this time or I’ll scrub you my-fucking-self.”

I scowled. My arm itched to throw the soap at the back of his head as he walked back out. But something stopped me. Self-perseverance, maybe?

I scrubbed up, more than adequately this time, and hollered at him. Apparently it was good enough now, because he noticed my clothes predicament, pulled off his shirt, and threw it at me. I caught it before it could fall in the water and when I looked up, he was gone. I frowned at the linen shirt in my hand. When had he changed? What did he even do when he left?

I didn’t think I wanted to know.

There weren’t any towels, so I wrung out my hair and slipped his shirt on wet. It clung to my body, but covered more than my Sylvian clothes had, and truthfully I was too tired to care. I grabbed my soaked clothes and left the room.

Weston was waiting for me with an unreadable expression, and we walked side by side to the inn. Tense air filled the small space between us, and when I looked up, his eyes were on me. I shivered in his shirt but held eye contact for a moment.

The realization hit me that I was wearing only an assassin’s shirt while I walked down dusty Sylvian streets.

My world had severely changed.

I pulled my gaze away, and he walked me all the way back to my room. I thought it was kind of gentlemanly, but then he shoved me inside and slammed the door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HANGOVERS AND REALITY CHECKS

I woke from a dead sleep with an ache in my head pounding in sync with my heart. The rising sun sent light in through the cracks in the shutters. I couldn’t get up because if I did, I was afraid I would hurl and I didn’t want to make a slave girl clean it up. I rolled over while the night before came back to me. The omen, the men’s weird behavior, and especially Weston’s actions flooded my mind. There was too much to process, and it gave me a bigger headache than I had before.

The most enticing smell hit my nose, and I looked down and saw I was still wearing Weston’s shirt. No, I changed my mind, the smell was horrible.

I put my nose in it and took a big whiff. I fell back asleep with the smell of cedar, sage, and leather surrounding me.

A deep voice disturbed my dreams. “Get out of bed. We need to get moving.”

I sighed and rolled over. I was too sick to go anywhere right now. “Go away,” I mumbled. A hand grabbed my ankle. “Don—” I started, but Weston pulled me off the bed. I landed with a thud on the floor, the sheets twisted around me.

“Ow!” My voice hurt my head, and I groaned and glared up at Weston. “Was that necessary?” I asked and then winced at the splitting pain in my head.

“Be ready within a quarter of an hour. Or I leave without you,” he warned before he walked out the door. I sighed and scrambled to my feet as I rubbed my butt. The light had shards of pain shooting into my eyes while I moved around the room to get dressed.

My Sylvian clothes were dry, and I slipped them back on before I realized I couldn’t ride a horse

in a skirt. So I took it off and threw it across the room, and then slipped on the shortened pants. I huffed while I went and picked up the skirt, thinking I might need it.

I wasn’t a morning person.

Especially after a night of being in my cups.